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He had missed having dinner with Dorothy again, but he tried not to think about it too much. He had been scarce since the beginning, and so in spite of their few meetings, she would not expect to see him often. That was what he hoped, at least.

As he left for his own bedchambers, however, he noticed the open balcony doors. They were only opened by a small amount, but he knew how his household was supposed to be, and thatdoor was always firmly closed. He opened it, stepping out into the night air.

And there she was, looking at the moonlight. He cleared his throat, and she turned to him sharply, her face pale.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

CHAPTER 12

It had been a foolish thing for Dorothy to ask, given that it was his home, but that did not signify.

"I noticed that the door was open," Morgan explained, gesturing to it.

"Yes, well, I did not want it to be locked behind me. This is very high in the air, and I do not believe that I could climb down the ivy if I needed to."

He laughed gently at her, then joined her at the balcony wall. He was much taller than her, and had to bend forward to lean down onto it, where she simply had to rest against it and place her hands at the height of her waist.

"And why are you out here?" he asked.

That had been a little more difficult to explain. In truth, she had gone there because she did not know where else to go. Her roomwas unsettling her with how yellow it was, and if she ventured out into the hallway she risked seeing her housekeeper, and she certainly did not want that.

She could not tell her husband such things. He was kind to her, and telling him that his mother had awful taste in wallpaper and his housekeeper was possibly evil was not a kind thing to do in response.

"I needed air," she said simply. "The view from here is also beautiful. I can see for miles."

"Yes, my mother liked to come here, or so I am told. She liked to look at the–"

Dorothy wondered why he had stopped himself, but then she followed his eyeline and saw that he was looking at the lake. She sighed, knowing that Mrs. Herrington had told him what she had done.

"I know that it was wrong of me," she explained. "But it was so warm out and the water was cool."

"Do not worry about that. I have told Mrs. Herrington that she is not to bother you anymore, nor do I wish to hear about what you do with your own time from her. This is your home, and you may do as you please."

"Except enter the west wing," she joked.

"Yes, except that."

A silence settled between them, but it was a comfortable one. The night was pleasant and the sky was clear, revealing thousands of stars. Dorothy looked for constellations, something Beatrice had taught her to do, but she was not as good as her friend was.

She was not as good as any of her friends.

"Are you all right?" he asked suddenly.

"Yes, of course. I was simply thinking about my friends. They are lovely, and I hope that they are doing well."

"Have you written to them?"

"Yes, and two of them have replied, but my friend who is a duchess has not. I understand that, for she is doubtlessly busy with her own duties, as well as her child. It must all be quite exhausting."

"It will be your life one day, perhaps. Are you– do you still want that?"

She turned to him, looking up at him with wide eyes and a furrowed brow. She had married him, had she not? What more proof did he need?

"Do you regret this marriage, I mean," he corrected himself. "I know that I have not made it particularly easy for you, and I have only myself to blame for that. I simply do not know how to be a husband."

"You have never been one before, so that is to be expected. I should know, having never been a wife."

"Is that to say you do not regret this?"