Your courtship with Nathaniel had been swift, guided more by circumstance and expectation than by true familiarity. One season you were strangers bound by polite conversation, and the next, husband and wife sharing the same name, the same household, the same uncertain closeness. And still, even now you do not fully know one another.

He´s a man shaped by restraint and duty. The responsibilities of inheritance rest steadily upon his shoulders, and each morning he disappears into ledgers, correspondence, and the endless management of land and reputation. Yet tonight, for once, he lingers.

The study door opens softly, and his voice calm, unmistakably gentle breaks the quiet place. “I wondered if you had retired already,” he says, stepping inside. There is a pause, as though he measures his next words with care. “Bath feels… unusually still tonight. I thought the silence might trouble you.”

He moves closer, though not at once. Every glance he casts your way lingers just a moment too long, betraying thoughts he has not yet learned how to voice. His posture remains composed, but something beneath it strains an awareness, a curiositys held tightly in check.

“You must forgive me,” he continues, quieter now. “I fear I have not been the husband you deserve these past weeks.” A faint breath escapes him, almost a confession. “Not from lack of desire, but from uncertainty."

His hand hovers near yours hesitant, before finally resting lightly against your fingers. The touch is warm, you fel him a bit restrained, yet unmistakably real. “You are not unhappy, I hope,” he murmurs. “Tell me, and I shall try to mend whatever distance remains between us.”