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Penny shrugged. “Usually, he’d talk about business with his uncle and the Dowager Duchess during breakfast and luncheon, but he has been very quiet in your absence, mostly taking his meals in his study.”

“Oh?” Sophia cleared her throat. “Is he unwell, perhaps?”

“If he is, then I am not aware of it,” Penny replied. “He has not requested any medicines or special soups.”

“Well… thank you for your assistance. I have some letters to write, and would relish a cup of chamomile tea if one can be prepared?”

Penny curtseyed. “Of course, Your Grace.”

Clearly glad to have a purpose, she exited the room in a rush.

Sophia’s return to the house had been accompanied by minimal fanfare, and that was exactly what she preferred. She did have a gnawing thought at the back of her mind, however, born from the fact that Thomas had seemingly ignored the days of her absence. He hadn’t even sent someone to check on her during her stay at Rosamund’s. But Penny’s words confused her even more.

I am not going to bring my pride down just for him. If he wants to talk to me, he can come and find me himself. I shall not chase an explanation.

She pressed her lips together in anger as she slammed the drawer shut on her petticoats and lingered there for a moment, her hands braced on the dresser. Every instinct inside her was at war with her thoughts, urging her to seek out her husband and demand answers.

I won’t. I am above that… aren’t I?

She pushed away from the dresser, and with a resigned breath, she stormed out of the room.

Just don’t think about it. Don’t. Just go. Go and find him. You have every right to demand an explanation. A duchess acts, and I ama duchess.

She approached his study and slowed down, realizing she was panting.

I don’t need to show him I was in a hurry.

Sophia slowed her breathing and opened the door to his study without knocking, ready to launch into a tirade. What she found was not at all what she had expected.

Thomas was not sitting at his desk but on a chair, skimming through a lengthy document. He raised his head in surprise as she entered, but he relaxed as soon as he saw her, expelling what was unmistakably a sigh of relief.

“Oh, it’s you,” he said and turned his attention back to the document.

You could at least pretend you aren’t enthused to see me.

“I hope your stay at Rosamund’s house was fruitful,” he continued in a bland tone.

More than you’d believe.

Sophia kept her exciting discovery to herself, biding her time.

“Rosamund sends her regards and well wishes.” She approached slightly, wanting to observe him, but she kept her distance. He didn’t look well. A set of dark crescents had formed under his eyes, and his shoulders were hunched. “Are you…” She gestured towards him, and he looked back at her, confused.

“What is this?” He mimicked her gesture.

“Are you well?” she replied a tad too tersely. “You look under the weather.”

“A few rough nights,” he said stiffly. “Think I might have eaten something that didn’t agree with me. I don’t suppose my grandmother sent you back with some sort of concoction for an ailment like that, did she?”

No, but I have a remedy for an eighty-year-old disease.

He stood up, the weakness in his posture still prevalent.

“She didn’t, but I could fetch you something,” she said with a neutral expression, but Thomas completely ignored her.

“You should make some preparations for tomorrow. We are attending a garden party at the Rutherfords’ estate.”

“Very well. I have the perfect gown.”