London, February 1885

Sabrina drew a deep breath and paused her writing endeavour. At last, she found herself able to sit calmly and compose letters to her family and friends, hoping to assuage their concerns which must've been heightened by the months she had gone without sending a single response from her own hand. For the first time since her arrival in England, Sabrina's mind was at peace and her conscience settled.

Her tranquillity was owed to none other than Lord Jamieson who did not shy from putting his tongue to ministrations upon her most intimate flesh. And when she reached her apex, he would part her thighs further, gently teasing her form before plunging himself into her warm, slick pussy. Sabrina couldn't help but smirk at the memory of his studious gaze as he observed, touched and kissed her skin, as though she were some fantastical creature, appearing only at certain hours and days at his domicile.

Setting her pen back into the ink, her eyes fell upon the ostentatious ring adorning her finger, and which bore the Grantchester crest. She knew well from Caro's smug demeanour that Henry was indeed warming her bed, though he had yet to bring his paramour into his bedchamber. Sabrina wondered whether this was out of respect for his wife or merely due to the comfort of Caro's own bed.

Henry, as ever, was tight-lipped about his affairs, and were it not for Caro's satisfied composure, Sabrina might have doubted that he had any such dalliance at all. It was, of course, commendable that he did not flaunt it before her like some scarlet cloak meant to infuriate his wife. Still, Sabrina also recalled his earlier request to know the identity of her own lover, and she had yet to divulge the truth about Arthur. She has refrained thus far, mayhap, only because she had barely seen her husband of late.

Later that very day, though, the opportune moment arrived, following the lesson in etiquette conducted by an elderly gentleman, whose expression soured visibly upon observing Sabrina's struggle to distinguish between the various glasses and cutlery, or their respective purpose. When the ordeal finally concluded and the man had taken his leave, both Henry and Sabrina remained seated at the small, round table.

She noted the curiosity in his gaze and knew precisely what question was to follow, even before he parted his lips.

"My dear wife," he began in a slightly teasing tone, "who, pray tell, has been the culprit behind your newfound contentment of late?"

"Lord Jamieson, your neighbor," she replied without a moment of hesitation.

Henry's brows arched. "Lord Jamieson? Are you quite certain?"

Sabrina nodded. "Absolutely. A gentleman of my height, dark blonde hair and thick moustache, if I recall correctly."

"That does indeed describe Lord Jamieson."

"And why, pray tell, do I sense surprise in you?"

He appeared to hesitate with the reply, but then sighed and said, "There's a rumour that suggests he rather prefers the company of men."

Sabrina scoffed. "Arthur very much rejoices in my company, thank you very much."

Her defiant response drew the faintest hint of a smile upon Henry's countenance. "Sabrina, I am merely cautioning you that, rather than encountering a jealous woman, you may find yourself face to face with a deeply indignant man. I urge you to be careful."

"We are indeed careful, Henry, have no fear," she replied, to which he gave a brief nod before taking his leave.

His wife lingered a while longer, her gaze absently fixed upon the window, lost in contemplation, when a sharp, indignant voice interrupted her quiet contemplation.

"I inquired whether you intend to tarry here for the entire day."

Sabrina rose and met Caro's gaze. "Why, you are welcome to make use of any other room if my presence displeases you so."

The widow scoffed. "I find this one the most suitable for my reading. Besides, are you not bound to depart for your usual clandestine rendezvous with your lover? Do not bother denying it—I have already discerned this pattern of yours. Every two or three days you disappear for over two hours, and I highly doubt it is the beauty of nature that captivates you so during your solitary strolls."

Sabrina frowned at the insinuation. "Even if such an absurd notion were true, it would hardly be any of your concern."

"Oh, please, I cannot be grateful to you enough for so generously stepping aside from your marital duties," Caro replied in a tone of satisfied amusement. "It afforded me the pleasure of spending Henry's entire birthday with him, as his dutiful wife was otherwise happily tupping her lover. Everyone is triumphing in this arrangement, what else could one ask for?"

The mention of Henry's birthday felt like a blade twisting in Sabrina's gut. She inhaled sharply as her heart experienced a potent tug as well, a reaction not escaping Caro's attention.

"What is it, Your Grace? You look as though you might be on the verge of throwing up," Caroline asked in a falsely concerned voice, but Sabrina refrained from any reply; instead, she turned and made her way towards her bedchamber.

Caro observed her retreat with a smug smirk on her face, settling herself in the very chair Sabrina had just occupied before abruptly leaving the place.

Once inside, the duchess swiftly closed the door and leaned heavily against it, as though her strength had left her. The realisation that she had entirely forgotten her husband's birthday ignited a profound sense of guilt. And yet, it seemed absurd to feel so strongly over something that, in truth, was of no grave consequence.

But Henry, despite all that had transpired between them, had been there for her in her painful moment, had sought to make amends and had granted her freedom most women could only dream of, Sabrina had to admit. They were meant to be amiable with each other, and was not the remembrance of such important dates a part of that shared civility? What did it say of her as a woman, a wife no less, that she had forgotten? It seemed Caro had been right—the bedding prowess of another man, a veritable stranger on that occasion, had clouded both her mind and her judgement.

