Chapter 28
The morning dawned with the calmest breeze and the prettiest sunshine. Aurelia found it so perfect.
She stood at the edge of the gardens, her gloved hands folded loosely before her. Her brown eyes were fixed on the expansive lawns, a pleased look on her face.
Beside her, Linda adjusted the wicker basket on her arm. “You have thought of everything, Your Grace,” she praised, her voice filled with admiration.
Aurelia smiled with a soft exhale. “I hope so. I want today to feel… special,” she said, almost to herself. “For all of us.”
They began to walk along the gravel path, surveying the shaded spot Aurelia had chosen for their picnic.
She stopped beneath an oak tree, her eyes narrowing slightly as if testing how the sun shone on it.
“Here,” she murmured. “I think this will do perfectly. The ground is soft, and Lottie will have space to run without tripping on stones.”
Linda nodded. “It is wonderful how you pay attention to everything, Your Grace.” She smiled. “Especially His Grace.”
Aurelia’s heart fluttered at those words. She bent down to spread out the blanket, hiding her bush as she adjusted the corners of the picnic blanket. She smoothed her hand across the fabric as though pouring her care into it.
Yes, I notice everything about him.
The way his coats hugged his shoulders, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he allowed the smallest smile.
She noticed too much for her own peace of mind.
“Tell me honestly, Linda,” Aurelia said as she straightened, smoothing her skirts. “Does it feel… right? This little arrangement?”
Linda hesitated, then smiled softly. “It feels warm, Your Grace. Inviting. It feels like a place made for family, not duty.”
That word, ‘family,’ felt like sunlight through glass. That the Whitmores could be a lovely family was all Aurelia desired.
“That is exactly what I wish for—that Lottie never feels… alone. That she knows her father and I—” She stopped, biting her lower lip.
Linda tilted her head, waiting patiently.
“That she knows her father and I care for her,” Aurelia finished, her voice quieter now. “That she is loved. Always.”
They moved further, inspecting the arrangement of the trays and cushions. It looked just like how she wanted it to be. Percival had agreed to the picnic, and she wanted to seize the opportunity before he changed his mind.
“Do you think he will like it?” Aurelia asked when they finished their little inspection.
“His Grace?” Linda returned, her eyes glinting with mischief.
Aurelia nodded. Her lips curled into a smile that was both nervous and wistful. “I thought of him when I asked Cook to prepare the food. He prefers vegetables—lighter fare. I even had them make the tart without the lard. I do not want him to feel… apart.”
Linda’s brows rose slightly. Silence, heavy and tender, fell over them, before she observed softly, “You love him, Your Grace.”
Aurelia nodded without hesitation. “Is it so obvious?”
Linda’s answering smile was warm but subtle. “It is obvious only to those who care enough to see. The way you say his name, the way you talk about what he likes, the way your eyes search for him even when you pretend they do not… Yes, it is obvious to me.”
With a shaky exhale, Aurelia’s brown gaze dropped to the rose in her hand. “I do.” Her fingers trembled around the flower. “I love him. Very much.”
Linda’s expression softened, though she wisely said nothing more. Meanwhile, Aurelia pressed the rose against her lips to hide a tremulous smile.
The garden was ready, but she was not.
The garden had been transformed into a little paradise by the afternoon. A blanket was spread across the soft grass, covered with baskets packed with warm bread and cakes, and bowls of fruit glistened in the daylight.
Aurelia had returned after changing into a lovely gown. Her steps slowed when she spotted a familiar little figure moving across the lawn.
“Mother,” Lottie’s bright voice called. She clutched a sketchbook and pencils as she ran forward.
Aurelia dropped to her knees in time to catch the girl, laughter spilling past her lips. “Oh my darling, you came early,” she murmured, brushing back Lottie’s hair.
“Because I couldn’t wait,” the girl answered in a timid rush. “I couldn’t wait to spend time with both you and Papa. But…” She hesitated, and her eyes dimmed a little. “What if he doesn’t come?”
Aurelia smiled softly, even though her heart clenched. She hooked a finger beneath the girl’s chin and tilted her face up.
“He will come,” she promised gently. “You’ll see. Today will be different.” To distract the girl, she clapped her hands lightly. “Now, let’s set up everything, shall we? Will you help me with the teacups?”
At once, Lottie brightened. Together, they began to arrange the spread that had been packed. Lottie carefully set down cups and saucers, while Aurelia lifted a tray of sugared cakes.
But before Aurelia could straighten, two familiar, strong hands reached over her shoulders and took the tray with effortless ease, stealing her breath.
She paused before turning around slowly.
There he was. Percival. Sunlight crowned him, his tall frame casting a shadow over her. But it wasn’t his height or his elegance that struck her the most. It was how utterly… undone he looked.
His dark hair was disheveled, some strands falling boyishly across his brow. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, and his coat was nowhere in sight.
He looked less like the formidable Duke of Whitmore and more like a farmer in the country. A dangerously handsome farmer in whom she could lose herself.
“I hope I’m not late,” his deep voice came casually, as if he hadn’t just stolen the air from her lungs.
Aurelia stared at him, tongue-tied, her gaze drinking in his face. His jaw. His lips. The faint crease between his brows that always made him look so serious, even when he wasn’t.
