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Emily said nothing. She was frantically trying to remember the way back to her room, but it was no good. They’d taken so many turns, taken ‘shortcuts’ through countless rooms, gone down corridor after corridor.

How will I ever get to know this place? How will it ever feel like home?

Any such thoughts were abruptly wiped out of her mind, however, when they stepped through a large, arched doorway and into the most beautiful room she had ever seen.

“His Grace calls it the Art Room,” Isabel revealed, sounding faintly amused. “He was very specific about what he wanted. I helped get it ready for you, Your Grace.”

The room was circular, with a high, domed glass ceiling. The windows were wide and high, filling the space with clear golden sunlight.

Through the windows, Emily could see the gardens; high, swaying grass dotted with wildflowers, thick trees in the distance, and purplish hills sprouting beyond. Curved bookshelves ran around the walls, with chairs, tables, desks, and other pieces of furniture littered here and there in an artfully alluring way. There was a wide stone hearth with a pair of armchairs angled towards it, looking for all the world as if a pair of ghosts sat there, warming their feet on a ghostly fire, enjoying each other’s company.

In the center of the room was a circular platform, an easel, and a blank canvas on it, in front of which sat Emily’s paint-splattered painting chair. She spotted her things here and there—unfinished canvases propped up in a corner, a battered old trunk containing her art supplies pushed against a wall, with her wooden paint palette resting on top of it.

Emily simply stood there, breathless, taking it all in. The longer she looked, the more details she noticed—empty shelves and cupboards for further supplies, a well-polished kettle sitting by the hearth for tea while she worked, and a neat stack of what she guessed were fresh, empty sketchbooks.

“This… this is all for me?” she whispered.

“It certainly is,” came a male voice.

Flinching, Emily spun around to find Cassian lounging in the doorway, his hands tucked in his pockets. He was smiling wryly.

“Can I assume that you like it, then?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

She swallowed. “Yes. Yes, I do. It’s… it’s beautiful, Cassian. I only asked for a quiet, little room to paint. You didn’t have to do all ofthis.”

Cassian opened his mouth to speak, hesitated, and closed it again, glancing at Isabel. “You may go,” he said curtly.

Isabel, who appeared to be hiding a smile, bobbed a neat curtsey and slipped out of the room.

“What do you think of the maid, by the way?” Cassian asked, abruptly changing the subject. “She’s called Isabel, isn’t she? The housekeeper thought she’d make a decent maid for you. The poor girl supports her family, I believe, and sends every penny of her wages back to them. A lady’s maid, naturally, would be paid more. Of course, if you want a proper French lady’s maid, then?—”

“I like Isabel. But, Cassian, why did you do all of this? Especially after—” Emily broke off, biting her lip. “I know I disappointed you with my request to delay… things. But I imagine you did this beforehand.”

A shadow passed over Cassian’s face. He turned away, under the pretense of examining a nearby bookshelf.

“I had this arranged beforehand, yes. The final touches were added to the room only this morning. But as to the business to which you refer, I can assure you that I am more ashamed of my behavior than yours.”

She frowned. “I don’t understand.”

He shrugged lightly. “I’m not a child to throw tantrums when I do not get what I want.”

“You hardly threw a tantrum.”

He chuckled. “No, but I was not gracious. This commission from the Prince Regent is a great thing, Emily. You are right to take him up on it. As to this room… well, I had always intended to give it to you for your art.” He glanced down at her, smiling faintly. “I believe I had intended to give it to you since ourfirstwedding day.”

She flinched. “What?”

“Oh yes. Even after your sister ran away, leaving us alone, I found myself looking at you, and I saw you standing here, just as you are now, as mistress of this house. Isn’t that the strangest thing?”

Emily stared up at him, breathless, her eyes wide.

Say something,she urged herself, desperately trying to form some word or another.

But then he glanced away, and the spell was broken.

There was a creaking by the door, as if somebody stood there, and Emily wondered vaguely whether Isabel was eavesdropping. She could see no one by the door, however, and so she put the thought out of her mind.

“But I must confess that I find myself hoping to get a glimpse of the paintings you’ll present to the Prince Regent,” Cassian continued, his voice brisk. The emotion she’d heard in it moments ago was gone altogether, as if it were never there. “Just a peek will do.”