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“I am repairing this seat. This used to belong to Henry, am I right?” he asked.

“Y…yes,” Rosamund replied, watching the Duke try to repair the chair. She wondered if she knew how to use the wooden mallet, or any tool for that matter.

“As you can see, the seat’s joints are already rotting,” he explained.

“I can see that,” Rosamund said, raising an eyebrow. “But you - the Duke of Westbourne, wielding the mallet, a chisel, and some brass nails? What else do you need, Your Grace? Or perhaps do you need the assistance of your butler? Or do we need bandages, instead? Alice has many.”

“Lady Rosamund, I do possess adequate mechanical competence,” the Duke said dryly, while his hands continued moving over the chair.

He used his mallet to strike the peg. The latter splintered quickly into jagged pieces. Unfortunately, the mallet slipped and graced his knuckles against the rough wood. He muttered something under his breath, possibly a curse. Then, he stepped back, shaking his hand. He was obviously in pain, but would not say so.

Rosamund could not help but let out an unladylike snort. “Mechanical competence and workmanship, Your Grace. The village carpenters live in terror of your competition.”

“It was the wood’s fault,” he protested, keeping his aristocratic expression even as a line of red appeared on his palm.

It seemed like a trivial injury, but Rosamund was still compelled to inspect it.

“Let me take a look,” she said.

She did not leave him with any choice. She took his large hand in both of hers so that she could inspect his palm. It was barely bleeding, with a tiny scrap of skin peeled back. Neither of them moved. Rosamund’s thumb lingered on his wrist, feeling his strong and steady pulse. When the wind blew the Duke’s hair, she could not help but feel mesmerized, watching the strands move as if in slow motion.

“I have survived a grievous injury,” the Duke murmured, mock-seriously.

“Your bravery is inspirational, Your Grace,” she said, meeting his gaze boldly.

“Do you not think then that such bravery deserves a reward?” he asked softly, giving her one of those half-rakish smiles.

“How should I even attempt to reward a Duke?” she asked, her throat suddenly dry.

The Duke did not respond with words. Instead, his eyes slid deliberately down to her mouth. He let his gaze linger on the soft curve of her lips with a naked hunger that had her blushing and feeling breathless.

Flustered, Rosamund dropped his hand. Then, she stepped back, smoothing her dress as if it would also smoothen her complicated emotions. Meanwhile, the Duke looked delighted, his eyes dancing with amusement,wiping his scratched palm with his handkerchief.

“Perhaps, a future negotiation?” he asked, letting the question hang.

“May I please be excused, Your Grace?” she finally breathed. “I have some chores to attend to. Thank you for helping with the chair.”

Both of them knew he had not really helped with the chair.

Later that afternoon, Rosamund had a different visitor. Thomas Wycliffe requested a private moment with her in the garden. They sat on wicker chairs opposite each other, with her feeling nervous and he looking formal, but thankfully, with his usual kind face.

“Lady Rosamund,” Thomas began, as he adjusted his cuffs. He might be more nervous than he initially seemed to be. “I wanted to speak to you today to clarify an important matter.”

“Have I offended you in some way, Mr. Wycliffe?” Rosamund asked, her brows furrowed. “Or perhaps embarrassed you?”

“Not in the least, my lady,” Thomas replied, smiling warmly. Something in his kind face struck Rosamund, making her feel guilty about not having the same affection for him. “I had intended to court you and make a formal plea for your hand.”

“I -” Rosamund did not know what to say. She had always known this, but for it to be said aloud made it difficult for her to respond.

“I no longer intend to pursue it, Lady Rosamund,” he finished. “I have recognized that your heart has moved on elsewhere.”

“That is not -,” she began protesting.

“Lady Rosamund, please do not insult my intelligence,” he said. “I can also see that Lord Westbourne cares for you deeply. However, you must not accept half-trust from any man merely because you love him. Do not settle for less, my lady. Do not accept anything but total honesty.”

Rosamund was moved by Thomas’s grace and nobility. She blinked back some tears.

“You are a good man,” she breathed, her chest tightening. Again, she was reminded how simple her life could have been if she would accept the offer he used to have for her.