Chapter 5
Five
My dearest August,
How could you, in your infinite wisdom, betroth me to the Duke of Stone without so much as a word of warning? You must know I adore you—but that affection is presently mingled with a generous measure of outrage.
Papa is eating more, thank Providence. Mama still treats him as though he might crumble into dust at any moment—fussing over every morsel and whispering encouragements as if he were a child.
She has taken to ensuring that May, June, and I are never without partners at every dance though I fear most gentlemen are either dreadfully dull, insufferably arrogant, or utterly foolish.
I miss you terribly. The house feels rather adrift without your presence.
I remain your ever-affectionate, though slightly aggrieved, sister,
April
April folded the parchment once the ink had dried, tapping her fingertip thoughtfully against the edge. She reached for the molten wax, her mind wandering. All gentlemen are dull except Stone. He somehow manages to be infuriating and fascinating at once.
Just as she pressed her seal into the wax, her bedchamber door burst open with enough force to rattle the inkstand.
“April!” May hissed, nearly tripping over her hem as she tumbled inside. “Someone saw you at King’s Theatre with the Duke of Stone last night!”
April spun in her chair, clutching the sealed letter to her chest. “Who?” she demanded.
May, cheeks flushed with excitement and still dressed in her evening dress from the ball, hurried forward. “I heard it at the ball tonight. Lady Chesterfield’s maid told a footman, who told—well, it scarcely matters! People know!”
The door clicked shut as June entered behind her, far more composed. She crossed her arms and raised a brow. “If word has spread already, Mama will not remain ignorant for long.”
April grimaced. Lord help me. “Did she—did Mama seem suspicious?”
May flung herself onto April’s bed, bouncing like a child. “She was very quiet in the carriage. Which, as you know, is a dreadful sign.”
June perched neatly at the foot of the bed, folding her hands in her lap. “It means she knows. Or is plotting.”
April began pacing, the hem of her nightdress getting in the way. “We must devise a plan.”
“We could say you recovered sufficiently to attend,” May suggested brightly, kicking off her slippers.
“No,” June said, her tone dry. “Lady Wilmot’s daughter dragged her along. That would be far more believable.”
April pressed a hand to her forehead. “Whatever we choose, it must sound credible. Mama would have me wed before the week is out.”
May grinned, devilry sparkling in her eyes. “And you object to marrying a devastatingly handsome duke because…”
April shot her a look. “That is hardly the point.”
“Is it not?” May teased, tossing a pillow at her.
April caught it and hurled it back. “He is impossible!”
“You like impossible,” June observed, smoothing her skirts with exaggerated calm.
“I do not,” April insisted though a traitorous voice whispered otherwise. You always have.
May leaned forward eagerly. “Come, tell us everything!”
Sighing, April perched on the edge of the bed and recounted her evening—the magnificence of the theatre, the stirring tragedy, her own helpless tears—and the Duke’s maddening indifference.
“He didn’t even blink?” May gasped, pressing her hands to her cheeks.
“Hardly,” April said, throwing up her hands. “I wept like a watering pot, and he sat there as still as a marble monument.”
“Perhaps he has no heart,” May suggested solemnly.
“Or,” June said thoughtfully, “he keeps it locked away where no one may touch it.”
May scooted closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Speaking of mysteries—I did some investigating!”
April narrowed her eyes. “Investigating?”
May nodded enthusiastically. “I made careful inquiries. Very discreet. And you know what I found?”
“Nothing,” April guessed flatly.
“Nothing!” May confirmed, throwing up her hands. “No ruined heiresses, no duels, no gambling debts—not even a whiff of scandal. Society only ever speculates. Everyone who speaks about him claims they heard from someone, yet the source is never found.”
April frowned, unsettled. “A man of his fortune and station—and no gossip at all?”
“None that anyone will speak of,” May confirmed. “It is as if his past simply does not exist.”
June drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. “Or,” she said softly, “the ton is too afraid to speak.”
The room grew quiet, the notion settling over them. April stared at the wax seal on her letter, her heart tightening. What could frighten Society into silence?
She looked at her sisters—their bright, curious faces—and felt a pang deeper than intrigue. It was not only the Duke’s cold composure she wished to unravel but the reason he had taught himself to feel nothing at all.
April knew that she would not rest until she unraveled everything about him.