She had seen the date of Henry's birth on the very document they signed for the solicitors, for fuck's sake!

"Fuck!" Sabrina exclaimed and sobbed, letting the tears fall freely from her eyes.

There could be no other explanation for such a sudden sensitivity and heightened emotion save her impending monthly cycle, for she already felt the telltale ache low in her belly. All that remained was to calm herself, wipe her tears, and offer Henry her sincerest apology, accompanied by heartfelt wishes.

Unfortunately for her, Henry was just getting attired to his usual daily dress, hence his hearing caught her sobs and her curse. His brow furrowed as he approached the door between their bedchambers, opening it ajar. The moment his gaze fell upon her tear-streaked face, he crossed the room in swift strides and took her shoulders in his hands.

"Good grief, Sabrina, what has happened?!"

"I—I am sorry, Henry," she managed between sobs, hastily brushing the tears from her cheeks. "I should never have forgotten your birthday. It was thoughtless of me and ungrateful, considering all that you have done for me."

He was uncertain whether to laugh in amusement, scoff in disbelief, or both. "My dear, there is nought to weep over! My birthday has never truly held any importance for me, and I daresay I am hardly deserving of your tears and concern," he reassured her gently, quite the opposite of what she had anticipated.

Henry even dared to embrace her, drawing her into a tender hug!

"Hush, Sabrina, I take no offence," he murmured into her ear, for seeing her in tears stirred something within him, this almost primal need to protect her, though the cause of her distress was, to his mind, rather trifling.

"But—but even Caroline knows how to be considerate, unlike myself!"

At this remark, his brows furrowed, and it did not take him long to discern from whence the breeze blew. "Caroline cares for no one but herself. She only knew it was my birthday because I told her as much."

Sabrina's weeping softened, and she took a moment to reflect. Indeed, Caroline's character suited one who relished in orchestrating half-truths and subtle cruelties, her favourite target being Sabrina of them all, if for no other reason than her own wicked amusement. Yet, in the drawing room earlier, Caroline had done little more than display her usual smugness and sharpness. Henry gently released her from his embrace and gazed directly into his wife's eyes.

"If some spiteful widow cannot restrain herself from schemes, then there is no other course but to make it clear to the bitch that her days of manipulation are at an end."

Sabrina blinked, shaking her head. "She did not utter a single hurtful word, Henry. It was I who felt at fault for forgetting your birthday."

But the bull was already seeing red, resolved to make it abundantly clear that no one would dare wound his wife with so much as an insolent word. His stride was so swift that Sabrina nearly had to run to keep pace, halting only when he flung the drawing room door ajar.

Caroline lay reclined upon a daybed, far more comfortable than the chair she had earlier occupied, a novel clutched in her hand when the sound of the door swinging open stole her attention.

"Have your things gathered, Caro. You shall leave this manor at once," Henry declared, his voice firm and laced with an unmistakable threat.

She blinked in disbelief, scarcely able to comprehend his words. "Why? What transpires?" Her gaze darted between Henry and Sabrina in confusion.

"You are a nuisance to my wife," Henry retorted with indignation, "and by extension, a nuisance to me. For fuck's sake, Caro, do you not enjoy the comforts of your life? Are we not being lovers? What in blazing inferno could you possibly want more from me?!"

The widowed lady parted her lips in stunned confusion. "What in blazing inferno are you accusing me of?!" she rejoined in fierce incredulity.

"Henry, she did not say—" Sabrina tried to become the voice of reason, only to be cut short by her husband.

"Her words have hurt you!" Henry exclaimed, turning his sharp gaze back to Caroline. "Your pettiness is your undoing, and it is long past time you return to the place whence it came—your family."

"No!" Caroline shrieked, rising from the daybed and flinging herself at Henry. "Not to my family, I beg you!"

Sabrina had never before witnessed a mature woman so desperate and overwhelmed with dread as Caro was at that very moment, clutching the duke's shoulders in her plea, her countenance streaked with immediate tears.

"I beg of you, do not—"

But Henry, retaining a stern visage, merely extricated himself and took his leave. Crestfallen, Caro briefly glanced at Sabrina, her lips parted as though on the verge of speaking, but she reconsidered and hurriedly departed as well.

Sabrina, knowing well that going after her indignant husband too hastily could be a mistake, chose to wait. She sought him in his study only after the midday repast. As she entered, he looked up from the book he was writing, regarding his wife with a quizzical gaze. When Sabrina approached his polished table, Henry stood up and donned his spectacles.

"Caroline will depart first thing in the morning, you need not to trouble yourself with her further," he said, his voice indifferent.

"Do not send her away," Sabrina replied, stepping closer—so close, in fact, that for a moment, Henry suspected she intended to seduce him, unbidden, for some reason he could not fathom at all.

Why else would she invade his intimate sphere?!

But Sabrina continued, "You see, one's birthday is a momentous occasion in my family, a time for gathering, for affection and gifts. To neglect it would be to spurn the person's very existence. I feel I wronged you by not acknowledging yours."

