Chapter 24
Twenty-Four
It was astounding how much furniture a manor could hold and how little of it seemed capable of sparking joy. Each room, though tastefully adorned, carried the appearance of permanence, as though no one had dared to challenge its arrangement in decades.
April stood in the center of the library, swatches of velvet and damask draped over one arm, a pencil in her hair, and the beginnings of a headache blooming just behind her eyes.
The room was far too dark, the carpets too thick, and the organization was a travesty.
Ancient Greek texts sat beside fencing manuals, German philosophers wedged in with gardening guides, and somehow, a shelf and a half had been sacrificed to botany before abruptly switching gears to hold three mismatched copies of Paradise Lost.
April turned slowly and found Mrs. Maple lingering at the door. “Mrs. Maple, how on earth did the library come to look like this?”
The housekeeper gave a guilty smile. “Well, His Grace doesn’t care for anyone meddling with his books. He has his own… method, I suppose. Prefers they be left exactly where he last set them.”
Of course, he does.
April arched a brow and turned back to the shelves. “Yet he can’t arrange them himself,” she muttered to herself, tugging a dusty volume free and inspecting it as if it might confess its misplacement.
“I don’t suppose anyone knows how these were meant to be arranged?” she asked, not looking up from the shelf she was inspecting.
“We are glad that you are here.” The housekeeper stepped closer and looked around. “Lord knows this room is in dire need of a Duchess’ gentle touch.”
April exhaled slowly, turning back to the shelves with the grit of a general surveying a battlefield.
“Perhaps I ought to begin with a new system,” she said aloud, reaching for a particularly grimy volume.
“By author or theme. No, language. That would at least keep the French from fraternizing with the Latin.”
Mrs. Maple chuckled, “This library is about to learn what it means to behave.”
Around her, the staff whispered over curtain lengths and debated the polish of the brass sconces while someone fetched a carpenter to measure shelving for symmetry.
April remained in motion, issuing decisions with authority, determined not to think, not to feel. If she stayed busy, if she filled every hour with purposeful tasks, perhaps the hollowness would not settle so deeply in her bones.
But then movement caught her eye.
Through the tall windows that faced the western lawn, two figures stood beneath the stone archway. The steward, gray-haired and stoop-shouldered, gestured animatedly with a small ledger in hand while opposite him stood Theo.
He held the sort of quiet command that didn’t require effort, one hand clasped behind his back, the other loose at his side, nodding slowly as the steward spoke, occasionally interjecting with a short word or a subtle shake of his head.
The very air around him seemed to be shaped by his presence, as though the stones underfoot might as well have straightened for him.
April remained still with her hands pressed against the edge of the table, her breath caught somewhere between her chest and her throat. He looks so certain. So at ease in himself. Why do I feel like the only one fumbling in the dark?
“Your Grace?” the footman at her side held out a bundle of samples. “Mrs. Maple thought these silks might suit this room’s palette.”
April blinked and collected herself. “Yes. Thank you. Set them down. I’ll review them shortly.”
He bowed and moved on. When she turned her head again, the lawn was empty.
That afternoon, after insisting on inspecting the music room personally, April paced the wide chamber, her hand on her hips, and her critical eyes drifting over every surface.
The pianoforte had been dragged forward but remained cloaked in a white shroud. She peeled it back with care and pressed one tentative key which rang out dull, lifeless, and slightly flat.
“It needs tuning,” Mrs. Maple observed from behind her, and she nodded.
April then assessed the blue curtains. “These must change,” she declared. “We’ll need something lighter, brocade perhaps.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“And that mirror throws sunlight directly onto the keys. It must be moved or tinted.”
Mrs. Maple grinned and nodded before instructing two footmen to take down the drapes. April approached the wall by the door as muffled voices floated through the window She moved closer, tilting her head.
It was Theo’s low baritone. “Have you confirmed the delivery of my letters?”
“I ensure they were posted this morning, Your Grace. You have new correspondence, and I placed them in your study.”
“Good.”
There was a pause, and April leaned closer, hoping to catch more, but nothing came. She swallowed against the disappointment in her throat. What would it take to truly see this man?
Two days later, at mid-morning, April drifted toward the tall windows and tugged aside the velvet curtain.
Below, in the gardens, Theo walked alone. A small leather-bound book was clasped in one hand. His steps were slow, as though each one required deliberation. He paused near the rose arbor and bent his head to the page.
The breeze stirred the leaves then his dark hair. April briefly closed her eyes, imagining what it would feel like to run her fingers between his locks. A gasp escaped her lips, and she shook her head.
Theo moved to sit on a bench, his eyes still on the book. What are you reading? she wondered. What holds you so still?
She leaned her forehead against the cool glass, the sensation grounding her as much as it reminded her how far away he was. He had not looked up. Not once. He had no idea she was watching him, yet that was the only time she felt near him—when he didn’t know she was there.
She pulled away from the window, moving slowly through the room. The emptiness felt cavernous now, its echoes louder with each passing hour.
