Chapter 11 #2
Rachel hesitated, her own nerves warring with the desire to make a good impression on Aunt Jean. But as she met Simon’s gaze, she saw something in his eyes—an unspoken challenge, perhaps, or an invitation she didn’t quite understand.
“I would like to go,” she said softly.
Aunt Jean beamed, clearly pleased with the decision. “Wonderful! Now, I shall let the duchess rest so she can prepare for the ball later on,” she paused, her gaze narrowing playfully at Simon. “And as for you, my dear nephew, I’ll expect at least one smile before the night is over.”
Simon shook his head with a faint smirk, but Rachel couldn’t help noticing how much more at ease he seemed around his aunt.
He was softer, more human, in a way that made her heart ache with longing.
She wanted to see more of this side of him, to understand the man behind the walls he kept so carefully constructed.
As Aunt Jean swept out of the room to make preparations, Rachel stood beside Simon.
“She’s wonderful,” she said. “I can see why you’re so fond of her.”
“Rest up, Duchess. It seems that you have a ball to attend later,” Simon said, leaving the room.
“You’re unusually quiet, dear,” Aunt Jean said to Simon, who had agreed to take a walk with her. “Brighten up, for you have so much to be happy about. And so much to tell me.”
Simon smirked faintly. “Perhaps I’ve simply run out of things to say.”
“Nonsense,” she replied, waving a hand dismissively. “You’ve married a beautiful young woman, taken her under your wing, and thrust her into this vast house filled with rules and shadows. Surely you have something to say about her.”
Simon’s jaw tightened slightly, though his expression remained calm. “Rachel is… adjusting to life in the estate.”
Aunt Jean’s brows lifted, her smile widening with amusement. “Adjusting, is she? Is that all you have to say? My dear boy, if I didn’t know you better, I’d think you were being deliberately evasive.”
“I’m not evasive.”
“She’s quite charming, you know,” she continued, her tone light but pointed. “Lovely manners, a sharp wit, and that delightful glint of determination in her eye. I rather like her.”
Simon’s gaze flicked to his aunt, and for a moment, something almost like relief crossed his face. “I’m glad,” he said.
Her approval meant something to him. In fact, it meant a great deal to him.
Aunt Jean studied him for a beat, her expression softening. “But?”
“There’s no ‘but,’” Simon replied, though his tone was too quick, too defensive.
“Oh, Simon,” she said with a laugh. “You’re as transparent as glass when it comes to her. You don’t dislike her, so stop pretending you do.”
“I’m not pretending anything. This marriage is an arrangement. Nothing more.”
She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms with a knowing look. “An arrangement, is it? And yet you watch her like a hawk and flush when I bring her up.”
Simon stiffened. “Aunt Jean—”
“Don’t bother denying it,” she interrupted with a teasing smile. “It’s perfectly natural. She’s beautiful, and you’re human. But more than that, I think she’s good for you.”
Simon’s expression darkened, though not with anger. “I suppose only time will tell.”
Her gaze softened, “Oh, no. I am certain that this is a great match. And let me be earnest—I had some doubts beforehand.”
“Doubts?” Simon raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, doubts,” she said simply. “You’re a duke, Simon. A powerful man. A wealthy man. And forgive me for saying so, but when a marriage happens as quickly as yours did, one cannot help but wonder… was it convenience? Or ambition?”
Simon’s jaw tightened. “You thought Rachel was opportunistic.”
“I thought it was a possibility,” she corrected. “Not because I doubted your judgment but because I worried you might not care enough to exercise it.”
Simon frowned. “That’s rather harsh.”
She arched a brow. “Is it? You are a practical man, my dear boy, and not one prone to sentimentality. I worried you might have chosen a wife with the same cold pragmatism you apply to everything else. A woman who saw your title as a prize rather than a responsibility.”
Simon exhaled slowly. “And what do you think now?”
“Now? I think you married a woman with more heart than you were prepared for.”
Simon scoffed, shaking his head. “She is… determined.”
She let out a laugh. “Determined? That’s the best you can muster? I would say she is resilient, intelligent, and perhaps just reckless enough to make life interesting for you.”
“And you were able to gauge all of that from one meeting alone?” Simon raised an eyebrow.
Aunt Jean smirked with an air of self-assured amusement. “One meeting is enough,” she said simply. “I know how to read people, Simon. Years of experience have taught me that much.”
“Years of experience in what? Meddling?”
“Oh, certainly. But more importantly, in understanding people. And I understand your wife quite well already.”
“You cannot possibly make that claim after an hour in her company.”
She gave him a knowing look. “I can, and I will. And I can already tell that you hold a certain kind of admiration for her, whether or not you care to admit it.”
Simon hesitated. Admiration wasn’t the right word—not entirely. She unsettled him. The way she met his gaze without fear, the way she stood her ground. The way she looked at him was not as a duke but as a man.
Aunt Jean watched him closely. “Tell me the truth, Simon. Have you let her in at all?”
His gaze snapped back to hers, and his expression hardened. “I am her husband. She is my wife. That is all there is to it.”
“Oh, Simon. You can convince everyone else in the world of that lie but not me.”
Simon clenched his jaw, saying nothing.
“Rachel is not what I feared. She is not here for status or wealth. She sees you, Simon. You. And I think that terrifies you more than anything.”
His fingers curled into fists. “She sees what I allow her to see.”
Aunt Jean studied him for a long moment, and a knowing smile formed on her lips. “Oh, my dear boy. You are in so much trouble.”
Simon exhaled sharply, pressing his fingers to his temple as if warding off a headache. “Are you finished?”
“Not even close,” Aunt Jean replied cheerfully. “But I’ll spare you—for now.”
Simon muttered something under his breath and strode toward the door, but Aunt Jean’s voice stopped him.
“Simon,” she called softly.
He paused, glancing over his shoulder.
“Don’t waste this. Don’t waste her.”
“I’ll think about it,” he said at last, though his tone was guarded.
“Good. And while you’re at it, do try to smile at her a little more. I daresay you look rather dashing when you’re not scowling.”
Simon shot her a dry look, though there was the faintest hint of a smirk on his lips. “Anything else, Aunt Jean?”
“Yes,” she said brightly. “Take her to the ball tomorrow. It will do you both good.”
Simon groaned softly, but Aunt Jean only laughed, the sound light and infectious. “Mark my words, Simon,” she said with a wink, “Rachel will surprise you yet.”