The Duke's Bed Warmer

Alina arrived at the sewing circle to find chaos waiting for her.

A military courier wagon stood near the east garden pavilion. Two soldiers were unloading crates, stacking them near the cutting table. Marguerite was directing

them.

"What is this?" Alina asked, weaving her way through the crates.

"The quartermaster’s office sent materials for expanded production," Marguerite replied, reading a requisition form. "They’ve sent eighty bolts of wool, four hundred brass fittings, and twelve spools of military-grade thread." She turned the page, and her voice became softer.

"And a formal commission seal. We’re registered now. The East Garden Workshop is an official military supplier."

The women gathered around the crates, and Lady Brennan opened one. The wool inside was unlike anything they had worked with before.

Evelyn lifted a few brass fittings, and her eyes widened.

"These are the same ones that armorers

use."

"His Grace approved it this morning," Lady Talbot informed them.

"We need to reorganize," Alina said. "Marguerite, test the new wool. Brennan, test the brass fittings against the current collar pattern—if they don’t sit right, we modify. Evelyn...inventory everything and give me a count by the afternoon."

The women moved immediately.

Austin stood by the window of his study, watching the garden below.

He had signed the order in the morning and had sent the materials. He had not told her about this because telling her would make it a gift, and she she did not want gifts.

"Your Grace...afternoon dispatches..." Mr. Harrington said.

"Leave them on the table," he replied. "Anything else?"

"No, Your Grace."

The steward left, and Austin’s eyes fell on Alina as she entered the garden.

After talking to everyone regarding the materials they had received, she was showing Marguerite something on the cutting table, leaning over the fabric, her hair slipping as always.

She looked different and more alive. The survival mode from her early weeks, the sharp tongue, and the constant vigilance were still there, but they were no longer dominant.

She was now a woman who had found something worth being present for. He noticed she was more busier now, even after the sewing circle. She used to disappear afterward, and he never asked her, nor asked anyone else to check on her, because he wanted her to enjoy her freedom.

His gaze moved to the east wing. Then he looked

away.

She wouldn’t.

That afternoon, Alina brought a honeycake for her, prepared by Evelyn.

"There was no lemon tart today," Alina said. "So I brought honeycake."

"Thank you."

"The sewing circle received a formal commission seal today. We’re an official military supplier," Alina told her.

"I know. I watched the wagon arrive from my window. A woman with dark hair was shouting at them about where to put the crates. She shouts a

lot."

"That’s Marguerite," Alina smiled.

"She reminds me of someone I knew."

"Who?"

"Me. I used to shout a lot," she smiled at the memory. "I used to run the household when Austin was away at military training."

"I’m sure you must be formidable."

"I was. Then the fire happened, and I spent the next five years shouting at the spiders," she replied. "There are three of them. I have even named them."

Alina’s heart ached for Cecily who had once managed a household but had now spent five years locked away with three spiders she had named because they were her only company.

She told Cecily a joke that made her laugh out loud.

"It’s nice to hear you laugh."

"Thank you...for making me laugh."

At night, she fell asleep quickly, as she always did when she was exhausted. He lay still, listening to her breathing.

Then she shifted. Her leg slid across a few inches, and her foot brushed his calf, and she had no idea.

His entire body went rigid, not from surprise but from the decision to not move. He could’ve pulled away, but he didn’t.

Her toes were cold; he could feel it through the thin fabric of his trousers.

Minutes passed, and her toes warmed. Her foot settled on his calf comfortably.

He stared at the canopy, thinking about military supply routes, grain tariff disputes, and several other things. He didn’t want to think about her foot because if he did, he would have to admit it created more internal disruption than a border incursion.

More time passed, and his jaw ached because he had been clenching it. Then she stirred and opened her eyes.

She was still for a moment, processing the warmth on her foot. Then she realized it wasn’t the mattress or pillow. It was...

She pulled back immediately.

"Sorry..."

"It’s okay."

Neither spoke for another ten minutes. He stared at the canopy, and she stared at whatever was on her side.

Then, because she was Alina.

"Your calf is very warm."

He sighed, as if suppressing a laugh.

"Go to sleep."

"I’m just making an observation."

"An observation about my calf?"

"I’m a detail-oriented person. I’ve been noticing you for weeks. I know about your breathing patterns, your shoulders, and your hands. And now your calf temperature. The data set is expanding."

He almost laughed but stopped himself again.

"Alina... Go to sleep."

"I am," she replied. "I just want to say if you ever feel very hot, my feet are available. They will cool you down."

He pressed his fist on his mouth. She could hear him trying to contain his laugh. She grinned.

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

When she woke up in the morning, he was gone. She noticed she was tucked under a blanket that had been pulled up carefully over her shoulder. She didn’t remember doing it herself. He did it because her feet were cold and he wanted to keep her warm.

She lay like that for a few minutes, feeling the faint trace of the warmth of his hands.

Then she buried her face in his pillow, breathing in his scent. A slow realization hit her.

I’m in so much trouble.

And for once...she didn’t want to escape it.