Chapter 17
“Your Grace, I must say it is a relief to see you among us again.”
The baron’s voice carried a polite tone that masked the sharp curiosity glittering behind his eyes. Diana recognized the look immediately because she had seen it on dozens of faces over the past week. Society had taken notice of his return.
Alexander, however, appeared entirely untroubled by the attention.
Diana watched him from her place beside him as he inclined his head politely toward Baron Whitcombe, the faintest trace of a smile touching the corner of his mouth.
“It is a relief to be here,” Alexander replied easily, his voice calm and measured, the tone perfectly suited to polite conversation within the crowded ballroom.
“Though I confess the evening has reminded me how easily one forgets the sheer number of acquaintances a London season requires a man to maintain.”
The baron laughed obligingly. “Yes, yes, society is terribly demanding in that regard.”
Alexander lifted his glass slightly in acknowledgment before continuing, his gaze attentive but relaxed. “Fortunately, the company has been generous in reminding me of familiar faces. One finds that a gentleman may recover his bearings rather quickly when surrounded by such helpful acquaintances.”
Diana felt a quiet swell of pride bloom in her chest. It had taken her only a few moments to understand what he was doing. He had revealed nothing. Not a single detail of his missing memory had escaped him.
Instead, he guided the conversation with a careful balance of observation and politeness, asking questions that were broad enough to conceal his uncertainty yet precise enough to suggest familiarity.
“Your estate in the countryside continues to prosper, I trust?” Alexander asked the baron.
Whitcombe nodded enthusiastically. “Indeed, it does. The spring harvest has been quite favorable.”
“I am glad to hear it,” Alexander replied smoothly. “The country has always had a reputation for good fortune where agriculture is concerned.”
Diana nearly smiled outright.
It was masterful. Not once had he pretended to recall something specific. Instead, he allowed the other man to supply the information himself, responding with thoughtful interest that never betrayed the truth.
Baron Whitcombe appeared entirely satisfied.
After several more minutes of polite conversation, the baron finally excused himself to greet another acquaintance across the room, leaving Diana and Alexander standing together near the edge of the ballroom.
The music swelled softly through the hall as dancers moved gracefully across the polished floor, their laughter and conversation blending into the warm glow of candlelight reflected in the towering mirrors along the walls.
Diana turned toward him the moment the baron was out of earshot.
“I begin to detect something rather suspicious, Your Grace.”
Alexander raised one brow slightly. “Suspicious?”
She folded her hands together in front of her gown, studying him with deliberate scrutiny. “Your memory appears remarkably convenient this evening.”
“Does it?”
“Yes.” Her eyes narrowed playfully. “I am beginning to wonder whether you have been misleading me all this time and your recollections have returned entirely.”
His mouth curved slowly.
“I assure you,” he said, leaning slightly closer so that only she could hear him, “if my memory had returned completely, you would have noticed.”
The softness of his voice sent a small flutter through her chest.
There was something in his gaze when he said it that made her heart beat just a little faster. Diana glanced around the ballroom to be certain no one was watching them too closely before lowering her voice.
“You handled him very well,” she admitted quietly. “I was impressed.”
Alexander shrugged faintly, though the movement carried an ease that had not been there when they first returned to London. “I merely asked questions.”
“You asked the correct ones.”
His expression softened slightly as he looked down at her, and for a moment, the noise of the ballroom seemed to fade into something distant.
“You forget,” he said gently, “I have had several days of practice.”
He paused, his gaze drifting briefly across the crowded room before returning to her again, making her stomach drop.
“Though,” he added softly, “I find I much prefer the practice we have had at home.”
Diana felt a sudden rush of blood climb into her cheeks. The past three days had unfolded in a way Diana could never have predicted.
Without Lady Salford’s lively presence filling every room, the house had grown quieter, but not uncomfortable. Instead, it had allowed something entirely new to grow between them.
They had taken morning walks through the gardens.
Shared long breakfasts that stretched well beyond the time either of them needed to leave the table.
Evenings had passed in quiet conversation beside the drawing room fire, Alexander asking her about the people he once knew while listening with careful attention to every answer she gave.
He had remembered nothing. And yet he had learned everything.