Just as she opened her mouth to speak again, the door burst open for the second time that evening—this time with far less subtlety.
“Were you not ill last night?” her mother demanded, storming into the room like a gale-force wind.
April jumped up so quickly she nearly tripped on her hem. “I—” she began, her mind scrambling desperately for a plausible excuse.
Her mother’s keen gaze swept the room, narrowing first on May then June then settling on April with the ferocity of a general preparing for interrogation.
“Do not attempt to deny it,” her mother continued, planting herself firmly in front of them. “Half of London is whispering that my daughter has been seen—with the Duke of Stone no less!”
April floundered, feeling the walls close in. How did word travel so quickly?
“It—it is not what you think,” April stammered, cheeks burning.
“She only wished to see Isabella’s Lament, Mama,” June said quickly, stepping in with all the serene grace April had come to rely upon. “She thought it too much to trouble you with it, given your worries about Papa.”
“Yes!” May chimed in, scooting off the bed to stand beside her sisters. “She thought it would lift her spirits!”
Their mother’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “And she thought sneaking out with a duke—one she feigned illness to avoid the soiree for—was the best method of spirit-lifting?”
April tried to look pitiful and remorseful all at once. “I never intended to be seen,” she said in a small voice.
“And how did you become acquainted with the Duke to begin with?” her mother demanded, crossing her arms.
April fumbled for a moment then straightened her spine. “We met at Lady Emers’ ball a few days ago.”
May bobbed her head enthusiastically. “He even danced with her, Mama!”
“A full waltz,” June added with an impish smile.
Her mother’s hands flew into the air in dramatic disbelief. “And I was not there to witness it! I send you girls with your aunt for one evening—one—and a duke decides to dance with my daughter!”
“It was very sudden,” April said, trying to sound meek.
“Sudden!” her mother repeated. “Such moments must be seized, April! Nurtured!”
Dorothy resumed pacing. “You must make this work, April.”
April blinked. What changed your mind? “Mama—”
“For yourself!” her mother pressed, flinging her arms wide. “And for your sisters!”
“Mama, truly—”
“Do you think it is easy introducing three daughters into society at once?” Her mother spun to face them, one hand pressed dramatically to her bosom. “The expense alone! The negotiations over dance cards! The criticisms from jealous mamas!”
She looked to the ceiling as if appealing to heaven. “And I am blessed with three beautiful daughters—an embarrassment of riches, if only the world could see it plainly.”
“We are very grateful, Mama,” June said diplomatically.
“Endlessly,” May added with a bright grin.
Their mother was not to be distracted. “A duke! A duke, April! Do you think such men appear every day, like mushrooms after rain?”
“No, Mama,” April said, sinking onto the bed.
“Precisely,” Dorothy said, jabbing a finger at her for emphasis. “A good match for you lifts May and June as well. Doors will open for them. Invitations will flood in.”
“But Mama,” April said carefully, “should I not marry for—”
“Affection is all well and good,” her mother interrupted briskly. “But affection can grow. Respect, duty—those are the foundations of a lasting marriage.”
May, attempting to lighten the mood, tossed a pillow at April. “Besides, he is terribly handsome. You shall not suffer overly.”
June giggled. “Imagine the diamonds you shall wear once you are a duchess.”
April caught the pillow and hugged it to her chest. I want to choose him. Not be pushed into it. Not swept along like a leaf in the current.
Dorothy clapped her hands. “I shall speak with your brother first thing tomorrow—”
“No!” April said, a touch too sharply, startling everyone.
Her mother’s brows lifted.
April softened her tone immediately. “Let us not rush matters, Mama. It would be… unseemly.”
Dorothy pursed her lips but, after a moment, nodded. “You are quite right. And dukes—well, they are peculiar creatures. Easily startled, like wild stallions.”
“Mama!” May and June chorused, laughing.
Dorothy allowed herself a small, satisfied smile. “Nevertheless, you must act wisely, April. Opportunities such as this do not come twice.”
She swept from the room, her departure as dramatic as her entrance.
The door clicked shut.
April sat back against the pillows, her heart heavy.
If Mama speaks to August… if she presses him… he will tell her everything, and I will have no choice at all.
She stared at the wax-sealed letter resting on her desk, her chest tightening with a strange, aching sense of urgency.
I must uncover the truth about the Duke. Quickly. Before I am swept into a future I did not truly choose.