Chapter 6
The atmosphere changed the moment the duke stepped through the front doors of Banfield House.
It wasn’t anything loud or flamboyant like a trumpet announcing his presence. There was no dramatic gust of wind or exaggerated footsteps. But the silence that accompanied his arrival said everything.
Standing near her mother by the drawing room’s sideboard, Aurelia pretended to examine a small vase of violets. She hadn’t even turned around. Following etiquette, she wasn’t supposed to speak except when addressed.
Regardless, she could already feel him. That suffocating silence that followed him.
“We weren’t expecting you so soon,” she heard her father speak in a bright voice. She could picture the broad smile on his weathered face.
“I thought it best to come in person,” came his voice, the one that sounded like warm velvet wrapped around something sharper. “The wedding license has been issued.”
“Oh!” Lady Scovell gasped and stepped forward, leaving Aurelia by herself. “How efficient, Your Grace. You have spared us the wait. What do you think, Aurelia?”
Alright, that was her cue. Aurelia forced herself to breathe before she slowly turned around, and their eyes met.
His blue gaze didn’t roam or hesitate. It landed directly on her, in a way that made her stomach flip.
There was something so unfair about a man looking so severe and yet so dangerously handsome.
“Lady Aurelia,” the duke greeted with the faintest nod.
“Your Grace,” she replied as politely as she could, before stepping forward, her fingers curling tightly into the folds of her skirt.
“We were just discussing centerpieces,” Lady Scovell chipped in. Either she was oblivious or choosing to ignore the growing tension around them. “I thought the lilac blooms would be perfect for the bridal table.”
“They’ll clash with the rest of the ballroom,” Celia remarked lightly from the far end before stepping forward. “I’m not sure they’re the best choice.”
Of course, Celia would intentionally join in the conversation to confirm whether the duke was a beast or not, since it was her first time meeting him.
The duke turned to her. “You must be Lady Celia.”
“Yes. The eldest.” Celia raised her chin, coming to stand beside Aurelia.
“I see where Lady Aurelia gets her poise,” the duke stated.
Caught off guard, Celia blinked and shot Aurelia a quick look. “I—well, thank you.”
Behind them, Louis scoffed. He shifted his weight and leaned lazily against the mantelpiece. With his arms crossed and his expression unreadable, he looked like he had had enough.
“And you,” the duke added, heedless of the scorn on the boy’s face, “must be Lord Louis.”
Louis looked at him with a shrug. “I must be.” His tone crossed a line between civil and indifferent.
Aurelia resisted the urge to sigh. For as long as she known him, Louis had never mastered tact. And now, all of a sudden, he had chosen to show it.
But the duke showed no sign of offense. If anything, his gaze slid over Louis like a brief wind, before returning to Aurelia.
There was something unnerving about his gaze. It was not cold, exactly, but focused. Unflinching. As if he was cataloging not just what he saw, but also what he sensed beneath the surface.
“I hope I’m not disrupting anything,” he said to the countess.
“Oh, not at all,” she twittered. “We were just delighting in the chaos of wedding plans! Nora and I picked the colors. Pale blush and ivory with touches of silver. Isn’t that right, darling?”
Aurelia turned her head toward her mother. She smiled, the kind of smile she had practiced since girlhood. The smooth, composed smile. Then, she breathed, “Yes.” She nodded her head, as if to assure herself. “That’s… lovely.”
But even as the words left her mouth, she felt something—the weight of his gaze. She felt it like a tide slowly creeping under her skin. As though he were reading her silence, calculating the tremor in her fingers that curled softly into her skirts.
And something told her that if he spoke, she might tremble even more.
The duke didn’t speak right away. He simply watched. Maybe he decided to keep silent?
But just as relief washed over her, he decided to speak, his voice cutting through the hum of conversation like a blade. “You don’t like it.”
The room went still, and all focus shifted from Aurelia to him.
Aurelia blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“You don’t like the color scheme,” the duke responded.
His tone was still calm, almost indifferent, yet there was a certainty in it that could not be ignored.
“You didn’t speak when it was mentioned earlier.
And just now, you didn’t nod. You’re clasping your hands tightly, uncomfortably. You don’t like it.”
It wasn’t a question. Not one of his words was probing. Rather, they were like soap trying to wash off the carefully painted mask on her face.
Lady Scovell furrowed her brow, before turning to look at her daughter. “Is that true, Aurelia?”
Aurelia froze under the attention. All her life, she had tried to be the version of herself that her parents needed. She had wanted to be agreeable, polished, pleasant. Easy to love. Easy to ignore.
But somehow, in a room filled with her family, it was this stranger—this infuriating, impossibly perceptive man—who had seen the truth of her silence.
Her mouth opened, then closed once again.
“Actually,” she finally spoke, her voice quieter now. “I’ve always preferred pale blue. I find blush a bit too…”
“Powdery?” Nora supplied helpfully.
Without looking at her sister, Aurelia gave a breathy laugh, an almost nervous one. “Yes. That.”
Another moment of silence followed. Then, her mother let out a faint sigh.
“Well, why didn’t you say so earlier?”
“I didn’t want to ruin the excitement,” Aurelia murmured, heaving a sigh.
“Nonsense,” Lady Scovell said, waving a hand. “A wedding should reflect the bride’s wishes. Pale blue, then. With ivory. That can be elegant, can’t it?”
