Kate awoke to a cold, empty room.

She’d fallen asleep thinking about Ravenwood. The look on his face when she’d confessed to never even reading his poem… Her throat thickened.

She had been so focused on instilling greater understanding and appreciation for the beautiful, artistic world around her that she’d failed to apply the same dedication to her marriage.

Not anymore. She was Duchess of Ravenwood. From this day forward, she would embody that role with the same passion she held for antiquities and the arts.

No—with more passion. She would give her husband a real reason to be proud of her. Theatre was a fictional world. She lived in this one. Antiquities would not keep her warm at night or write poetry for her.

Only Ravenwood did that. With luck, he would someday do so again.

She rolled to her side and slid her hand beneath the pillow to retrieve the poem he’d written her. What was left of it, anyway.

The parchment crinkled and nicked the pad of her finger.

She frowned. The parchment was no longer stiff enough to crinkle. She’d handled it too much, straining by candlelight to try and make out any words from the blurred soup. The paper was almost soft as linen.

Until now.

She shot upright and flung the pillow from the bed. It was not the same parchment at all. It was a fresh sheet, not torn from a journal or ravaged by rain. Folded into crisp thirds, it lay perfect and innocent right where the ruined poem had lain the night before.

She glanced at the closed connecting door separating her bedchamber from her husband’s, then unfolded the parchment with trembling fingers.

A Second Poem For My Wife was printed in a now-familiar hand across the top of the page.

Her breath caught.

Her fingers shook. He wasn’t furious at her for letting the rain destroy his poem after all. That wonderful, gallant, unpredictable man had written her a new one—and delivered it while she slept.

Pulse racing, she trembled as she read the rest of the romantic words filling both sides of the paper. Every verse filled her heart even more. She read the lines again and again.

He loved her. Not for her beauty or grace, but for the enthusiasm she held for everything around her. He loved her passion for antiquities, her fervent dream to unite artists and aficionados of all types.

But mostly, he loved how she loved. How she opened herself wholeheartedly, no matter how much it might hurt. How to be loved by her meant something true, deep, and unconditional.

How with her, he’d found his future…and lost his heart.

She gasped and pressed the poem to her chest. Her pulse pounded. She loved him so much she thought her heart might burst from the intensity.

She leapt up from the bed and burst through their adjoining door into his bedchamber.

It was empty.

She spun back to her dressing room and rang for her maid to help button her into a day dress as quickly as possible.

The moment she was presentable, she dashed from her chamber and raced straight for his office.

It was empty.

Frustrated, she tried the library, the dining rooms, then finally found him in her aunt’s sickroom, reading aloud to Aunt Havens from an Ann Radcliffe gothic novel. Her heart swelled.

He rose to his feet the moment he saw her.

She flew across the room and into his arms. “I’ll make you the best possible duchess Ravenwood House has ever seen.”

“I have the perfect duchess,” he said in his low voice as he held her tight. “I saw the family room. I have no idea how you did it, but…thank you. You’re amazing.”

Warmth spread through her. “I wanted you to have more than memories. I wanted you to have a piece of your family.”

“You are my family,” he told her. “You, Aunt Havens, Jasper… We are a family. Together. That parlor is more than a miracle. It’s meant to be enjoyed. By all of us. We’ll fill it with new memories.”

She smiled into his cravat and snuggled close. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He lifted up her chin with his knuckle. “And I’d like you to rethink your resignation from the Society of the Creative and Performing Arts.”

She rose on her toes to kiss him. “I can’t go anywhere. Perhaps, once Ravenwood House once again runs smooth as clockwork…”

He arched his brows. “And perhaps you don’t have to go anywhere at all.”

She frowned up at him in confusion.

His grin was slow and wicked.

“Your grace?” The butler appeared in the doorway. “Guests are beginning to arrive.”

“Guests?” she asked, baffled. He’d invited people over while she slept?

“Send them to the ballroom,” Ravenwood ordered. “I believe they’ll all fit.”

“Ballroom?” she repeated. “At ten o’clock in the morning?”

The last time the Ravenwood ballroom had been used was seven months ago, when Lady Amelia had requisitioned it as a replacement venue for the seventy-fifth annual Sheffield Christmastide ball. Kate was certain her husband had only attended because it was his sister and his house.

“What on earth is happening?” she demanded.

He lifted a shoulder. “Your gala was cut short when you didn’t return after intermission. The performers and the patrons never received their promised opportunity to meet as equals, nor to discuss the arts or potential sponsorship.”

“You invited them here?” Giddiness made her lightheaded. “To the Ravenwood ballroom?”

“Our ballroom,” he corrected. “It should be large enough to serve as a monthly gathering point until you are ready to organize a supplementary gala for the second half of the performance. If the post is any indication, it will be an even worse crush than the opening night.”

“You’re helping with the gala?” She stared at him in befuddlement.

He shook his head. “Not just the gala. I am offering my services in any capacity you might need. There’s no reason to give up your dream. We can work on it together. You’ll just have to show me how.” He narrowed his eyes. “But please don’t make me memorize any journals.”

“Done.” Laughing, she pressed her lips to his.

The Society for Creative and Performing Arts wouldn’t just be a success for others—it would ensure she and her husband had even more reasons to spend time together. A mutual passion. They would be a team.

She laced her arms about his neck. “Have I mentioned how much I love you?”

“How fortuitous.” He swung her into his arms. “After the meeting, you can show me.”

She laughed and smacked his shoulder. “I intend to show you how much I love you every single day.”

He kissed her back. “As do I, my love. As do I.”

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