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“I am. From all accounts, Mr. Thompson is an excellent architect, and I expect an interesting conversation. Perhaps he can apprise me of the latest developments in London.”

“And I cannot wait to hear what his wife has to say of fashion. She has a special interest in the subject.”

William grinned. “Will you tell her our news?”

Caroline tilted her head in consideration before glancing down at her belly. “Not yet. Not until we have visited your uncle and aunt. They ought to be the first to know. They are the only family we have, after all.”

William rubbed a hand over his beard, thoughtful. “I believe it shall bring them joy. Their letter in response to our marriage was very warm. I can only hope this news will give them even greater happiness.”

“Of course it will.”

He gave her a soft smile. “You look lovely.”

She glanced down. She was wearing her mulberry walking dress, the one he most admired. “The fichu is delightful, is it not?”

William squinted at the lacy gauze that modestly shielded her. “Not as delightful as the one who wears it.”

She groaned and dropped her forehead into her hand. “I am very much looking forward to speaking with someone who truly appreciates fashion later today!”

He chuckled and reached for her hand, lifting it to press a kiss to her knuckles. “I am and always shall be a blacksmith, my love.”

“That is more than apparent.” Her tone was scolding, but her hazel eyes glowed with affection as she smiled back at him.

William and Barclay—the architect had insisted conversation would be much easier if they dispensed with formalities—were engaged in a spirited discussion regarding the lock William had recently perfected.

“Would you mind if we leave the table, my dear?” Barclay inquired of his wife.

Jane Thompson smiled and shook her head. “The meal is mostly over. Please go ahead.”

William threw a glance at Caroline, clearly seeking her assent. She gave a small nod, and the two men rose, animated by shared enthusiasm. Barclay Thompson, tall and lean with a fall of black hair and a beard not unlike her husband’s, had expressed an interest in partnering with William to produce the lock in London through his contacts. He foresaw considerable potential for profits in such a venture.

“I must confess,” Jane said with a wry smile once they had left the room, “I could no longer listen to the relative merits of brass versus zinc in the inner mechanisms of a lock.”

“May I go read my book now?” Little Tatiana looked up from her plate, her silvery-blonde hair escaping her plait, and her deep blue eyes wide with hope. The child was already lovely and would grow into a true beauty in time.

“Of course, darling. Mrs. Jackson and I shall be here if you need anything.”

The girl grinned, clearly eager to escape the dull company of adults. Rising quickly, she made her exit in a flutter of skirts, leaving Caroline and Jane to pick at the last vestiges of their meal.

“I wished to remark upon your fichu,” Jane said after a pause. “The lace is quite delicate.”

Caroline touched the fine edging, smiling softly. “It was a wedding gift. From the Duchess of Halmesbury.”

“Oh! You know the duchess? The duke is Barclay’s cousin.”

She nodded. “I was once in service at Baydon Hall for the Baron of Filminster. Her Grace was simply Miss Annabel then.”

Jane’s expression changed, her brow creasing with concern. “I do not suppose the news has reached Chatternwell yet.”

Caroline stilled. “What news?”

Jane hesitated, clearly uncertain. “I am not sure I ought to be the one to tell you, but as you will hear it soon regardless, I thought you might wish to send Her Grace a letter.”

Alarm fluttered in Caroline’s chest. “What has happened? Is Her Grace unwell?”

“No, not directly.” Jane bit her lip, her discomfort obvious. “We nearly postponed our journey here due to a family emergency in London. The earl assured us that we were not specifically needed and should proceed with our plans.”

Caroline’s fingers curled around the edge of her napkin. “What sort of emergency?”