Diana had begun to realize that the man beside her now was neither entirely the man she had married, nor the dazed survivor who had reappeared so suddenly. This version of Alexander listened more carefully. He watched her in a way that made her feel both seen and unsettlingly cherished.
And, perhaps most unbelievable of all, he seemed to enjoy her company.
Alexander tilted his head slightly as he studied her expression, his gaze lingering on her face. There was a thoughtful quality in the way he looked at her, as though he were attempting to read something written beneath the surface of her composure.
“You look pleased with me,” he said.
The observation carried the faintest trace of amusement.
Diana met his gaze, unable to suppress the small smile that tugged at the corner of her mouth. “I am.”
One of his brows lifted slightly. “And that surprises you?”
The question was gentle rather than mocking, yet it caught her off guard all the same. For a moment, she hesitated, her fingers brushing lightly against the folds of her gown as she considered how honestly she ought to answer.
“Perhaps,” she admitted after a moment. “A little.”
His gaze softened at that, and it made the air between them feel suddenly thinner, more intimate despite the crowded ballroom around them.
“I know enough now,” he said quietly.
Diana frowned slightly. “Enough?”
He inclined his head. “Enough to understand what matters.”
Her pulse quickened. Diana searched his expression, trying to determine whether he meant the words lightly or whether there was something deeper behind them.
“And what is that?” she asked.
Alexander did not answer. He simply looked at her.
Beneath his steady gaze, Diana felt as though the rest of the room had faded into something distant and indistinct, even though the music continued to swell around them, couples moving gracefully across the ballroom floor, voices rising and falling in conversation beneath the glow of candlelight.
Alexander’s eyes held hers, steady and unsettlingly sincere.
“You.” The word was spoken simply, without flourish or hesitation.
For a moment, Diana forgot how to breathe.
“I have forgotten many things,” he continued, his voice low and thoughtful, the words spoken without self-pity yet carrying the quiet weight of truth.
“But I have spent these past days making new memories instead.” His gaze lingered on her as he said it, steady and unwavering, as though he wanted her to understand exactly what he meant. “I believe that is a fair exchange.”
Diana felt the words settle somewhere deep in her chest, and her stomach turned helplessly.
Because he said it so simply, so matter-of-factly, as though the loss of an entire life’s worth of memories could be balanced by something as fragile and new as the days they had just begun to share together.
“You make it sound very easy,” she murmured.
Alexander’s expression softened.
“It is easy.” For a moment, his eyes moved over her face with a gentleness that made her pulse quicken. “When the person beside you is worth remembering.”
The warmth that rushed through Diana’s chest was so sudden and overwhelming that she had to look away for a moment, her breath catching softly in her throat.
She fixed her gaze on the far side of the ballroom, pretending sudden interest in the movement of dancers across the polished floor, but the effort did very little to steady the storm that had begun to gather beneath her ribs.
Because the truth was simple. No one had ever looked at her like that before. No one had ever spoken to her as though her presence alone might be enough to make the world feel whole again.
She was still trying to steady herself, still attempting to gather the scattered pieces of her composure, when two familiar voices approached behind them.
“Well,” said a warm female voice touched with amused admiration, “if it is not the most admired couple in the room.”
Diana turned quickly.
“Thalia,” she said with a delighted smile, inclining her head in greeting.
Thalia Warren, Duchess of Marrowhurst, approached with graceful ease, her husband Maxwell beside her. The couple carried themselves with confidence, obviously grown accustomed to society’s attention without ever appearing impressed by it.
“You look radiant this evening,” Thalia said warmly, reaching out to clasp her hands.
“And you,” Diana replied sincerely.
“Alexander!” The voice reached them a moment before its owner did, warm and unmistakably pleased.
Maxwell Warren approached, his tall frame moving easily through the clusters of guests gathered around the ballroom. A genuine grin spread across his face, making it immediately clear that this greeting was far more than polite courtesy.
“Well, if it is not the most elusive man in London,” Maxwell said as he reached them. “I was beginning to suspect you had abandoned us all entirely.”
Alexander’s expression shifted at once, something warmer appearing in his eyes as he extended his hand. “Warren.”
