Chapter 14
Fourteen
Fool.
Theodore lunged. The tip of his foil struck the padded chest of the fencing dummy with a hard thwack, and he did not pause before stepping back, resetting, and driving forward again.
It was long past midnight, and sleep had evaded him—mocked him, even—and so he had come to the only room where thought might be turned into motion.
Twice now, I have nearly lost control. Once in the garden. Then again in the park.
He turned, sliced at the air, and struck again. Each movement was clean, deliberate.
Emotions are chaos. They make fools of thinking men. Worse, they weaken resolve.
He thrust low. Parried an invisible opponent. Again.
And still I watched her lips part. I stepped toward her as though my blood had more say than my reason.
The dummy swayed slightly. He adjusted his stance and struck harder.
He should have walked away. Both times. He should have left April to her indecision. Instead, he had leaned in, said too much, almost—
No. Not almost. He had wanted to kiss her. It was a thin line but one that mattered.
He disengaged, flicked his foil down, and exhaled once. Deep and sharp.
The fencing hall echoed with his breath. The walls watched in silence as they always did. Judgment, if it came, would not be from the plaster or brick.
He turned and handed the foil to Redmond, who had appeared with his usual uncanny timing.
“I shall clean it at once, Your Grace,” the butler said, bowing.
Theo nodded. “And make certain the blades are re-balanced.”
“Of course.”
He left the hall, the muscles in his arms aching with the effort he had just exerted. It did little to loosen the knot in his chest.
Upstairs, the study welcomed him with familiar silence. The fire had been lit earlier, burning low now, casting long shadows across the bookshelves. He removed his coat and settled behind the desk, just as a knock came, and Jennings reappeared.
“A letter, Your Grace. From Mr. Smythe.”
Theo accepted it, broke the seal, and read.
Your Grace,
I hope this find you well. I have news regarding the matter you asked me to attend to.
Twenty years past, a man referred to in my findings as H.R.
was killed alongside his wife and two children under violent circumstances that were officially recorded as an unfortunate robbery.
Upon thorough investigation, I have uncovered that this individual was, contrary to official records, employed covertly as an Agent of the Crown.
Further inquiries into the nature of his final assignment are underway. You shall hear from me again within the week.
Your obedient servant,
Mr. Charles Smythe
Theo stared at the paper then lowered it slowly, gaze turning to the fire.
So it was true.
He said nothing. Made no sound. But the pressure behind his sternum changed. The pieces were falling into place at last. This news was useful, exceptionally so.
He folded the letter and tucked it beneath a stack of documents. As he did, his hand brushed against a familiar leather cover.
The Faerie Queene.
He drew it out and opened it at random. His thumb found the passage he had marked days earlier:
“For he that once hath missed the right way, The further he doth go, the further he doth stray.”
He stared at the words. Spenser understood discipline. He knew that to waver once was to lose direction entirely.
Theo closed the book. He would not lose direction.
It was time to end the drift between them and to remind April that his intentions were clear and that her part was to accept or refuse. But there would be no more delays. No more ambiguities.
She would give her answer. And if it was no…
He rose and straightened his cuffs. Then he would ensure she found herself incapable of saying it.
April lay awake, staring at the canopy above her bed. Theodore’s voice echoed in her mind.
I shan’t promise romance. It would be a falsehood.
And yet, it hadn’t felt false when he had looked at her that way. When his voice had dropped and his gaze had fixed on hers with such startling precision—as though he saw not her dress, not her manner, not her name but her.
She turned onto her side and exhaled. Sleep would not come. Not when every thought was shaped like him.
She pulled on her dressing dress and stepped quietly into the hallway. The house was silent, dim save for the glow of a single lamp left burning downstairs. She made it halfway down the staircase before nearly colliding with a small, warm figure.
May yelped. The plate in her hands wobbled alarmingly.
“April! Gracious—you gave me a start.”
April steadied the platter. “What are you doing, skulking about with a tray like a footman after midnight?”
“I was hungry,” May replied with dignity, cradling her prize. “Bread, cheese, a slice of cold beef. And perhaps a thimbleful of sherry from behind the decanters.”
April raised an eyebrow. “That is either the makings of a pauper’s supper or a very dignified mutiny.”
“I prefer to think of it as survival,” May said primly, linking her arm through April’s. “Come to the blue salon. It’s warm, and I refuse to eat alone like a governess.”
They curled up on the settee, feet tucked beneath them, and shared the plate. May poured two small glasses of sherry and raised hers with a grin.
“To dreadful timing and late-night feasts.”
April touched her glass to May’s. “To scandalous sisters and stolen supper.”
They ate in companionable silence until May set down her glass and looked at her squarely. “Is something amiss?”
April hesitated.
May waited, patient and perceptive in the way only a sister could be.
“He makes me feel… unsteady,” April admitted at last. “It is not unpleasant. Only… immense. Like the sea just before a storm. As though, if I stepped forward, I should be swept away entirely.”
May regarded her for a moment. “Is it possible you do not wish to run from him but toward him?”
April stared into her sherry. “No gentleman has ever—” She stopped. Sighed. “None has ever made me feel as though I were standing on the edge of something important.”
May nodded. “Sometimes fear simply means something matters.”
April said nothing. May, content with silence, passed her another slice of bread.
Later, as April returned to her bed, the heaviness in her chest had not vanished, but it had shifted. Less sharp. More curious.
She closed her eyes, wondering what it might mean to meet his aunt. Would it help her understand him? Trust him?
Choose him?
Sleep came at last—thin and restless, but it came.
By the time she joined her sisters in the breakfast room, morning had settled in with that particular sort of brightness that demanded civility. Her mother looked up at once and clicked her tongue softly.
“Darling, you look as though you’ve not slept a wink,” she observed, lifting her teacup. “What kept you up?”
April sat and reached for a slice of toast then busied her hands with buttering it. “Just… too much reading before bed, I suppose.”
Dorothy gave a slow shake of her head. “You must take greater care with your rest, April. It is essential for a young lady to be lovely at all times. The Duke clearly admires you—there’s no sense in dimming your charms with shadows beneath your eyes.”
Nodding, April stirred her tea, letting it grow cool, while June perused the society pages with the sort of expression one reserved for unswept doorsteps or inferior lace.
April did not have to wait long to find out why.
“For mercy’s sake,” June muttered, adjusting the paper. “Listen to this: A young lady of noble birth was observed yesterday promenading in Hyde Park with a most stone-faced duke. The two were engaged, sources say, in a debate of considerable intensity—perhaps passionate in nature.”
May gasped. “That was you! And him! April, you’re featured.”
Dorothy clapped her hands, her eyes positively aglow. “How thrilling. Visibility is the first step toward inevitability.”
April buried her face in her hands. “I shall never walk in daylight again.”
June sniffed. “They make it sound as though you were conducting an operatic quarrel beside the Serpentine.”
May grinned. “I find it terribly romantic. Like something out of Mrs. Radcliffe’s novels, only with marginally fewer ghosts.”
April stared at her plate, untouched. The words from the paper echoed beneath her ribs.
We are already a story. But I have not even lived mine.