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“I just wish…” Phillipa looked down at the floor. It was strange really. Her husband was the one who was going through the pain, but she was feeling it too. “I want to make it better for him.”

“You care about him greatly,” Augusta said, observing her sister. “I can tell that the two of you have gotten closer.”

Augusta could only stare back. Whatever she was saying wasn’t wrong in the slightest, but it felt odd to hear it out loud.

Yes, she did care about him. More than she had ever thought she would.

“It’s terrifying, all the same,” she said finally. “It’s hard to keep a safe distance, I suppose.”

“He is your husband, after all. Why maintain the distance?”

Once again, her friend had a point. But Phillipa couldn’t forget that their marriage had been one of convenience, not of love.

“He’s my husband, yes,” Phillipa nodded. “But not without conditions.”

“Maybe the conditions are only in your mind.”

“Aren’t most things?” Phillipa argued. “That doesn’t make them any less real.”

In earnest, Phillipa was only scared of being hurt. It was almost too tempting to get closer to Gregory, especially now that he needed her most. But at the same time, she had to keep reminding herself that their marriage and the conditions in which it came about.

“Terrifying,” she said again, sighing to herself softly.

“I suppose, yes. But all the things that are worth doing usually are,” Augusta replied.

“How do you always seem to know what the right thing to say is?” she asked her sister.

They were not so far apart in age, but it seemed like she had decades of wisdom on her.

“I’ve been through this myself, dear,” Augusta replied. “I know it can be scary when you’re falling in love with a man.”

Love.

The word unsettled her entirely.

“Oh, I think you might just be getting ahead of yourself,” Phillipa argued. “We are not in love, I am not in…”

Sure, yes. She cared about him greatly, but love felt like a serious emotion. It was the concern of women who spent their days reading romance novella and dreaming of a fairytale. It had nothing to do with Phillipa, surely.

“Whatever you say,” Augusta smiled coyly. “I think it’s better if you arrive at the conclusion yourself.”

Dinner was a quiet affair, and neither of them seemed hungry.

Phillipa watched as the duke pushed the food around in his plate. He hadn’t looked up much at all.

He had come in on time, and said, “Good evening,” and asked whether Theodore had eaten, and had nodded at the answer. He was civil and composed, but his mind was somewhere else entirely.

“Did you sleep well?” she asked, watching him closely.

He gave her a shrug. “As usual.”

Phillipa could see the eyebags and the signs of tiredness on his face. Though his answer hadn’t conveyed much, his face told a different story all together.

What can I do to help you? “And are you hungry? Cook has made a great spread for today, and I had asked him to make all of your favourite things. I think you should eat, and nourish yourself.”

Once again, he only gave a curt nod.

This felt like the worst of it. It wasn’t as though he was ignoring her in any way. He was replying to everything that she was saying to him, but at the same time, his answers left a lot to desire.