Chapter 20
Twenty
Michael Linwood.
Theo had been staring at the name for nearly an hour.
It sat at the top of the page like an accusation. A name Theo had heard before—faintly, distantly—but one he could find nothing solid about. No holdings. No mention in the current peerage. No record of attendance at Parliament or even the clubs that men of his standing frequented.
And yet it had come from the lips of a man Theo had spent days tracking, a man who had broken beneath his questions and spit out the name like a curse.
Now, it sat there, mocking him.
Theo leaned back in his chair, his teeth clenched and eyes on the name inked in his own hand. Anything to keep himself from thinking about her.
He had tried to busy himself. Letters, books, business. None of it worked. He’d even reviewed the ledgers from Gloucestershire—anything to keep from picturing the look in her eyes as she backed away from him.
She had seen him in his worst hour, and she had walked away.
Good.
It was better this way. Safer and cleaner.
Then why did every breath feel like a war inside his chest?
He pulled the handkerchief from his coat pocket and stared at it.
The messy stitching of his initials ran diagonally across one corner, surrounded by whimsical designs—flowers, a crooked crown, a star that might have been a sun. It was uneven and absurd.
And yet he carried it with him everywhere.
The door opened, but he did not look up. “I thought you would be below stairs sparring with your old friend.”
“That dummy is not my friend,” Theo replied.
August chuckled. “I suppose you will not spar with your friend as dangerously as you do with the dummy.”
“Would you like to prove that?” Theo looked up now, noticing how worn his friend looked.
“I do like to keep you on edge,” August replied with a grin. “But I shall not fence against you.” August leaned against the doorframe as though he had always belonged there. Which, in truth, he had.
Theo rose and went to the sideboard, pouring two glasses of whiskey. He handed one to August without comment.
August took it then held out a folded letter as he crossed to sit in front of the large oak desk. “From April.”
Theo’s eyes snapped to the note, his pulse tightening before he could steel himself. A letter. So, she had written after all. For a moment, he didn’t reach for it. Curiosity warred with a heavier emotion that sat like a stone behind his ribs.
Surrendering, he took it from August’s hand, unfolded the parchment, and began to read.
Your Grace,
In light of the circumstances, I accept your proposal. As discussed, ours shall be a marriage of convenience. We will maintain the necessary appearances and fulfill our duties accordingly.
Lady April Vestiere
He read it once. Then again. Her voice echoed in his mind but stripped of every warmth he’d heard in it before.
“She sounds like she’s drafting a treaty,” he muttered.
August chuckled. “You should’ve seen her expression when she sealed it. Like she was being asked to cross a battlefield with no allies.”
Theo folded the letter precisely and slipped it into his pocket. “She was meant to hate me,” he murmured. “She found me questioning a man here, and that… frightened her.”
“It would frighten any woman.” August nodded. “She told me.”
“She still wishes to marry me.” Theo sounded as though he could not believe it, and perhaps, he truly could not. He was certain he would never see her again.
“And yet,” August said, “you look like you’ve just been shot.”
Theo took a long sip from his glass, the whiskey burning down his throat.
“Why her?” August asked after a moment.
“That’s my secret to keep.”
August raised a brow, smile slow and knowing. “You’re enamored with her. Admit it, man. The mighty Duke of Stone has fallen. It’s practically poetic.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Theo said. “Come. I need to remind you how poor your aim is.”
They moved to the billiard room. Theo racked the balls with methodical precision while August chalked a cue and eyed the table like a man preparing for battle.
“You look like hell,” Theo said as he handed him the first shot.
“And you look like a man who hasn’t slept since last week,” August returned. “Managing an estate with no profits and trying to keep creditors happy is no small feat.”
Theo leaned forward, assessed the balls, and delivered a shot. “You’re wasting your talent on appeasing men who don’t deserve your deference. You should put your faith in something faster.”
“Like a horse?”
“Like Hades,” Theo replied. “He runs in two weeks at Epsom. He is the fastest creature I’ve ever seen.”
August grinned. “Hades. You named your horse after the god of the underworld?”
“It suits him. He devours every other beast on the field.”
“Sounds charming,” August muttered. “And brutal.”
“He’ll win. Put something on him. You need the coin.”
August lined up a shot and missed. “I’d rather not gamble on luck I no longer own.”
Theo poured them both another glass. “The offer stands.”
August took it, raising his glass in mock salute. “You’ve done enough already. Agreeing to marry April is a great service to our family.”
Theo bristled at the phrasing. A great service.
He masked it with a clean shot that sank two balls in quick succession.
