Something had changed. There had been a slow and steady shifting for months, but the days since their return to Martis had intensified whatever it was.

Lecia was sure that her mother hadn't the faintest idea that anything was amiss. How could she? The woman had locked herself away in the Duchess' apartment for days. The dowager had accompanied her daughter and son-in-law to their home as a retreat from the overabundance of memories and reminders at Lekenbourgh. Out of respect—and also to maintain the deception of marital bliss—Lecia had kindly offered for her mother to occupy her suite. The privacy of those rooms had contained the widow's mourning so well that no one but the servants had spoken with her in days.

However, the rest of the palace was a milieu of stolen glances, gauche interactions, dismal health, and nonexistent repose. Lecia was sure the staff could sense the transformation, but they were discreet about it nonetheless. She was also confident that Vaughan suffered from the same perpetual discomfort. The late summer humidity was of no relief, either, as it seemed only to amplify their charged connection.

It was midafternoon on what felt like the hottest day Lecia had ever lived through. She sat alone in the library with the two-story windows opened as wide as they could be. The high ceilings helped to keep it somewhat temperate, though a breeze would have been appreciated. The young duchess had come to sit out of her husband's way. She'd tried to read, but couldn't focus on words let alone hold something in her hands or sit on a sofa. Everything had been so smothering, so she'd meandered to the piano bench and played fragments of a dozen songs that she couldn't fully remember at the moment. Lecia considered summer to be the most dreadful season, as it was a time of unappeasable restlessness. There were so many things she would have liked to do, but the godforsaken heat made it impossible to accomplish anything.

The day before, Lecia had ventured out for a walk through the gardens. It had been a milder day, and a fragrant breeze had revived her. The Duke had so many things to address, so he'd been permanently at his desk writing missives and combing through legers from dawn to dusk every day. She even suspected that he never came to his bed at night, either napping over his papers or taking rests on his settee. Though the work was surely important, he very clearly was trying to avoid her as much as she was trying to avoid him.

In the midst of a halfhearted nocturne, the library door flung open. Lecia struck a disharmonious chord in her surprise and jolted to attention. Vaughan strode toward her, his riding boots drumming over the hardwood floors in the most deliberate manner. He looked utterly miserable; an unshaven shadow darkened his face, and his hair stood on ends from ceaselessly running a hand through it. Like the day Lisette had visited, he wore only a very light shirt tucked into his pants and had the sleeves rolled up past his elbows. This time, though, he'd left a number of the buttons unfastened and had put on breeches. As he got closer, Lecia also noticed that he was nearly soaked through, the linen clinging to his skin.

He stopped before the piano and she rose to her feet, the bench screeching as it moved across the floor. Vaughan eyed her quickly, brows fiercely knitted together. Noticing the fearful look on his wife's face, he relaxed his features a bit.

"My apologies," he said hoarsely, then cleared his throat. "Come with me, we're going for a ride."

When he turned to exit, Lecia rushed toward him, instinctively grabbing his arm to make him stop.

"Ow," she muttered as his forearm sent an audible shock through her fingertips. "What do you mean?" she asked, finally looking at him after examining her hand. His eyes lingered on the spot she'd touched on his arm.

"It's too bloody hot in this palace," he grunted, meeting her gaze. "I know a place that's always cool, and the ride will create a nice wind on the way."

"Well wait," Lecia called when he went to take off again. "I'll need to change first."

This time when he started to leave, Lecia followed, quickening her steps to keep up with his long strides. He was clearly in a hurry.

"Vaughan, I can't ride out in this," she appealed. She was only wearing half of a dress, the stiffer outer layer forgotten in the wardrobe.

"You can," he insisted, looking again with a glance over his shoulder. "Archie has your boots by the door. Believe me, you'll suffocate in anything heavier than that."

Perhaps he was right. Admittedly, said forgotten layer may have in fact been the entire dress itself. Reveling in loosely fitted clothes, Lecia had often donned naught but a chemise and slip under a modest dressing gown around the castle as a girl. With all of the layers that went into her ensembles, it was easy to assemble something that was equally respectable and comfortable for relaxing at home. Dashing after her husband, though, Lecia couldn't help but consider how thin everything actually was. Her pantalettes would be the only thing between her and the saddle, and they wouldn't do much in the nature of protecting her from abrasions. She was also not entirely convinced that dyed silk chiffon would be enough to shield her body from revealing itself beneath two other semi-opaque layers.

As promised, her riding boots waited by the front doors. She quickly traded her slippers for the more appropriate footwear, and then followed the Duke outside. Already the air was suffocating her, but she marched up to her horse all the same. It only took a moment to notice that neither Wick nor Vaughan's horse, Beli, had saddles. He was waiting to give her a leg up, and she eyed him cautiously.

"I know you can do it," he said. "It's better this way."

Resigning to the cause, Lecia stepped up to her husband and took the reins in her left hand and skirts in her right. Archie, the groom, diverted his eyes as Vaughan raised her up and she swung a leg over Wick's back. The stableman then assisted his Lord onto Beli while Lecia adjusted herself. She appreciated her horse's former dressage training more than ever, as it had developed the muscles over his back to make him that much more comfortable to sit astride. She attempted to arrange her black gown more modestly about her legs, but the loose skirts were not loose enough to completely cover her. Her boots were entirely visible, but only the ruffled hems of her unmentionables peeked out just above her knees.

Generally a very quiet horseman, Lecia was surprised to hear her husband click and call "ymlaen" to Beli, the latter of which sounded more or less like a glottal grunt than a command. The colossal black Oldenburg immediately struck off into a canter, and with a mere graze of her heel, Wick followed.

While in London, Vaughan had ridden a far less impressive creature. Llewellyn, affectionately called "Louie", was a failed racehorse that the Duke had taken pity on and brought to live out in the pastures. He'd ended up being a decent mount with exceptional endurance despite being quite slow to move. The old boy raced his heart out to get his master back to Martis when the Baron died, though, so he was finding retirement quite grand.

From a fair distance behind, Lecia and Wick galloped after their guides. The Duchess marveled at the agility of her husband's new horse. She'd seen the giant animal in the stable and been informed of little else but his name, which was curious in and of itself. While Wick was a tall warmblood as well—a Mecklenburger like d'Artagnan's—his companion was so large that he was stabled in an open-front stall like the draughts. Thus, keeping up was somewhat difficult. She only hoped Vaughan would slow down eventually, as they were headed straight for the woods.

Not longer, but two back-to-back. Part 21 will be right up.