Chapter 22 #2
"Precisely." Anthea leaned back, satisfaction blooming in her chest. "It solves multiple problems simultaneously.
You get access to potential investors in an environment where you can demonstrate competence.
My sisters get to meet eligible men in a less formal setting than London balls.
And we both get to prove that our marriage is a partnership of equals rather than a liability. "
Gregory studied her for a long moment, his expression thoughtful.
"It could work," he said finally. "Though it would require careful planning. We would need to invite the right combination of people. Balance your social objectives with my business needs."
"I can manage the guest list," Anthea offered. "Identify which gentlemen would be suitable for both purposes. And I can coordinate the household preparations, ensure everything runs smoothly."
"And I can plan the hunt itself," Gregory said. "Make it challenging enough to be interesting but not so difficult that it alienates potential investors who are more comfortable in drawing rooms than forests."
"We would need to work together," Anthea said. "Actually together. No more keeping out of each other's way."
"No more pride preventing us from asking for help when we need it," Gregory agreed.
"And no more interfering without discussion first," Anthea added.
Gregory's mouth curved into a small smile. "Agreed."
They looked at each other across the kitchen table, and Anthea felt something shift between them.
Not quite reconciliation—too much had been said, too many hurt feelings remained unaddressed—but perhaps the beginning of one.
An acknowledgment that they needed each other.
That their individual efforts had failed, but together they might succeed.
"When should we hold it?" Gregory asked.
"Soon," Anthea said. "Before the season progresses too far and everyone's calendars are full. Two weeks, perhaps? That gives us time to prepare but maintains momentum."
"Two weeks," Gregory agreed. "I will need to extend invitations to the gentlemen I want for investments. Can you handle the social side?"
"Of course." Anthea was already mentally cataloging which hostesses she would need to visit, which invitations she would need to secure. "I will begin making calls tomorrow. Establishing which gentlemen are available and amenable to a country house party."
"Then we have a plan," Gregory said.
"We have a plan," Anthea echoed.
She should stand. Should return to her chambers and begin making notes for tomorrow's calls. But she found herself reluctant to leave the warm kitchen, the comfortable quiet that had settled between them.
"Thank you," she said instead. "For the eggs. And for... this. For being willing to try again."
"Thank you for suggesting it," Gregory replied. "I should have asked for your help sooner. Pride has never served me particularly well."
"Nor me," Anthea admitted.
Gregory stood and began clearing their plates.
Anthea rose to help, though she had never washed a dish in her life and had no idea where to start.
Gregory handed her a cloth without comment, and she followed his lead—copying his movements, drying what he washed, trying not to feel entirely useless.
For a few minutes they worked in companionable silence.
It was oddly domestic. Comfortable in a way Anthea had not expected, despite her complete inexperience with such tasks.
"You know," Gregory said as he dried the last plate, "we make a good team when we are not busy being stubborn idiots."
Anthea felt a smile tug at her lips. "That is a remarkably self-aware observation."
"I have my moments." He set the plate aside and turned to face her. "Though I confess, most of my better observations involve you."
There was something in his tone—something warm and teasing that reminded her of before. Before the wedding, before the distance, before everything had become so complicated.
"Is that so?" Anthea kept her voice light, but she could feel her pulse quickening.
"Mm." Gregory took a step closer. Not crowding her, but near enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. "For instance, I have observed that you are brilliant when you are strategizing. That you have a remarkable ability to see solutions others miss."
"That is hardly—"
"I have also observed," he continued, his voice dropping lower, "that you are beautiful when you are focused. That little line appears between your eyebrows when you are thinking hard about something. And that you bite your lower lip when you are nervous."
"I do not—" Anthea stopped, realizing she was, in fact, biting her lower lip at that exact moment.
Gregory's smile widened. "You are doing it right now."
Despite herself—despite everything—Anthea felt heat flood her cheeks.
"You are being ridiculous again," she said, but the words lacked conviction.
"Perhaps." Gregory reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the gesture achingly familiar. "But you are not telling me to stop."
He was right. She was not telling him to stop.
She should. Should step back, should remind him of their agreement, should maintain the distance they had established. But standing here in the quiet kitchen with only candlelight between them, Anthea found she did not want distance anymore.
She wanted this. Wanted him looking at her like this. Wanted the warmth in his eyes, the gentle teasing in his voice, the way he made her feel both flustered and cherished all at once.
"I should go to bed," she said, but made no move to leave.
"You should," Gregory agreed, but his hand lingered near her face, his thumb brushing her cheekbone.
They stood like that for a long moment, close enough that Anthea could feel the warmth radiating from him. Close enough to see the flecks of gold in his green eyes. Close enough that if she just leaned forward slightly—
"Good night, Anthea," Gregory said softly.
"Good night," she whispered.
She forced herself to step back. To turn away. To walk toward the door on legs that felt suddenly unsteady.
At the threshold, she paused and looked back.
Gregory was watching her, his expression unreadable in the flickering candlelight.
"We will make this work," Anthea said. Not a question. A statement.
"Yes," Gregory said. "We will."
Anthea climbed the stairs to her chambers, her mind spinning with plans for the house party. Guest lists to compile. Menus to arrange. A thousand details that would require her full attention.
But beneath all of that was something else. Something warm and hopeful and altogether too dangerous.
The memory of Gregory's hand against her cheek. His voice saying her name like it mattered. The way he had looked at her as though she were something precious rather than simply useful.
She had not chastised him for flirting. Had not pushed him away or reminded him of their arrangement. Had simply stood there, feeling shy and uncertain and far too aware of how much she wanted him to touch her again.
This was dangerous.
They had a plan now. A way forward. And she needed to focus on that—on securing her sisters' futures, on helping Gregory succeed, on fulfilling her duties as his duchess.
She could not afford to be distracted by her growing feelings for her husband.
Even if those feelings were becoming harder to ignore with every passing day.
Even if the thought of him on the other side of the connecting door made her heart race and her resolve weaken.
Even if some foolish part of her had started to hope that perhaps their marriage of convenience might become something more.
She climbed into bed and stared at the ceiling, her mind refusing to settle.
In two weeks, they would host the house party.
In two weeks, they would prove they could work together.
In two weeks, everything might change.
If she was brave enough to let it.