the rain outside lashes at the thin window panes of the palace,  the occasional bite of hail over the past three quarters of an hour aiding in drawing the duke out from his daze as the calligraphy on the pages laid out before him melted into an inky swarm of words.  hunched over a desk in the dimness of candlelight and a stormy english afternoon,  albemarle recollects himself with a harsh rub of his strained eyes,  quill in the other hand as he readies himself for another turn to focus when footsteps lighter than those of his valet call his attention to the door.  there’s already a smile teasing his lips as he shifts in his seat,  facing the welcome sight of his wife in the doorway,     ❝  mon amour.  ❞     they have not been in england long;  separated for lengths of time even less,  and he beckons her towards him with a gentle whisper,  movements urgent as he stands,  reaching delicately for her hand,     ❝  i trust the ladies of court kept you well entertained?  ❞     a kiss is pressed to the top of her head,  words ushered against her ear,   ❝  i wished i had you at my side every second of viscount hereford’s pontificate. ❞