He was so terribly handsome that it was difficult for her to remember she was supposed to be answering him.
Before she could form a reply, Lottie’s shy voice rang out. “You are not late, Papa.”
Percival turned to her, then slowly held out his arms. Lottie blinked at him, clearly stunned.
Is he asking for a hug?
A man who had always seemed so distant, so unreachable, was asking for his daughter’s embrace.
Aurelia watched the scene in mild shock.
With tentative steps, some pauses, and then more boldness, Lottie stopped in front of her father. Slowly, she smiled before stepping into his arms.
The hug was stiff at first, awkward in its newness. But then Percival bent a little, his large hand settling on her head and patting it gently.
“How has your day been, Lottie?” he asked, his voice softer than Aurelia had ever heard it.
“I painted,” Lottie replied, her voice muffled against his chest. “I drew flowers.”
“That is good,” he said.
The words were simple, but the look in his eyes…
It was the look of a man desperate to say more, desperate to connect, but so very unused to it.
Aurelia’s heart swelled. She clasped her hands together, trying her best not to get too emotional.
“Come,” she called lightly. “Tea is waiting, and I won’t forgive either of you if you let it get cold.”
The picnic started with gentle laughter and tender missteps. Percival attempted to pour the tea, but the kettle was so tiny he spilled a few drops on the cloth.
Aurelia bit her lip, hiding her smile. He would be terrible at tea parties.
Later, he tried slicing a cake, the knife slipping so clumsily that even Sir Whiskerton paused to flick his tail in disdain.
Aurelia laughed quietly into her hand, but her chest warmed.
For the first time, they were not three fractured souls, but something closer, something almost whole.
Lottie wanted to capture the moment. She set down her cup and reached for her paints. “I want to paint this,” she announced, her voice thick with pride.
But when she rose in haste, reaching for her sketchpad, she tripped over a plate of sugared cakes, squashing one beneath her slipper.
She froze. Her shoulders hunched, and she stepped back with wide eyes. Her lips were already trembling.
“Lottie,” Aurelia heard Percival say.
Dread rose in her chest. She already knew what was going to happen. Percival was going to scold Lottie for acting carelessly and being unladylike.
Lottie slowly looked up at him. He had already risen, his brows drawing together. He was concerned, but through her innocence, she only viewed it as displeasure. She had failed her papa, again.
“We can fix the cake,” Aurelia’s gentle voice pierced the tension.
She glanced up at Percival, her eyes holding his firmly. Though her expression was calm, it commanded, Don’t scold her. Not now. Not for this.
He inhaled, understanding melting his worry. Then, he exhaled slowly. With surprising gentleness, he bent, lifted the ruined cake, and set it aside.
“It seems we must eat the others more quickly before they meet the same fate,” he said dryly.
Lottie blinked at him uncertainly, but then she let out a small laugh. Relief flashed across her face.
Aurelia’s heart melted in the ensuing silence. Watching Percival, she could tell he was trying so hard to do better—to be better. And that only strengthened her desire to give him another child.
The thought of adding to their family overwhelmed her. She wanted him. She wanted all of this.
The day progressed, slipping by with soft laughter, until the sun sank low and the sky turned orange. By evening, a silvery moon had risen, and a cool breeze blew across the lawns.
The family remained outside, seated together on the blanket. A yawn escaped Lottie as she leaned against Aurelia’s arm, though she refused to fall asleep. She was cherishing every moment.
“Look,” she murmured, pointing at the sky. “The stars…”
Percival followed her gaze, then asked in a voice so uncharacteristically soft, “Do you know the story of the Star of the Lake?”
Lottie blinked up at him, shaking her head.
So he recounted it. His voice was low and steady as he told of a lonely star that fell from the heavens and found its reflection in a quiet lake. As the story unfolded, Aurelia listened while staring at his charming face under the moonlight.
By the time Percival had finished, Lottie’s limbs had grown heavy, her breathing soft and even in slumber.
The sight made him chuckle quietly. He reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face with a tenderness that made Aurelia’s chest ache.
When he lifted his head, he caught her gaze.
Her lips parted.
He’s so beautiful like this.
“That was a lovely story,” she whispered.
He hesitated, looking deeply into her brown eyes. “My mother used to tell it to me.”
Her breath caught. He had never spoken of his mother before. The intimacy of it shook her, as though he had peeled back a layer of himself just for her.
They sat in silence, the moonlight painting them in silver. Their knees were nearly touching, their breaths mingling.
Her throat was dry, and all she wanted was for him to push past the limits. To lean closer.
As if he could hear her thoughts, Percival leaned in slowly. When he was close enough, when his warmth threatened to unravel her, her lashes lowered.
Come closer.
Her lips trembled in anticipation. But just as his mouth nearly brushed hers, Lottie stirred in her sleep, letting out a soft sigh.
Percival stopped, though his heart still hammered in his chest. Then, he pulled back slowly, smoothing his expression with a faint cough.
Aurelia turned her face away, though she stifled a laugh. Yet, her heart hurt from the interruption, her body aching with need.
She dared another glance at him, and she knew this wasn’t over. Not by far.