Chapter 16
Sixteen
“My aunt’s taste leans toward the dramatic,” Theo said as he opened the door to the long gallery, the afternoon light glinting off the polished floorboards. “You’ll find no gentle watercolors here. Only grandeur.”
April stepped in beside him, her eyes already rising to the rows of canvases lining the walls. “Dramatic is rather refreshing.”
“I’ll tell her you approve. It will amuse her to no end.”
They began their slow walk beneath oil portraits and gilded frames. He had never brought anyone into this part of the house. Not even friends—not that he had many who would care to see it—but with her …
“This house belonged to me,” he said suddenly. “I gifted it to my aunt several years ago. After her husband—the late Earl of Darnell—passed, the title went to a distant cousin. She and my uncle never had children.”
April looked up at him, brows drawn gently. “It was kind of you.”
“It was the least I could do. But now, I want her out of London. The air here—soot and smoke—does her no good.”
“Where do you want her to go?”
“There’s a property in Kent. Quiet and remote. She was born there. Lived there until she married. It’s the only place she’s ever truly loved.”
“And you own it?”
“Not yet.” He paused. “My father left it with certain stipulations. I can only access the funds and the property if I marry before thirty. He always was fond of tests, and I find myself with only a few months left to pass this one.”
April’s brow lifted. “A test like marriage? That’s a rather steep price for an inheritance.”
“To him, it was a measure of maturity, andtability. He would’ve preferred obedience, I suspect.”
His gaze drifted momentarily to the window before returning to her, his voice quieter. “But if I can return that house to her, let her breathe fresh air, see familiar trees… it’s worth it.”
April walked beside him in silence, which was neither awkward nor judgmental. Just present, and it made him feel oddly seen.
They stopped in front of a family protrait. His mother sat on a chair, holding his brother Nathaniel. Behind her was his broad shouldered father who looked nearly identical to him, but with green eyes. Then beside his mother were Theo and his sister, Rebecca.
“After my parents died,” Theo continued without telling her who the people in the portrait were.
He could not yet bring himself to, and he hoped she would understand.
“Aunt Eugenia took me in. I was… not easy. She had recently lost her own husband, and yet she made space for me. She never once made me feel like a burden.”
April’s expression softened. “That sounds like love.”
“It was.”
He paused in front of a portrait of Rebecca with wild hair and a laughing mouth. Theo had to take a breath to collect himself. Telling April about his family was inveitable, but he could not allow his vulnerability to show.
“That’s my sister, Rebecca. She was older by three years. Fierce, curious, never sat still. She once tried to train our cat to fetch her slippers.”
April smiled. “Did it work?”
“Only if the slippers were made of fish.”
They walked a little farther.
“And my brother, Nathaniel,” he added. “He was the youngest. Barely more than a baby. He had this habit of clutching anything within reach—usually my cuff or Rebecca’s ribbon.”
April looked at him carefully. “You speak of them as if—”
“As if they are still with me? In many ways, they are.” He kept walking, not looking at her.
She followed silently for a few steps then glanced back at the portrait of his parents, sister, and brother. Theo’s heart dipped every time he looked at his family.
It was this loss that had carved out the solemn shape of him now. That shaped the silence between his words. She said nothing though he wondered what was going through her mind.
They came upon a painting—a stormy seascape, wild and thrashing, a ship caught between waves and lightning.
April stopped.
Theo noticed immediately how her body shifted, how she seemed to fold inward, arms drawing slightly across her front.
“April?”
Her voice was low. “I don’t like the sea.”
“You’re not alone in that. This one terrifies even my aunt’s pug.”
April didn’t laugh.
He stepped closer, watching her closely. “What is it about it?”
She didn’t meet his eyes. “I nearly drowned. Once. When I was small. My parents were trying to stop May and June from fighting—again—and I wandered off near the stream behind our old house in the country. There were rocks. I thought I could hop across them.”
Theo’s jaw tightened.
“I slipped. I remember the cold and the way it pulled. I couldn’t breathe. It was June who found me. I’ve never quite forgiven the water.”
She finally looked at him then, her usual light dulled by the memory.
