Chapter 19
Nineteen
“If you let me win this time, I shall know your condition has worsened,” her father said dryly as he studied the board.
April found herself in the garden the following day, seated across from him beneath a canopy of flowering wisteria.
A teapot sat between them on a small table, forgotten alongside half-finished cups.
Her father looked better today—his cheeks had color, his posture held less of the weary curve that had settled into his shoulders these past weeks.
She moved a knight, feigning careful thought. “You always assume I let you win.”
“You let me win when you were eight, and you let me win now,” he said with a small, satisfied huff. “You’ve always had a sentimental heart.”
April smiled. “And you’ve always known how to exploit it.”
He tilted his head, observing her closely. “I heard the servants whispering,” he said, shifting the conversation without warning. “Something about an engagement.”
April glanced at the chessboard, as if it held the words she needed. “Did you?”
“Your mother and August have been unusually quiet. That, to me, is more telling than any announcement.”
“They’re waiting for the right time to make an announcement,” she said softly, her voice carefully steady.
He moved a pawn without much interest in its position. “How do you feel about him?”
April adjusted a piece with a light touch, avoiding her father’s eyes. He always could see right into her heart “He’s a good man, Papa. Exceptionally so. He’s reserved, yes, but thoughtful. He’s loyal to the ones he loves. And patient—more than I would have expected.”
“Tell me more about him.”
“He loved sweetmeats as a child,” April added, the memory bringing a softness to her voice. “His aunt told me he could eat sugarplums until he was nearly ill.”
Her father chuckled. “Then he and you are well matched. You loved sweetmeats too—and still do.”
April grinned. “Yes, that is something we have in common.”
Her father raised a brow. “I take it you’ve grown rather fond of him.”
She smiled. “I think anyone would, given the chance to know him. He gave me a book of poetry, the Faerie Queene. Then brought another by Ashcombe. We speak often. He listens. Truly listens.”
Her father let out a short laugh. “And now you’ve endeared him to me entirely. A respectable man with a former weakness for confections. I imagine you find these things out in clever ways.”
“I remember when you were five,” he said, with a look that drifted somewhere past her shoulder, toward the swaying wisteria. “You insisted on having your own tea set. Not the painted wooden one your mother found for you—but porcelain. ‘Proper cups, Papa,’ you said. ‘My dolls are very particular.’”
April laughed softly. “You bought me the tiniest porcelain set from Paris. I thought it the finest treasure in the world.”
“Yes, and you broke the sugar bowl within a week.”
“And cried for two.”
He chuckled then coughed lightly, waving her off when she rose halfway from her seat. “I’m fine. Just remembering. You always did have an eye for what mattered. Even if it made you difficult.”
Her eyes stung again. She blinked it away.
“I hope,” he said quietly, “that I will have the strength to walk you down the aisle.”
The words struck her like a stone through glass.
April gripped the edge of the table, nodding quickly. “You will.”
They played on though neither cared for the game any longer. When the air cooled and the light began to turn golden, she helped him to his feet and walked him slowly back to his chambers.
Inside, she eased him into bed and smoothed the blanket over his chest. He gave her hand a small squeeze. She held it a moment longer than necessary.
When she stepped into the hallway, Dorothy stood there waiting. “I didn’t want to interrupt.”
“He was stronger today,” April replied.
Dorothy’s eyes lingered on the door. “It is harder than you expect, April, to bring him bad news. Everything I do is so he is not stressed.”
April stepped closer to her mother. “I thought you wanted me to accept the Duke’s offer, so we might avoid gossip… or improve our prospects.”
Dorothy gave a quiet sigh, folding her hands in front of her. “Those things matter, yes. But no, child. Not chiefly. August is doing all he can to keep the estate afloat, but there is much to be done, and progress is slow.”
That would explain why he looks so worn. Poor August.
“Your father sleeps more than he wakes, and every night I wonder… what if this is the last one? I wanted him to know that his daughters are safe. Settled. That he had done well by all of us.”
April’s throat tightened. “I understand better now, Mama.” She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her mother. It was not the embrace of two women at odds but rather from different ends of the same story.
They did not say more. There was no need to.
April sat by the library window, lost in her world, until footsteps in the hallway drew her back to the present. She quickly wiped at her eyes and straightened her posture, schooling her expression into calm just as the door opened.
June stepped in, pausing when she saw her. Her amber eyes flicked from the tear tracks April had failed to erase to the untouched tea on the side table. She said nothing, only crossed the room and sat beside her on the chaise.
They remained in silence for a moment.
“You look awful,” June said quietly, but there was no bite to it. No sarcasm. Only understanding.
April gave a watery laugh. “Thank you. That’s precisely what I hoped to hear.”
“I always thought you were the lucky one,” June murmured. “People love you. You walk into a room, and they follow.”
April blinked, startled. “What do you mean?”
June picked at a thread on her sleeve. “You don’t know what it’s like. Being one of three. Some of us always felt… invisible.”
The words pierced April with a strange clarity. She had never considered June might feel that way. Her sister, who always had the sharpest words, the driest wit. She had seemed impervious.
“But now,” June continued, “I see the burden they’ve placed on you. I would not envy that for anything.”
April turned to her slowly. “June, I felt invisible, too.”
Her sister smiled. “I suppose that is one of the consequences of being triplets. All of us crave attention that can only be split into three.”
“Wise words, Sister.”
June reached out, taking her hands. “You mustn’t worry about us, April. We’ll be fine. You must do what is right for you.”
April’s throat tightened again. She looked away. “How can I not worry? Have you seen how tired August is? How thin he’s grown? He is managing an estate that barely feeds itself.”
June sighed. “I know. I miss his laugh. He used to smile so easily.”
April nodded. “He hasn’t smiled properly in months. I worry he’ll wear himself out before anything improves.”
They sat in quiet understanding before June broke the stillness. “I’m tired of the season, you know. All those gentlemen with too much cologne and too many opinions. I don’t trust any of them.”
The word settled heavily between them.
Trust.
April stared at her hands. I don’t trust him because I don’t know him.
Just when she had started to believe she did, he had shown her another side. But then… her brother’s voice returned to her. If he was angry, it’s because that man deserved it. Then there was Theo’s aunt, who was so fond of him. And the way he looked when he wasn’t trying to be distant.
“What are you thinking?” June asked.
April sucked in her lips. Then, with a breath, she replied, “I think I may accept his offer after all.”
June’s brows lifted. “That is curious.”
“Indeed,” April nodded slowly.
“Why did you refuse him in the first place? You seemed rather… inclined before.”
April couldn’t tell her. Not fully. She turned to stare out the window. “Because he’s still a stranger. And I fear what I don’t understand.”
June’s voice was gentler than usual, and she took April’s hand again. “Are you afraid of him? That he would hurt you?”
April’s answer came too quickly. “No.”
And she realized that she meant it. She feared not violence. Not harm.
She feared marrying a man whose mind she could never enter. A man whose silence might always keep her at arm’s length. A man she might love without ever being truly seen or loved in return.
This was the puzzle she had to solve.