Chapter 9
Nine
“No, no, the lilies must be centered exactly,” Dorothy fretted, flapping her hands at a bewildered footman. “We cannot have the flowers lopsided, not when the Duke of Stone is coming.”
“I believe they look perfect, Mama,” April offered, stepping closer to inspect the arrangement.
Dorothy waved her off with an absent flick of her hand. “Nonsense. They must be precisely right. Move them a bit to the left.” A footman hurried forward to do that.
May leaned close to April and whispered behind her hand, “Your opinion is so highly prized.”
April bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. “Treasured,” she whispered back.
Dorothy turned sharply. “Did you say something, April?”
“Only that the lilies are a triumph, Mama,” April replied, managing a bright, dutiful smile.
“Of course, they are,” Dorothy said briskly and turned to the footman. “Now, make sure the seating cards are evenly spaced. Appearances are everything.”
May gave an exaggerated sigh of suffering, and April nearly choked, trying to smother her laughter.
Footmen bustled about under Dorothy’s relentless direction, adjusting chairs, polishing silver, and laying out the crystal decanters.
Servants hurried in and out with trays of linens and platters ready for inspection.
Smile, nod, be agreeable, April thought. Even as your life spirals spectacularly out of your control.
Seizing a moment when her mother was distracted by the precise folding of the napkins, April slipped away, escaping down the hall to the library.
The quiet of the room wrapped around her. She wandered toward the shelves, trailing her fingers across worn spines, breathing in the familiar scent of leather and old paper.
“Hiding?” June’s voice broke the silence.
April turned to see her sister leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, a knowing smile playing about her mouth.
“Absolutely not,” April said sweetly. “I am merely—”
“Avoiding,” June finished for her, strolling in and flopping into a nearby armchair with a dramatic sigh.
April sighed and perched on the edge of a velvet settee. “How could you tell?”
“You have the look of someone about to be marched to the guillotine,” June said cheerfully.
April laughed despite herself. “It does feel rather dramatic, does it not?”
June tilted her head. “How do you truly feel about all of this, April?”
April hesitated, twisting the ribbon at her waist. “I do not know why he chose me,” she said quietly. “Or why August agreed to it so easily. I do not know if I can trust what people say about him, or if I am a fool for even considering it.”
June’s expression softened. “You could ask him.”
April barked a laugh. “Have you ever tried conversing with a brick wall?”
“No,” June said solemnly, “but I imagine it would be less frustrating.”
They both laughed, and some of the tightness in April’s chest eased.
“Still,” June said, sobering, “I noticed something at the picnic.”
April leaned forward. “What?”
“His attention,” June said. “It never wandered. Even when we tried to poison him with peppered scones and salted lemonade, he watched only you.”
April’s breath caught slightly. “Perhaps he simply wished to ensure I was not preparing another culinary assault.”
“Perhaps,” June said with a shrug. “But to me, he looked rather… invested. Only a man with a very particular interest would endure such an ordeal with so little protest.”
April fiddled with the ribbon again. “What do I know?” she asked lightly.
“What do any of us know?” June replied with a wry smile. “I am only eighteen, and this is my first Season.”
April smiled faintly. “Perhaps it is my own youth and inexperience with the ton that obstructs my judgment.”
“Or perhaps,” June said gently, “you need to give yourself permission to find out.”
April sat back, absorbing her sister’s words.
Tonight.
She would not waste another evening smiling sweetly and wondering. Tonight, she would find a way to make the Duke of Stone speak plainly.
No more guessing. No more half-truths.
She would demand answers—and, God willing, some measure of truth.
Theodore walked into the Wildmoore drawing room, and he took in the gathering at a glance. The Duchess perched regally upon a settee, her daughters arrayed like polished jewels, and beside her, leaning heavily on a cane, the Duke of Wildmoore himself.
But it was Lady April who caught and held his attention.
She wore an ivory satin dress that shimmered with her every breath.
Her pale blue eyes sparkled with mischief and something softer he dared not name.
As he crossed the room, he bowed low over her hand, letting his lips linger just a heartbeat longer than propriety allowed.
First, to tease her. Second, because he could not help himself. Her cheeks flushed, and satisfaction curled low and deep within him.
“They already look so in love,” the Duchess said, fluttering her handkerchief with a pleased sigh.
Theo resisted the urge to grimace. If only the world could see how dangerous love truly was. He straightened, exchanged the necessary pleasantries with the Duchess and her daughters, and turned to the Duke of Wildmoore.
“Duke,” he said, bowing once more.
“Come, come,” Wildmoore beckoned, a faint smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “No need for formality among family.”
Theo crossed the room, noting the frailty of the elder man, the slight tremor of his hand upon the cane, and the way his shoulders stooped despite his will to stand tall. The sight stirred something unwanted in him—a hollow ache he could not name.
“Your estates are prospering, I hope?” Wildmoore asked.
“They are, Sir. My land in Kent has yielded well these past years, and my ventures in shipping have been fortunate.”
“Good, good,” Wildmoore said, his voice tinged with approval. “A man must keep his hands steady on both plow and ledger.”
“Wise words, Sir.”
He spoke with ease, yet a part of him stood apart, observing the easy warmth in the room like a man pressed against glass, unable to step inside.
They spoke a few minutes more, a genuine exchange, before Theo moved back to where Lady April stood waiting.
She lifted her hand toward him with an almost imperceptible arch of her brow. “Will you walk with me, Your Grace?”
“It would be my greatest pleasure.”
He offered his arm, and her gloved fingers brushed his sleeve as they strolled toward the tall windows framing the gardens, where moonlight scattered across the lawns.
