THE EVENING BREEZE DRIFTED lazily across the open field, carrying with it the scent of fresh grass and faint traces of wild lavender. Adrian stood beside his white stallion, one gloved hand brushing gently along the horse's smooth mane. The animal gave a soft neigh in response, pressing its nose against his shoulder as though sensing its master's unrest.
Across the field, Cedric rode a chestnut mare, circling leisurely as the low sun dipped toward the horizon. The light gilded the man's riding coat and caught the restless movement of the horse's tail. Adrian watched him for a while in silence, his expression unreadable, his thoughts elsewhere—entangled in the memory of his father's words that morning.
He exhaled softly through his nose. It was not as if his father's suggestion was unreasonable. It was, after all, what was expected of him. To produce heirs. To carry forward the family line. To do his duty.
Yet, as always, it was easier said than done.
His gaze dropped to the ground, the leather reins tightening slightly in his grip. Grandchildren. With Evelina? The thought alone drew a bitter curve to his lips. He could scarcely bring himself to call her wife without it tasting foreign on his tongue.
It was impossible.
Impossible because there was no affection between them—no warmth, no tenderness. And even if he desired her—which he did not—it would have been an empty act, a duty performed without heart.
He sighed, weary of the thought. She has improved a little, he admitted silently. The weight she had gained gave her face a trace more life, the pallor had lessened—yet still, she looked fragile, colourless. Nothing like the ladies who adorned the London ballrooms in silks and laughter. He could not bring himself to imagine intimacy with her.
And besides, he had promised her freedom within six months. What then would be the use of forcing anything at all?
Cedric's laughter, carried faintly by the wind, interrupted his thoughts. The man was slowing now, guiding his horse toward him. When he finally dismounted, his boots pressed softly into the earth as he approached.
"What weighs upon your mind, my friend?" Cedric asked lightly, adjusting his gloves as he came to stand beside him.
"Nothing," He replied, though his tone betrayed the lie.
Cedric tilted his head, studying him with open curiosity. "The evening breeze feels right for a drink, don't you think?"
Adrian gave a small nod, his eyes still fixed on the horizon. "Hmm."
The answer was half-hearted at best.
Cedric folded his arms. "You've been unusually quiet since my arrival. What's wrong? You wear that expression as though the world itself has offended you."
"I'm fine," Adrian muttered, turning away slightly.
"Not even pleased to see me?" Cedric pressed, feigning a wounded look.
Adrian's silence spoke volumes.
Cedric sighed dramatically before glancing about the empty field. "And where is your lovely wife? I've yet to catch a glimpse of her since I arrived."
At that, Adrian turned his head to him, one brow lifting—not in anger, but in mild suspicion. "Why are you asking after my wife?"
Cedric grinned, unfazed. "Can I not inquire about her well-being?"
"You cannot," He returned coolly.
His friend laughed, shaking his head in amusement. "Good heavens, I didn't know you'd grown so possessive. Marriage truly changes a man."
Adrian did not rise to the bait. He was in no mood for Cedric's teasing.
The silence that followed was short-lived. Cedric, still smiling, leaned against his saddle. "Speaking of your wife—did you notice anything... peculiar about her?"
His brows drew together. "Peculiar? In what way?"
"She didn't attend the ball last night," Cedric said. "I found that rather strange."
"She was unwell," He answered curtly, before Cedric could continue. His voice carried finality, though the tension in his jaw remained. "Anyone would be, after the turmoil of wedding preparations."
Cedric gave a slow nod, though his gaze wandered thoughtfully across the fading sky. "Perhaps. Still, she wasn't quite what I expected. I had heard many things about Lady Evelina before coming here, yet the lady I saw was... different. Softer. Quieter."
He frowned, turning to face him fully. "Is this why you came? To gossip about my wife?"
Cedric smiled, raising both hands in mock defense. "Of course not. I came to see you. It has been too long since our last ride together."
"Well," Adrian said evenly, "I would enjoy your company, but as you know, I am newly married. My time belongs to my wife—before duty calls me back to the state." He spoke with deliberate calm, though there was a subtle edge beneath his words. "We can revisit our leisure some other time."
Cedric only chuckled. "Always so formal, Adrian. We've been friends since we were boys, remember?"
"That doesn't change the fact," he said dryly, "that you make the trouble, and I clean up the aftermath."
Cedric's laughter broke out loud and genuine. "Very well! I swear, not a single ounce of trouble from me this time." When Adrian did not respond, he added with a grin, "You could at least pretend to believe me."
His lips twitched faintly, the ghost of a smile at last.
Cedric, sensing victory, mounted his horse once more. "Come now—ride with me again. You're a husband, not an old man with three children. Loosen up a little!"
For the first time that evening, Adrian felt the weight of his thoughts lift—just enough for a faint smirk to find its way onto his face.
"Very well," he said, adjusting his gloves as he swung into the saddle. "But only one round."
Cedric's laughter echoed as their horses took off side by side, the wind rushing past them, carrying away—for a moment—the heaviness that clung to Adrian's heart.