Chapter 15
Fifteen
“If you’ve come to scold me for outliving all my peers, Theodore, you’re dreadfully late. I already received three such complaints this week.” Eugenia smiled and waved him in from her chair by the fire as Theo entered the drawing room.
“Who would dare complain about that?” he asked, pausing mid-stride.
“Lady Stanmore, naturally—she was convinced I’d drop off two years ago. The Countess of Hargrave muttered something about gooseberry tarts at our last tea though I suspect she meant me. And dear old Lady Pellam simply patted my hand and asked if I had my will in order.”
“They’re jealous. And you still have many years ahead of you, Aunt.”
Theo nearly winced as he reached her. She looked thinner than the last time he’d visited. Her wrists, always delicate, seemed almost frail now against the porcelain teacup.
Still, she smiled like a woman ten years younger and twice as dangerous. “Of course, I do. I might even marry again.”
He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet you adore me,” she said with a wink. “Sit down before you start pacing. You wear holes in rugs faster than I can replace them.”
“Ah, yes, and I’ve missed you more than I’d admit aloud in any other company.”
Eugenia patted his hand, her expression softening further. “Oh, Theodore. You always were the best of them. Even when you sulk like a boy left out in the rain.”
“I do not sulk.”
“You sulk with dignity,” she allowed. “But sulk you do.”
He gave a short breath that could have been mistaken for a laugh and settled deeper into the chair across from her.
“You look tired,” she added, watching him more closely now. “Not just from lack of sleep. From something else.”
“I’ve had… too many thoughts lately. None of them orderly.”
“That is unlike you. Which tells me something has quite scrambled your inner wits.”
Theodore pretended she hadn’t spoken and instead looked her over before asking, “How are you feeling today?”
“A touch thinner than intended, and the pug bit a footman again. Nothing fatal. But let us not pretend you came here for small talk. What have you been up to—and what is this I read in the gossip sheets about you promenading and debating some sharp-tongued bluestocking in Hyde Park?”
Theo stiffened. “What are you talking about?”
She reached for a folded paper on the side table and handed it to him with relish.
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.
He frowned. “This could refer to anyone.”
Eugenia arched a brow. “There is only one stone-faced duke in all of London, and I daresay you wear the title to perfection.”
He folded the paper with a snap and set it aside. “Lady April is not a bluestocking. And even if she were, I fail to see how it warrants commentary in a gossip column.”
“No, but it makes for splendid reading with tea.”
He looked at her, expression flat. “She accepted my invitation. She’ll join us for tea this afternoon.”
Eugenia’s eyes lit. “Now that is interesting.”
“I will ask only once, Aunt—do try to behave.”
She let out a delighted snort, loud enough to stir the pug at her feet. “You say that every time, and not once have I obeyed.”
Theo rose and moved to the hearth, placing a hand on the mantle. “This is different.”
“Ah, so there it is.” Eugenia took a delicate sip. “You are fond of her.”
“It’s not—”
“Do hush. I have eyes, even if they are fifty years old and occasionally require spectacles.”
He turned toward her. “I’ve simply asked that you receive a guest this afternoon. That is all.”
“A guest you have never brought before.”
He exhaled through his nose. “She is not—”
“Yes, yes. Not anything. Just a name. Just a walk in the park. Just a passing mention to your butler when arranging the tea tray.”
Eugenia lowered her cup and studied him over the rim. “Everything tells me that you have found someone who unsettles you.”
“She does not unsettle me.”
The look she gave him was withering. “You’re wearing your fencing jaw. The one you get when you’ve been bested.”
Theo glanced away.
“You brought her name into this house,” she said, more gently now. “That alone tells me everything I need to know.”
He said nothing, and Eugenia leaned back, smiling. “I cannot wait to meet her.”
He didn’t answer. He only stared into the fire a moment longer then reached into his coat to check his watch.
Time, it seemed, had started moving differently.
April was shown into the drawing room of the Dowager Countess of Darnell’s townhouse.
The moment she stepped across the threshold, she saw Theo.
He was standing by the hearth, speaking quietly to an older lady in a moss-green dress who reclined in a chair with the air of a duchess disguised as a general.
“Lady April Vestiere,” the butler announced.
Theo turned first. And then, as though the sun shifted only for her benefit, so did the Countess.
“Ah! So this is the young woman I’ve been hearing about,” Lady Darnell said, rising with more grace than strength.
