Chapter 21
Twenty-One
April stepped off the final stair and stopped short. The household was in motion. Maids swept the hallways with frantic precision, footmen bustled past with boxes and fabrics draped over their arms. Voices murmured from every direction. Something had happened.
She made her way to the drawing room, uncertain what she’d find. The moment she entered, she was nearly bowled over by May, who launched toward her with wide eyes and a crumpled sheet of paper.
“You’re in print!” May exclaimed. “Look!”
June and their mother were huddled on the settee, heads bent over another copy. May pressed hers into April’s hands.
The Duke of Stone Engaged!
After weeks of speculation, it has now been confirmed that Lady April Vestiere, one of the luminous Vestiere triplets, has accepted the hand of the famously elusive Duke of Stone.
Sources claim the match is one of practicality and mutual benefit—yet London buzzes with speculation.
Has the stone-hearted Duke finally found his match?
Has Lady April warmed the coldest bachelor in the realm?
Their courtship has captivated the imagination of many, and now, with the engagement confirmed, all eyes are upon them. Is it a love match after all? Or will the Duke’s heart remain as untouchable as ever?
April looked up from the column as her mother spoke. “August told me this morning you had changed your mind. Good thing too. Had the gossip come out and there been no wedding, we’d have been a laughingstock.”
April managed a smile though it wobbled. Her throat felt oddly tight. A laughingstock. That was what they’d feared. Not heartbreak. Not uncertainty. Scandal.
May hugged her from one side, June from the other.
“We’re going to have a wedding in the family!” May squealed. “First among the three of us. You’ve raised the stakes, sister.”
Dorothy stood and began pacing. “We must begin preparations at once. The invitations must be drawn up, the church informed for the reading of the banns. And your trousseau, April—we must have your measurements taken again. The modiste must be summoned immediately.”
“You’ll need new slippers,” June chimed in. “And gloves. The pale ivory ones.”
“Pearls,” May added. “I think pearls will suit you best.”
They fluttered around her, a chorus of cheer and plans, while April sat silently, the gossip sheet still in hand. Her name. His title. Public speculation laid bare. It was real now, impossibly so.
I don’t feel like a bride. I feel like a piece on a chessboard.
A letter arrived late that morning. April took it and broke the seal after recognizing Lady Darnell’s crest:
My dear Lady April,
Tulip and I are in need of better conversation than the newspapers offer. Come have tea with me this afternoon?
Warmly, Eugenia Darnell
April exhaled then nodded to herself. She penned a reply in the drawing room and sent it.
Later that afternoon, she walked the familiar path to Lady Darnell’s house. With each step, her heart thudded faster, hoping—praying—Theo would not be there. She might have accepted, but that did not mean she was ready.
When the butler showed her in and she found Lady Darnell alone with Tulip snoring at her feet, relief flooded her.
“Lady April,” the older woman greeted, gesturing her to sit. “You’re prompt. How refreshing.”
“Lady Darnell,” April replied with a small smile, taking the offered seat. “I’m pleased to see you well.”
“Now, now,” the older woman chided gently, “if you’re to marry my nephew, you’d better start calling me Eugenia. I insist.”
“Very well.”
“Tea will be in shortly. Tulip has already been told she may not have any.”
April laughed softly as she sat. “She doesn’t look especially distraught.”
“She never is. She believes herself royalty and expects the world to adjust accordingly.” Eugenia leaned forward in her chair. “Tell me. How do you find the weather?”
“It seems lovelier than last week,” April answered as the tea arrived.
“Oh, the rain was good for something after all,” Eugenia chuckled, gesturing to April to pour the tea for them. “Tulip hates it of course. It frizzes her ears.”
April laughed. “Does she ever forgive you for letting it rain?”
“Not until I offer her a bone or a rub on her belly. Sometimes both.”
April’s smile warmed. “She’s very clever.” She poured the tea into two cups and handed Eugenia a one.
“She’s a tyrant but yes, clever,” Eugenia agreed. “Now, shall I tell you a story about Theo?”
April raised her brows.
“Oh, do not look at me like that!” Eugenia laughed.
“Did you think I called you here to truly talk about the weather? No. I wish to tell you more about the man you are to marry.” She smirked and took a sip of her tea.