For the briefest moment, relief moved quietly through Diana’s chest.
She remembered the evening two nights earlier when she had spoken to him about the Warrens while they sat together in the drawing room after dinner.
Alexander had listened, asking thoughtful questions while she described the Duke and Duchess of Marrowhurst, their estate, and their easy friendship with him before the accident.
Now, hearing him greet Maxwell so naturally, Diana realized he had remembered the conversation perfectly. The tension she had not even realized she carried eased slightly.
Maxwell clasped his hand firmly, the greeting carrying the easy familiarity of long friendship.
“You have been hiding yourself far too well these past months,” Maxwell continued, giving his arm a brief, friendly squeeze before releasing him. “We were starting to think Rosewood had decided to become a hermit.”
“Tempting as that idea occasionally is,” Alexander replied smoothly, “I fear London would never forgive me.”
Maxwell laughed.
Behind him, Thalia stepped forward, her expression bright with amusement.
“And we would never allow it,” she said lightly. “Society requires its most entertaining participants.”
Alexander inclined his head toward her with quiet respect.
Thalia’s gaze drifted briefly between Diana and Alexander, her expression sharpening slightly with quiet interest.
“You make a remarkably striking pair this evening,” she observed.
Diana felt the faintest warmth touch her cheeks. “You are generous.”
“Merely observant,” Thalia replied lightly.
Meanwhile, Maxwell and Alexander had already resumed their conversation.
“You still ride in the mornings?” Maxwell was asking.
“When I can escape the responsibilities of the day,” Alexander replied cooly, giving him a curt nod.
“You should join us at Marrowhurst sometime,” Maxwell said. “Thalia insists the countryside air improves a man’s character.”
“Then I shall make the effort,” Alexander smiled faintly.
Diana listened quietly, watching him with growing admiration.
He was entirely at ease. The earlier tension she had feared—the careful way he might struggle through unfamiliar conversations—was nowhere to be seen. Instead, he spoke with Maxwell in the relaxed manner of long acquaintance, his voice steady, his posture confident.
Maxwell appeared delighted by the exchange, responding with easy humor and the occasional friendly remark that suggested their familiarity ran deep.
Diana could not help studying Alexander as he spoke. Not once did he falter. Not once did he hesitate. Anyone observing them would have assumed that nothing about the Duke of Rosewood had changed at all. It was astonishing to witness.
In that moment, surrounded by candlelight and music and the gentle hum of society, Alexander looked exactly as though he belonged there, and the sight of it made her heart swell with quiet admiration.
As she listened to them speak, Diana’s gaze drifted across the ballroom.
Emma stood near the far side of the room, speaking with another lady but watching Diana with unmistakable curiosity. When their eyes met, Emma’s expression brightened immediately.
Diana turned back to the group.
“If you’ll excuse me for a moment,” she said gently.
Alexander glanced down at her. “Of course.”
Something warm flickered in his eyes before she stepped away.
Diana crossed the ballroom quickly, weaving through clusters of guests until she reached Emma near the window.
“You look positively radiant,” Emma said the moment Diana approached.
Diana laughed softly. “You exaggerate.”
“Not at all.” Emma leaned closer. “You and the Duke look like a portrait come to life. Everyone is staring.”
Diana felt her cheeks warm slightly. “They are staring because of his absence.”
Emma shook her head. “No. They are staring because the two of you look entirely too formidable together.”
Diana glanced across the ballroom. Alexander was still speaking with Maxwell and Thalia, his posture relaxed, his attention focused entirely on the conversation.
“You should see him these days,” Diana said quietly. “He is different.”
Emma studied her carefully. “Different how?”
Diana hesitated, then she lowered her voice slightly before speaking.
“He is kinder,” she admitted. “Attentive. It feels as though… as though we are beginning again.”
Emma smiled gently. “And does that frighten you?”
“A little.”
“But does it make you happy?”
Diana’s gaze drifted back toward Alexander again. He laughed at something Maxwell said, the sound warm and genuine, and her heart raced helplessly.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Emma squeezed her hand.
“Then perhaps,” she said softly, “you should allow yourself to see where it leads.”