Theo crossed to her and offered his arm. “Lady April, may I present my aunt, Eugenia Forest, Dowager Countess of Darnell.”
April curtsied. “It is a pleasure to meet you, My Lady.”
“The pleasure, I assure you, is entirely mine,” the Countess said, taking April’s hand warmly. “Sit down, child. We must have tea before my wits escape me entirely.”
April sat, conscious of Theo’s steady presence beside her and of Lady Darnell’s sharp eyes—piercing, fond, impossibly perceptive.
As if summoned, a maid entered with the tea tray, setting it gently before them with a quiet bow. The clink of porcelain filled the momentary silence.
“Now then,” Lady Darnell said, choosing a currant biscuit with the decisive air of a woman choosing her second favorite weapon, “do you have talents?”
April blinked. “I… play the pianoforte. A little.”
The Countess laughed, full of mirth. “Not that sort of talent. I mean, do you have the talent for capturing hearts? Because I have a nephew whose heart has been buried beneath years of solitude and grim logic. He needs loosening. Preferably by a clever young woman with excellent posture.”
Theo made a low sound of protest. “Aunt.”
“Oh hush, Theodore,” she said with a wave of her biscuit. “Your bark is worse than your bite.”
April glanced at him, prepared to find him irritated. Instead, he looked like a man quietly resigned to familial sabotage.
“Lady April,” Lady Darnell went on, leaning slightly forward, “I trust you are not too easily intimidated.”
“I live with two sisters and a mother who believes sherry is medicinal. I consider myself seasoned.”
The Countess chuckled. “Then you may be exactly what he needs.”
Theo looked to the ceiling.
“Tulip!” Lady Darnell clapped her hands once.
From beneath the settee emerged a lazy gray pug with watery eyes and the resigned expression of a creature who had seen too much. It waddled toward April, sniffed once, and collapsed at her feet.
“She takes to very few people,” Lady Darnell said with a pleased hum. “You must be special.”
“I’m honored,” April replied, genuinely warmed.
They drank their tea. The Countess poured with a flourish, adding cream and sugar to Theo’s cup without asking. April raised her brows.
“He pretends he prefers it bitter now,” the Countess said. “But once upon a time, he wouldn’t touch tea unless it was nearly syrup.”
Theo sipped without complaint.
“He was a cheerful child,” Lady Darnell continued, taking her time with her own cup. “Rambunctious, even. Fell off his pony when he was six because he insisted the beast could jump a rose hedge. It could not.”
April laughed. “That I would have paid to see.”
“You would have laughed,” Theo murmured, “until the hedge fought back.”
April met his gaze. There it was again—the quiet pull of something beneath the surface. He wasn’t open, not quite, but there was less distance between them today.
“He also had a deplorable sweet tooth,” Lady Darnell went on. “Sugarplums vanished by the dozen. I once caught him hiding licorice in his Latin primer.”
April nearly choked. “You don’t take sugar now.”
“One adapts,” Theo said, but his gaze didn’t leave hers.
Why did I not know this? she wondered. Why is it easier to know him here in this room under the shadow of someone he loves?
Lady Darnell watched them both with something that looked suspiciously like satisfaction.
“You know,” she said thoughtfully, “the two of you have a rhythm. Like a duet. I do adore a duet.”
April tried to hide her smile with her teacup.
“You meddle,” Theo said though his voice held no real heat.
“Of course, I do. I’m elderly. It’s my divine right.”
Then came the cough. Sharp, short, but insistent.
April was on her feet at once, napkin in hand. “Here, My Lady.”
“Thank you, my dear,” Lady Darnell said, dabbing at her mouth with trembling fingers. “It’s nothing. Just a reminder that I am not immortal.”
Theo stood, his voice gentler than April had ever heard it. “Would you like to rest, Aunt?”
“Only for a moment. Show her the gallery. She ought to see the paintings.”
He looked to April. “Would you care for a tour?”
She nodded, rising with him. “Very much.”
As they left the drawing room, April cast a glance over her shoulder. Lady Darnell gave her a subtle nod, and Tulip had resumed her snoring.
Theo held the door open for her, his expression unreadable—but his hand lingered a moment longer at the small of her back.
He is not a man easy to know, April thought. But here, with her, I am starting to see who he once was. And perhaps, who he still is.