“And yes, I read the announcement in the papers this morning even though I have not seen him.”
“When Theo was five,” the Countess said, after pouring tea, “he ran away from a music lesson and climbed a tree. Wouldn’t come down until his governess promised to cancel all future lessons. He was not fond of music, you see.”
“And did she cancel the lessons?” April reached for a sugar covered biscuit and bit into it, savoring the taste.
“Certainly not. But he didn’t climb trees after that, either. At least, until he was six years old.”
They both laughed.
“At seven, he challenged a boy twice his size to a duel over a dog. He won. Bloody nose, black eye, and all. But the victory was his.”
“Was it his dog?”
“No. He just thought the boy had been cruel to it.”
April’s heart warmed at the mention of Theo defending a dog. He had a sense of justice then.
“And once,” Eugenia continued, “he recited an entire sonnet at the dinner table because someone said he had no imagination.”
April blinked. “That I find hard to believe.”
“As did I, but there he was, ten years old and quoting Shakespeare like a seasoned bard.”
April laughed again, the warmth of the room wrapping around her like a shawl. For a moment, she was tempted to ask, What happened to his family?
But she didn’t. To ask would be a betrayal. And somehow, she already knew it wasn’t her question to ask.
The door opened, and Theo entered. April’s spine snapped straight. He looked equally still, his frame coiled as if every muscle had frozen mid-thought.
“Auntie,” he greeted then turned to April. “Lady April.”
“Your Grace,” she said, keeping her voice even, and her smile light. She didn’t let her fingers curl on the armrest though they wanted to. For Eugenia, she would ignore everything that had happened between them in the last few days.
“Well, this is cozy. Tea for three. Come, Theo, sit.” Eugenia waved him forward. “You look as though you’ve been brooding. Tea will do you good.”
He sat without a word, his back straight and eyes masking everything beneath. April didn’t trust that silence. She remembered what could live beneath it… The rage… The violence…
She swallowed and tried to shake the thoughts away. Eugenia stood and smoothed her skirts. “Now then, I think I shall take a turn in the garden.”
April stood at once. “I’ll accompany you.”
“Nonsense,” the Countess said, waving her hand. “You came for tea, not to wear your feet out following a slow old woman. Sit, sit.”
April watched her go, stomach tightening. She resisted the urge to reach for the teapot just to have something to do. Then she looked at Theo. He was already watching her.
“You accepted my offer,” he said.
April lifted her chin, keeping her expression pleasant. “Shouldn’t I have?”
He studied her, too long and too closely, and she nearly squirmed in her seat. “It surprised me, but I have no complaints.”
She let out a small breath through her nose, careful not to show more than politeness. He unnerved her—always had—but she wouldn’t let it show.
The tension settled into a quieter, tenser rhythm. April reached for the teapot.
“Would you like some tea?”
He inclined his head. “Yes.”
She poured slowly, deliberately, adding two spoonfuls of sugar and a generous splash of cream. She slid the cup across to him, forcing her hand not to visibly tremble.
“That is not how I drink my tea,” he said, eyeing the cup as if it might betray him.
April’s smile stretched. “It’s how you used to drink it.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “And what makes you think I’ll accept it now?”
“Old things are easier to accept than new ones,” she replied.
He didn’t touch the cup. Instead, he leaned back, one brow slightly lifted.
“What is your goal, April?”
The question dropped like a stone between them. She tilted her head and watched him though she learned nothing from observing him. He would not let her see anything.
“You shall find out after we are married.”
His gaze pinned her, and though her expression didn’t shift, her pulse quickened. He was always testing. Always trying to see what lay beneath.
“I can procure a special license,” he said. “We could be married in days, not weeks. Then I won’t have to wait to find out.”
April lifted her cup and took a sip. “Ambitious of you.”
He said nothing in response to that—which somehow said more. She lifted her teacup to her lips and took a slow sip, all in a poor effort to keep herself occupied.
“You mentioned in your letter,” he said after a moment, “that this would be a marriage in name only.”
“Yes,” she replied without hesitation. “Unless, of course, you intend to demand heirs from me.”
His eyes held hers. Too still. “Would you give them if I did?”
She laughed, a soft and airy thing that didn’t quite reach her chest. “I don’t believe you would demand them.”