“I did not tell my father about you until this morning,” she said after a pause.
He glanced down at her, taking in the stubborn tilt of her chin. “Why?”
She smiled faintly, her eyes tracing the distant silhouettes of trees. “I did not wish to raise his hopes—not when I might yet change my mind.”
Something cold twisted in his chest. He kept his voice measured. “You are entitled to your liberty, Lady April.”
She met his gaze, searching, weighing. “And you, Your Grace? Will you offer me the same?”
“I do not intend to seek another bride,” he said quietly. “You are my choice.”
Her fine dark brows furrowed slightly, her eyes gleaming with something he could not name before she masked it with a smile.
“You are remarkably stubborn,” she observed, nudging his arm lightly with her own.
“It is an occupational hazard for dukes,” he murmured, feeling an unfamiliar pull low in his chest.
“And here I thought it was pride,” she teased, her lips curving as she met his gaze boldly.
“Pride is merely a side effect,” he said, stepping just close enough to make her lift her chin higher.
“If you keep standing so near, Your Grace,” she said, feigning a whisper, “someone might think you like me.”
“Let them think what they will,” he murmured back, catching the way her breath hitched ever so slightly.
For one reckless moment, he nearly reached out to tuck the unruly chestnut curl from her brow, his fingers itching to touch her. But he checked himself, curling his hand into a loose fist instead. The temptation was growing stronger—and that was dangerous.
Lady April laughed lightly, stepping back with a playful glint in her eyes, and Theo found himself momentarily dazed by the sheer light she carried around her.
Before he could say something foolish, the butler announced dinner, and he took Lady April’s hand and placed it in the crook of his elbow before leading her out to the dining room.
The Duchess immediately took charge of the conversation as they all sat. “Your Grace, where are your estates located?” she asked, beaming as the first course was served.
“Kent, Sussex, and a smaller estate in Derbyshire,” Theo replied smoothly.
“Not too sunny, I hope,” the Duchess said with a glance at her daughter. “April does not fare well under the sun.”
Theo caught Lady April’s mischievous glance as she touched the freckles dusting her nose. She leaned toward him, whispering, “Mama despises them.”
He bent his head slightly, murmuring, “They are charming.”
Color bloomed across her cheeks, and Theo savored the sight—more satisfying than any victory he had known in business or battle.
As the meal progressed, the Duchess, May, and June took turns questioning him—about his travels, his political leanings, his opinions on opera versus poetry. Theo answered each inquiry with patient precision, noting how Lady April watched him, head tilted in silent assessment.
It was unnerving. He was accustomed to being judged, weighed, and found lacking by society’s fickle standards. But her gaze was different—not calculating but curious, almost earnest.
At one point, she arched a brow. “You are far more forthcoming with them than you ever were with me.”
He turned his gaze on her, deliberate and steady. “Perhaps because they interrogate with more grace than a solicitor cross-examining a witness.”
She laughed, soft and genuine, and Theo felt it resonate somewhere deep within him—a place he thought long dead.
When the meal concluded, the Duke excused himself to rest, and the Duchess clapped her hands in delight.
“April must play for us,” she declared.
Theo stiffened instinctively. “That is not necessary,” he said, sharper than intended.
The Duchess waved him off. “Nonsense. April plays beautifully.”
Reluctantly, he watched Lady April cross to the pianoforte. When she played, it was not with the polite proficiency expected of young ladies but with a depth that unsettled him. The haunting melody wrapped around his mind, stirring memories he had fought long and hard to bury.
Do not feel. Do not remember.
He gripped the arms of his chair until his knuckles turned white.
The music filled the room, beautiful and terrible, and for a moment he hated her—hated her for opening a door he had spent years bolting shut.
When she finished, he rose and applauded with the others, careful to school his features into polite neutrality.
Her gaze lingered on his, questioning, and he knew she would not be so easily diverted.
“Shall we have a game of cards?” he asked, offering her an easy smile that cost him nothing and everything.
She agreed with a bright laugh, and soon the whole family was gathered around the table, tossing playful barbs and wagers.
Theo made certain not to leave Lady April alone long enough for more probing questions—until, at last, the Duchess and her daughters retired, leaving them pointedly alone.
April rose immediately, crossing to him.
“What game are you playing with me, Your Grace?”
He lifted a brow. “None. Unless you count cards and scones.”
She smiled, but there was sharpness in it. “Cards are a game. Scones a mischief.”
“Both easily survived,” he said, stepping closer.
She tilted her chin up. “Did you enjoy the music tonight?”
He paused then said, “I enjoy music… on occasion.”
It was as much truth as he could offer.
“It brings me peace,” she said, her voice softer now, almost confessional.
Theo met her eyes, feeling the pull of her honesty.
You are dangerous, he thought, far more than you know.
“Tell me about your family,” she suggested, hesitating slightly. “Do you have any siblings?”
For a heartbeat he could not breathe. The walls of the room seemed to close in.
“My parents are gone,” he said, the words clipped, final. “Long ago.”
Compassion lit her gaze, and he recoiled from it.
Before she could speak, before her tenderness could undo him, he bowed over her hand.
“It has been a lovely evening, Lady April.”
Her fingers trembled slightly against his lips.
Without another word, he turned and strode out into the cold night.
Outside, he drew a breath that scraped painfully against his ribs. His hand found the worn handkerchief in his pocket, and he gripped it tightly, seeking a calm that would not come.
He swung into the saddle, Obsidian snorting beneath him. There was only one cure for the chaos boiling in his blood.
He would ride, and he would find the next name on his list.