She had married a man of stone, and every time she reached for him, her hands came back hollow.
I have never felt more alone.
She will not keep doing this to me.
Theo strode through the hallways of Stone Hall, the ache in his chest sharper than he cared to admit. He had watched her vanish into herself over the past days—silent at dinner, always directing the household or wandering the halls like a restless ghost.
Whatever game this was, he was through with it.
He found her in the foyer, flanked by Redmond and two footmen, her hands motioning to curtain samples while Redmond consulted a list. Her voice was calm, efficient.
“That mirror should be centered between the sconces. And the drapery—we shall have the pale gold if the embroidery is subtle.”
Redmond nodded. “And for the chandelier, Your Grace?”
“I should like to see it cleaned first. Then—”
“April,” Theo interrupted, ignoring the way her shoulders straightened, “I would speak with you.”
She turned slightly. “Just a moment. That painting is not straight.”
And before he could speak again, she crossed the foyer to the far wall, reaching up to adjust a large landscape just installed by the footmen.
Theo watched her, watched the bend of her spine, the graceful stretch of her arm, the composure in her every movement. It was maddening.
Enough.
He moved forward, caught her around the waist, and hoisted her over his shoulder.
April gasped, one hand flying to grip his back. “Theodore! Put me down this instant.”
“You can straighten all the paintings later,” he said. “Right now, I intend to straighten you.”
She kicked lightly, her slippers tapping against his thigh. “You are being ridiculous.”
“Possibly,” he muttered. “But I am also your husband.”
He carried her down the hallway, ignoring the stunned faces of the staff. The first door to the right stood open—a small salon, unused but sunlit. He stepped inside and shut the door with his foot.
When he set her down, her feet touched the carpet with a soft thud, but he didn’t release her.
Their bodies were close, too close. Her breath brushed his throat. He felt every inch of her.
She pulled back first, crossing her arms over her chest, chin raised. “That was wholly inappropriate.”
He stared down at her, his chest heaving. “What else was I to do? You’ve been avoiding me. Dodging every conversation. You won’t speak to me unless it concerns draperies.”
“And you think carrying me through the halls like a sack of flour is going to endear me to you?”
“No,” he said. “But you stopped listening. I thought perhaps a change in tactics was due.”
She rolled her eyes. “You think this is humorous?”
“No. I think it is infuriating.” He stepped closer again. “You shut me out. You smile and nod and speak as if we are nothing more than civil acquaintances. You won’t look at me.”
She threw up her hands. “Perhaps I should have embroidered it into the new draperies. That way you’d actually read it.”
His brows lifted. “I would have preferred that to this strange campaign of silence.”
“And I would have preferred a husband who does not hide behind cryptic silences and half-answers!” she snapped.
“You wish for honesty, yet you give none. You ask me to bare every thought while hiding behind your own barriers. You want my truth but withhold yours. That, Your Grace, is a double standard.”
Theo drew in a breath, but no quick answer came.
She had not shouted. She had not wept. But her words landed harder than if she had done both.
He turned away for a moment, fingers flexing at his sides. “It has never been easy for me.”
She said nothing, waiting.
“I had no one. Not truly. And Eugenia… she did more for me than anyone ever has, but I cannot keep leaning on her. I will not burden her with more than she has already carried.”
April’s arms dropped from her chest as she stepped forward. “And what am I, then? A stranger you share meals with? I am your wife, Theo. Or have you forgotten?”
“No,” he said, meeting her gaze. “I have not forgotten. Not for a moment.”
Her breath caught, and she looked down then up again. “You are so used to standing alone, you do not know what it means to stand beside someone. But that is what marriage is.”
He stared at her. “You speak as though you are unbreakable,” he said. “As though I might hand you all the ugly pieces of me and you’d simply carry them.”
She smiled then—not mocking, not pitying, just herself. “Try me.”
He raised his free hand and touched her cheek with a slowness born of restraint. Her skin warmed his palm.
How much of myself can I show her? How much could she bear to see?
He didn’t speak. Not yet. But something shifted inside him. Something old and locked began to rouse, and for once, he did not fight it.
“I want to call a truce, April. I have much to say, but I need you to give me time to say it.” Theo needed to negotiate with himself first to decide how much he could reveal to her. “Can you give me that? The chance to give you the answers without haste?”
Her face softened, and her shoulders eased. “Very well. You may come to me when you are ready.”
He took a step toward her—to do what, he was unsure. Reaching out, he brushed a chestnut curl from her brow.
“Do not make me wait too long,” she whispered.
Theo leaned forward ever so slightly. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” Their faces were mere inches apart, and he could hear the short breath escape her lips. The color staining her cheeks made his heart pound in his chest. “I think you still have a painting to straighten.”
He would kiss her if he did not say something to make her leave, and Theo doubted the notion of a kiss was a good one. Not with the tension that still lingered between them. Nevertheless, he leaned closer and closer until she let out a gasp.
“I—yes…” April took a step back. Good. “I should see to that painting.”
She hurried out of the salon while he ran a hand through his hair, containing his sigh.