“I suppose,” Celia muttered.
“Blush and ivory are out,” Louis declared with a groan. “She wants it to be blue.”
“It’s not your wedding,” Celia snapped, looking back at her brother.
“Exactly,” Louis shot back with a mock glare that earned him an elbow to the ribs.
Aurelia suppressed a chuckle, as she could see the glare on her elder sister’s face.
As the conversation resumed, her gaze drifted back to the duke. He had not moved from his spot. His hands were still clasped neatly behind his back as he stood like a man who took up space unapologetically.
Those eyes of his shifted to meet hers, catching her stare in a way that made heat rise to her cheeks.
He didn’t smile, but there was something in his expression. It wasn’t approval or attraction. It was something more dangerous. It was something that made her feel seen, truly seen, for the first time in a long while.
When the sky had turned orange, the duke announced his departure.
“Oh, must you go so soon?” Lady Scovell asked, blinking. “We hardly had a chance to show you the menu options.”
“I trust your judgment, Lady Scovell,” the duke replied with a quick, respectful bow.
Aurelia’s fingers twitched where she sat behind the dining table. A part of her wanted him to stay. Another part, a more sensible part, reminded her that wanting anything from this man was dangerous.
Still, her feet moved before her mind did. “I’ll see the duke out.”
He turned toward her, his brows rising slightly, but he offered no protest.
They walked together down the hallway, their shoes clicking on the floor. The manor was quieter here. It was just the two of them, and the air felt oddly heavy between them.
Halfway to the front doors, Aurelia glanced sideways at him. There was something she wanted to ask, something she had been curious about.
“Forgive me, Your Grace… but I don’t believe I ever caught your name.”
He looked at her without any trace of emotion before he stated simply, “Percival.” Then, he looked ahead once again. “My name is Percival.”
She repeated it silently to herself.
Percival. It was such a unique name that suited the sharp edges beneath his elegance.
“Aurelia,” she offered quietly.
He gave the smallest of nods. “I know.”
They said nothing more after that, but somehow the silence felt warmer.
As soon as they reached the grand front doors, Aurelia paused before looking up at him with a smile, the polite smile she had been trained to wear.
“Although I am quite surprised, thank you for visiting, Your Grace.”
Percival tilted his head. His hand reached for the brass latch, as if something spoke to him, but he didn’t open the door. Rather, he turned his head toward her.
“You should not hesitate to say what you want,” he remarked.
She blinked up at him, caught off guard. “I… beg your pardon?”
He turned to her fully now, his eyes locked on hers. “When they were speaking about the flowers. And the gown. And everything else. You had opinions, but you didn’t voice them even when you were asked.”
Her chest rose slowly. “I didn’t want to—”
“Disappoint them. I understand.” A muscle ticked in his jaw. “But it’s your wedding.”
She looked away, but then she was forced to look back at him when he took a step closer.
“Next time, be honest,” he said. “With them. And with yourself.”
Her breath caught in her throat. How dare he speak to her like that? As if he knew her, as if he could peel back the layers she had carefully covered herself with for years?
“You presume a great deal, Your Grace,” she finally spoke, but her voice trembled slightly. “You hardly know me.”
He didn’t blink. “Don’t I?”
She met his gaze again, only to find it darker than earlier. More intense. And somehow, the space between them shrank with a certain heat that she could almost feel through her dress.
“You’ve spent the entire afternoon nodding at things you disliked, offering smiles that didn’t reach your eyes, and pretending not to mind decisions being made for you,” he continued.
“You press your fingers together when you’re nervous.
You stare at the floor when you’re disappointed.
And you only take a deep breath when no one is looking. ”
Every word hit her so hard that she reached for the doorframe.
His voice lowered. “You think I don’t know you?
I’ve met a hundred women like you in ballrooms and gardens and drawing rooms across the country.
” He paused, just briefly enough to deepen eye contact.
“But none of them looked at me the way you do. As if they want to hate me, but can’t quite manage it. ”
Once again, he proved that he could see right through her.
With a blush creeping up her neck, she whispered, “You’re incredibly arrogant.”
“I’m observant.” He shrugged.
“You’re insufferable.”
His blue eyes lowered for a fraction. “You’re trembling.”
Her eyes widened. She actually was trembling, but just slightly, barely enough for anyone to notice. Except him.
And now he was standing so close that she could see the faint line of stubble along his jaw. She could feel the warmth radiating from his body, threatening to swallow her whole.
Aurelia didn’t move, and neither did he.
His hand dropped to his side before he took a step closer. Instantly, she felt the tension emanating from him, so thick that her heart beat faster.
And for one breathless moment, one foolish, impossible heartbeat, she thought he might kiss her.
And worse, she thought she might let him.
But then, just as quickly, his gaze cooled. His hand curled as he took a measured step back.
“Until the wedding, then,” he said, his voice quiet.
With the faintest frown on his face, he opened the door, stepped outside, and vanished into the waiting carriage without a backward glance.
Aurelia found herself standing still in the doorway. Slowly, she raised a hand to her chest. Her heart was pounding at the idea of what could have happened. What shouldn’t have happened, but nearly did.
She swallowed hard.
This man, this stranger she was meant to marry, had left her wanting. And infuriated. And curious.
And worse, far worse, he had left her feeling seen.