“She deserves more than that,” he said softly.
August’s brow rose. “Then perhaps she chose better than we thought.”
They played on in silence for a few minutes, only the soft crack of the balls breaking the stillness.
Then Theo stopped. He leaned on his cue, eyes fixed on the corner of the table.
“Michael Linwood.”
August looked up, his stance straightening. “What about him?”
“That’s the name I got from the man I questioned.”
August set down his cue slowly. “I don’t know him. Why?”
Theo’s eyes lifted. His voice was low, iron beneath it.
“Because that is the name of the man who killed my parents and siblings.”
April sat alone in the dark drawing room, one slippered foot tucked beneath her, the other tapping a restless rhythm against the carpet. She hadn’t lit a fire; she didn’t feel cold, only restless.
When the sound of the front door opening reached her ears, she stood at once, smoothing her night robe and moving quickly into the hallway.
August was handing his coat to the butler when she met him.
“Did he—?” she began then caught herself before dragging her brother into the drawing room. “Did Theodore accept?”
Her brother raised an eyebrow. “You’re the one who accepted, little sister. Or have you forgotten the letter you sent me to deliver?”
April flushed. “He could have refused.”
August laughed softly, the sound warm despite the hour. “Theo has many faults, but breaking his word isn’t one of them.”
April folded her arms defensively. “I wasn’t certain.”
He tilted his head at her. “Are you going to bed now that your message has been safely delivered?”
She hesitated. “I doubt I’ll sleep.”
August jerked his head toward the hallway. “Come. I’m starving. Let’s see what we can scavenge.”
They made their way to the kitchens, quiet in the hush of the house.
The servants had long since gone to bed, but the embers of the hearth still glowed faintly.
August found a jug of milk and poured two cups while April rifled through the pantry and returned with a loaf of bread and a wedge of cheese.
They sat at the scullery table, the scene oddly domestic. April nibbled at her slice. “Did he say anything when he read it?”
August smirked. “You know how he is. Blinked once. Possibly breathed. Emotion, of course, was strictly forbidden.”
April tried not to smile. Yet he has ample emotion coursing through him.
She tore a piece of bread and dipped it in the milk. “Mama will be pleased.”
“Yes,” August agreed, “and Father will be relieved.”
She opened her mouth then closed it again, her fingers tightening around the cup as she searched his face for reassurance. “What about you?”
He leaned back, studying her for a moment. “What I think doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me.”
He sighed, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. “I know that Theo is an honorable man. I trust him, and that is not a trust I give lightly. But he carries something with him, April. A past heavy enough to make most men bend.”
“How long have you known him?”
August glanced toward the ceiling as though he was recalling. “Since Eton. We weren’t close at first. Theo wasn’t close to anyone.”
“What was he like then?” she asked.
“Much the same,” August replied, a smile ghosting across his mouth. “Said little. Thought too much. Always restrained, always a few steps apart from everyone else. But fiercely loyal. If he let you in, you stayed in.”
He paused then added, “We became friends after something happened in our second year. There was a storm—terrible wind, rain like knives—and I’d stayed out too late after fencing practice.
I lost track of time. I slipped in the courtyard and hit my head on the stone steps.
I might’ve lain there half the night if he hadn’t found me.
Theo carried me all the way to the infirmary, and he didn’t say a word about it after.
He simply behaved as if it were nothing. But it wasn’t.”
April blinked. “He carried you?”
“Through mud and sleet and a good half-mile stretch. I think he scared the poor headmaster half to death, marching in soaked and bleeding, dragging me behind him. From that day on, I think we both knew. That sort of loyalty doesn’t come twice.”
She looked down at her hands. “That sounds like the man his aunt described to me when I had tea with her.”
“Yes,” August said, his voice gentler now. “That’s Theo.”
April looked up from her milk to her brother. “Did he tell you what happened in his life?”
“Yes, he told me, but some stories don’t need to be told to be felt. You see it in the way he holds back. The way he speaks when he thinks no one is listening.”
“And you still believe he can make a good husband?”
August’s gaze turned serious. “He can. But only if you’re patient. And only if he lets you in.”
April nodded slowly and pushed a crumb across the table. “I don’t know how to reach someone who doesn’t want to be found.”
“Then don’t reach,” August said simply. “Wait. Let him come to you. And in the meantime, live honestly. He’ll see that.”
April was quiet for a long moment then she asked softly, “Do you think he’ll ever speak of it? The tragedy?”
“If anyone can coax it from him, it’s you.”
Is this tragedy about his parents?