She leaned in slightly, the same way she might with a stranger at a dull dinner party. “You’re far too proper to make demands of your wife. You’d more likely submit a written request. Signed and sealed. Perhaps even witnessed.”
“And you’d make me wait a fortnight before granting it,” he said, and this time there was the faintest shift in his eyes. Not humor, exactly. Something closer to curiosity.
She said nothing, but her silence was purposeful. That she could use too. April was learning from him, and perhaps that would give her an advantage in this marriage.
He finally picked up the cup, took a sip, and set it back down without comment. Then he reached for a biscuit, dunked it in the tea, and took a bite.
“This,” he said calmly, “is how I always had it.”
April, curious despite herself, took a biscuit of her own and mimicked the gesture. She chewed slowly, eyes on him over the rim of her cup.
“You’re full of surprises, Your Grace.”
“It’s well guarded information,” he replied. “I’ll expect you to keep it to yourself.”
“For the right bribe, perhaps.”
“What would it take?”
She tilted her head, still smiling, though it felt like holding a fan too long. “That depends. How desperate are you to protect your fearsome reputation?”
Theodore refused to answer which was not surprising. April turned her attention back to her tea. The biscuit softened on her tongue, the tea warmer than she’d expected. She hated that it comforted her. She wasn’t here to be comforted.
“Shall I walk you home?” he asked as she set down her cup after the last sip.
She blinked. “You wish to?”
“Everyone knows we’re engaged,” he pointed out, dry as dust. But beneath the words was something else—not quite an invitation, not quite expectation.
“We may as well give them what they want to see—a besotted duke and his fair lady.”
She gave a bright smile, practiced to perfection. “Fair lady, am I?”
“In the eyes of the ton, certainly.”
“And in yours?”
“I’ve said enough for one afternoon, April.”
Taking a breath, April stood and ran a hand down her skirts as though the motion might smooth her nerves. “Then yes. Walk me home, Your Grace. Let’s give them a show.”
They headed to the gardens to find Eugenia seated on a bench beneath a budding tree, her face tipped toward the sun like a cat in perfect contentment. Tulip sprawled at her feet, equally still.
“Look at you two,” Eugenia said with a grin, eyes bright beneath her bonnet. “A perfect pair if ever I saw one. Theo, see that you walk her home properly. I expect glowing reports of your manners.”
April chuckled and dipped into a small curtsy. “You have my word, Eugenia.”
Theodore inclined his head in silent acknowledgment. They left through the garden gate, the path curling around rows of lavender and low hedges until they reached the street. Theo offered his arm, and April took it.
They hadn’t gone half a block before the stares began. Curious glances and whispers behind gloved fingers and fans. One bold matron actually paused mid-step, gawking outright.
April leaned in with mock intimacy, her voice barely above a murmur. “I do hope you’re prepared to dazzle them.”
“With what, precisely?”
“Your effortless charm of course.”
He said nothing, but his brows shifted slightly.
“We must sell it, Your Grace,” she went on. “They must believe we are deeply and hopelessly smitten. You’ll have to look at me like I’m the sun come down to earth.”
“And you?”
She fluttered her lashes dramatically. “Why, I shall gaze up at you like a swooning debutante. It will be our grandest performance yet.”
“A farce, then.”
“A stunning one,” she said, laughing under her breath. “I daresay we might even convince ourselves, if we try hard enough.”
He glanced at her. She couldn’t quite read his expression, but something moved behind his eyes.
“It is true!” the matron staring at them declared before hurrying to find someone to spread the news to; that the Duke of Stone truly was engaged to Lady April Vestiere. Ridiculous people!
Theodore shook his head. “I cannot say that I find your idea agreeable, but it is effective.”
“An admission from the man himself!” she chuckled while he stared ahead as though he was holding back a groan… or a growl.
They reached Wildmoore House all too soon. April stepped back and withdrew her hand from his arm. She opened her mouth to thank him, but the words stalled when he leaned in—not quite touching but close enough that she caught the scent of him: warm, spicy, and with the faintest trace of leather.
“Now that you’ve accepted my offer, April, I will not wait three weeks to marry you.”
April’s breath caught and held. “I beg your pardon?”
“I have already procured a special license. We marry in a week.”
He straightened and turned before she could so much as blink. Then he walked away, leaving her astounded on the steps.