He touched her elbow, a light pressure meant to anchor. “The sea should be terrified of you, not the other way around.”
That drew the faintest smile.
“Truly,” he said, voice quieter now. “You’ve endured worse than storms.”
She tilted her head, studying him. “You’re trying to flatter me.”
“Would it work if I were?”
“I might let it.”
His hand brushed the inside of his coat, fingers resting for a moment on the folded handkerchief tucked into his pocket. He didn’t pull it out. Didn’t need to. The memory of it there was enough to remind him of what was being risked.
You shouldn’t give her hope.
But it was hard not to with her standing so close, with her shadows laid bare and no pretense in her eyes.
He took another step then paused.
“If I asked you to imagine me with ink on my face and sugarplums in my pockets, would it ruin the very grave impression I’ve made thus far?”
April laughed, the sound soft and welcome. “Entirely. I’m afraid I’d never again be able to take you seriously in a cravat.”
“Then I must confess—I once tried to bribe the cook with Latin conjugations to get an extra tart.”
“And did it work?”
“Only until she realized my Latin was atrocious.”
Their laughter mingled, light and easy. It caught Theo off guard, how effortless it felt. How unlike him.
She glanced at him sidelong. “You know, I think I quite like you like this.”
“Like what?”
“Not plotting the conquest of an estate. Not explaining obscure terms in a book. Just… being.”
He looked at her then, something quiet flickering in his eyes. “You’re easy to talk to—when you’re not accusing me of bullying earls.”
“I only accused you of intimidation. It’s not the same.”
“And yet, you’re still here.”
“So are you.”
Their steps had slowed, almost stilled. They stood before a quieter painting now—just a hillside dotted with trees. Nothing wild. Nothing stormy.
“I think,” April said slowly, “we might do well as friends.”
“You think so?”
“Yes. Friends ask questions, don’t they? And tell the truth. Even when it’s a little uncomfortable.”
He nodded once, solemn. “Then I suppose I ought to ask you something uncomfortable.”
She lifted a brow. “Go on.”
“Would you have preferred a man who didn’t need to marry for an estate?”
April met his gaze directly. “I would have preferred a man who told me why it mattered. Which, today, you did.”
Theo stared at her a moment longer then finally looked away. His hand brushed again against the folded cloth in his pocket.
You shouldn’t give her hope.
But the quiet warmth between them felt nothing like hope.
It felt like the start of trust. And so, he said nothing more, just stepped past the painting.
They stopped again before a new canvas, this one gentler, softer in hue.
A couple danced beneath moonlight, frozen mid-step, his hand at her waist, hers resting lightly on his shoulder.
The paint shimmered slightly, giving the illusion of movement.
“My aunt is particularly fond of this one,” Theo observed.
April studied the image. “Is it the moonlight or the way they look at each other?”
He shrugged. “You’d have to ask her.”
She raised one fine brow, smiling. “And you? What do you think of it?”
“I don’t think of it.”
“Of course not. The Duke of Stone does not bother with moonlight or dancing couples.”
“Because they rarely serve practical purposes.”
“Ah,” she said with mock-solemnity. “But what if the purpose is beauty?”
“That’s debatable.”
April stepped closer to the painting and to him. “And here I was beginning to think you were secretly romantic.”
He looked at her then, fully, and something electric passed between them. Jasmine scent filled his nose while her crystal blue eyes had him quite transfixed.
“I assure you,” he said, swallowing, “I am entirely dull.”
April laughed. “No, you are not. You’re many things. Frustrating. Exacting. Occasionally infuriating. But not dull.”
His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth, and when he lifted it again, the space between them had shrunk.
“April,” he murmured.
She looked up at him, not moving away. “Yes?”
He took a step closer, and then another. A tiny gasp escaped her lips. His hand hovered, not touching her but near enough that she could feel the warmth of it.
Their faces were inches apart now. Her eyes searched his as though she was waiting. Theo’s restraint, hard-won and deeply embedded, faltered. Step away from me, April.
She didn’t move, and neither did he. The moment balanced on a blade. One inch. One breath. One slip.