Chapter 6 #2
"Of course," Edwin said, his grin returning. "Very tactical. Nothing to do with the fact that she was watching you train like you were the most interesting thing she'd ever seen."
"That's not—" Caspian stopped. "How do you know how she was looking at me?"
"I was on the training grounds too, Your Grace. I saw when you noticed her. And I saw her face before she fled." Edwin's grin widened. "She was blushing too. Quite prettily, actually."
Caspian picked up another report and pretended to read it. "I didn't notice."
"You noticed," Edwin said confidently. "You notice everything on a battlefield. She was practically glowing red."
"The sun was bright. She probably got overheated."
"In the shade. Behind the hedge. That she chose specifically for concealment."
"Edwin," Sterling said mildly. "I believe you're enjoying this too much."
"I'm enjoying this exactly the right amount," Edwin countered. "Do you know how long I've been waiting for something to shake up His Grace's extremely boring personal life? This is better than theatre."
"My personal life is not boring," Caspian said. "It's efficient."
"It's non-existent," Edwin corrected. "You work, you train, you manage the duchy, and you sleep. That's it. That's your entire life."
"I also read."
"Military strategy books don't count."
"They absolutely count."
Sterling cleared his throat again. "Gentlemen, if we could return to the matter at hand?"
Caspian set down the report he still wasn't reading. "What's your genuine assessment, Sterling? Professional opinion."
The older man was quiet for a moment, considering.
"I think," he said finally, "that the Duchess has indeed changed.
Whether that change is genuine reformation or calculated strategy, I cannot say.
But the change itself is undeniable." He paused.
"The servants also mentioned that she watched you quite intently during dinner.
In a way that seemed... genuine. Which, given her previous fixation on Lord Percival, is notable. "
Caspian felt something odd in his chest at those words. "You're speculating."
"I'm observing," Sterling countered. "The servants report the Duchess was visibly nervous before dinner, yet engaged in genuine conversation once seated.
She asked about your day, your estate. She apologized for past behavior.
And she's agreed to dine with you again tomorrow night.
These are observable facts, Your Grace."
"I told her we would have dinner again," Caspian said.
"And she said she'd like that," Sterling pointed out. "In my experience, when a woman says she'd like to spend more time with a man, it's generally a positive sign."
"Or part of an elaborate plot," Edwin added. "Could go either way."
"Helpful," Caspian muttered.
"I try." Edwin stood, stretching. "Look, I'll keep watch on her.
My men will report anything suspicious. But Your Grace—" He met Caspian's eyes, suddenly serious.
"Don't dismiss the possibility that she might actually be trying to make things better.
I know you don't trust easily. Hell, I wouldn't trust her either after everything she's done.
But if there's even a chance she's sincere... "
He trailed off, but Caspian understood what he wasn't saying.
You've been alone for a long time. You're about to be a father. Maybe it's worth hoping for something better than mutual avoidance and poison attempts.
"I'll be cautious," Caspian said finally. "But I'll... observe with an open mind."
"That's all we can ask," Sterling said, standing as well. "Shall I have the dining room prepared for tomorrow evening?"
"Yes. Same time, same arrangement."
"Very good, Your Grace." Sterling bowed and headed for the door.
Edwin followed, but paused at the threshold. "You know, for what it's worth—she has good taste."
Caspian looked up. "What?"
"The hedge she chose. It actually does have a terrible view of the eastern formations. The eastern terrace really is much better positioned." Edwin's grin returned. "Shows she was paying attention to the training, not just... other things."
"Get out," Caspian said, though without any real irritation.
Edwin left, still grinning.
Alone in his study, Caspian returned to the reports on his desk. Border patrol schedules. Supply requisitions. Monster activity reports. The usual organized chaos of managing a duchy and defending the kingdom's northern border.
But his mind kept drifting back to dinner.
To Caroline's nervous rambling about his "very impressive" kill count and how she'd immediately backtracked. To the way she'd made that joke about poison being "theoretically inconvenient." To how she'd actually laughed when he'd made his comment about the eastern terrace.
To the way she'd looked at him with those amber eyes, her cheeks pink, like she was seeing him for the first time.
He didn't understand it.
He understood tactical formations and combat strategies and political maneuvering. He understood duty and responsibility and the weight of the Vanthorn name.
But he did not understand his wife.
And he especially didn't understand why part of him—a very small, very foolish part—was actually looking forward to tomorrow's dinner.
To see what she would do next.
To see if she would blush again.
Tactical assessment, he told himself firmly. That's all this is. Strategic observation of a potentially hostile element.
The fact that said hostile element had honey-blonde hair and amber eyes and a smile that had caught him off guard had nothing to do with it.
Nothing at all.
Caspian looked down and realized he'd been holding the same report for the last ten minutes without reading a single word.
"Damn it," he muttered to the empty room.
This was going to be more complicated than he'd thought.