Nathaniel did not attend the lesson.He told himself it was because his presence would distort the room. Beatrice’s instructors were precise, disciplined, and mercilessly polite. Their work depended on neutrality. A husband’s gaze would tilt the balance, soften edges, create performance instead of instruction. That was the logic.The truth was simpler. He did not trust himself to observe without interfering.So he watched from the gallery instead.The upper corridor overlooked the training salon through a lattice screen designed centuries ago to allow scrutiny without intrusion. Nathaniel stood there with his hands clasped behind his back, suit immaculate, posture exact. He had reviewed three reports before arriving. He had dismissed two calls. He had made room in his sc
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