Her black eyes remained fixed on his blue ones, but Henry could feel Sabrina's fingers lightly brushing the hem of his tweed waistcoat, then trailing gently the back of his hand. Though insignificant, it held power that made him draw a deep breath.

The minx was buttering him up with her womanly wiles!

This was likely the influence of Jamieson's teachings in brazenness, for Henry could find no other explanation for her conduct. Had she but known that her tears alone were enough to compel him to tear asunder anyone who dared to cause her distress... Yet, he cleared his throat, taking a step back, feigning a return to his book.

"Why is it that, of all things, you concern yourself with one of my paramours?" he inquired sharply, noting how she lingered in anticipation of an answer to her request, her gaze fixed intently upon him. "You seem unable to return the greetings of my cousins, yet now you care about Caro?"

Sabrina's face betrayed her confusion. "I did not return their greetings?!"

"Aye, my cousin Martin and his wife observed you on a stroll some time ago. They called out to you, but to no avail. Now they are convinced my wife deliberately avoids the family, on top of ignoring their inquiries during meals."

Her gaze lowered to the carpeting as if searching feverishly for an excuse—a convincing one, ideally. "I apologize, I truly did not know! I must have been lost in my thoughts, wholly unaware of my surroundings. And I certainly pay little heed while partaking in sustenance!"

"It is always your deep contemplations, is it not?" Henry narrowed his gaze. "But why, pray tell, are you avoiding the family? I understand they can be a rather unnerving lot, but amiability works wonders, as you've already learned in regard to our own arrangement."

Realising that he might not be able to extract any kind of admission from her that day, Henry found himself compelled to lift her stubborn chin gently, so that she was forced to meet his gaze once more.

"What is it you're not telling me, dear wife?"

"I harbor no secrets," she retorted, her jaw clenched so tightly that Henry could see the tension in the muscles of her face.

"Whatever it is, anything you do not tell me today I shall find out tomorrow," he said softly, yet Sabrina could discern the menacing undertone in his words.

But she wasn't easily frightened.

"Why do you wish to father only daughters?" she rejoined.

Tit for tat, if she was to be figuratively stripped nude where her secrets were concerned, her dear husband should do the same. Yet Sabrina knew she wouldn't receive a satisfactory answer from him before she even dared to ask.

Henry blinked a few times, let go of his wife's chin and replied, "Because I do not wish to sire a son."

"But for what reason?" Sabrina pressed further. "Every man prays for a son, his heir."

"I do not," he said curtly as the first embers of indignation appeared in Henry's eyes.

Sabrina scoffed and approached him so closely that their noses almost touched. "Whatever you're keeping to yourself, my dear husband, I shall unearth as you did with your relics."

His lips curled into a smile and she caught the threat a moment too late—Henry's arms were too quick for her to escape their grasp on her hips as he pressed her against his chest, causing her to gasp. Despite it couldn't be felt through the many layers of fabric, Sabrina harboured no doubt that her husband was hard as an oak below his waist.

"You come here making demands, admitting to harbouring secrets and threatening me while you touch me, Sabrina? Don't you know what a single touch can do to my person?!"

"It certainly causes your reason to bid farewell to your head, I can vouch for that," she retorted, trying to extricate herself, only making his grip stronger in return.

If he wanted to, he could press his lips to hers, that's how close he held her.

"I concur, and there is also a desire to bed you ever so fiercely," Henry said in a voice laden with passion, though the words themselves surprised him as well. "Just because we have our arrangements on the side doesn't mean we have to cease our intimacy. On the contrary, I'm convinced we're both more knowledgeable now, even better at this ancient craft of lovemaking, and at last able to correct the mishaps that occurred early on in our marriage."

Sabrina scoffed, but his words caused her cheeks to flush with crimson. "You would have to last as long as Jamieson for me to allow you in my bed! Not to mention your carelessness with spilling your spunk in me!"

"And mayhap procreation is just what you need," Henry retorted, inhaling Sabrina's ever pleasing scent. "Nine months free of pains—is that not tempting to you, wife?"

Initially, he aimed to scare her off, but now he felt dangerously close to dragging her to the desk instead, sweeping everything off it, only to have her recline upon the thing with her legs spread open...

"I am only willing to give a child to a man with whom we would share mutual affection," she retorted.

Her words caused Henry to loosen his grip, and then slowly retract his arms fully. The sudden change in his composure made Sabrina narrow her eyes.

"Does it frighten you? The thought of being in love—that is part of your secret, if not its entirety."

He'd forgotten how wickedly clever and perceptive she could be, but he wasn't going to let her read him like an open book, hence Henry shook his head and put on his best performance yet. "Why should I be afraid of something that will never grace my life?"

Henrycouldn't miss the expression she cast on her face,albeit for a split second, as if he had trampled on something very dear to her.Sabrina swallowed, smiled faintly and took her leave in silence. The dukeobserved her, knowing full well that he was once more a brute and a lyingbastard to his own wife.