Chapter 25
Twenty-Five
Aknock came.
April paused, her fingers tangled in her hair as she sat at her vanity, comb in hand. The knock had not come from the hallway, but from the door that connected her chambers to Theo’s.
She rose slowly, donned her robe, and crossed the room. Her fingers hovered over the handle for a moment before she turned it.
Theo stood there, his dark hair tousled, his cravat undone, and the faintest crease on his brow. He had never looked more like himself. Or rather—
He had looked nearly like this that Christmas.
When her world was snowflakes and gingerbread and the anticipation of her older brother’s return from Eton.
“Sit still, April,” her mother had said, tugging a ribbon through her braid. “They will be here any moment.”
But April had already wriggled free, all knees and elbows and a grin that had never learned restraint. Her feet flew to the drawing room window. She pressed her nose to the cold glass, fogging it with impatient little puffs of breath.
Then—a carriage.
“They’re here!”
She didn’t wait for permission. She bolted—through the door, down the steps, into the winter air like a shot of sunshine with too many opinions and not enough coat. Her slippers barely touched the icy stone. Snow crunched underfoot, the world bright with frost and the promise of excitement.
The door opened. August climbed down first.
“August!” she shrieked, launching herself at him.
He caught her with a laugh, spinning her once in the air before setting her down, only to be met with her squinting appraisal.
“You’re a foot taller,” she declared.
“I was always taller.”
“No, you weren’t. Not like this.”
Then she saw him.
Another boy—no, a young man—alighted behind August. He was taller still, his coat woefully thin, and he stood awkwardly at the edge of the moment, his hands tucked behind his back. His blue eyes scanned the manor like a child peering into someone else’s dream.
April stared. Then, decisive as ever, she stepped forward. “Hello. I’m April Vestiere.”
The boy blinked. “Theodore Roth.”
“Do you have a title?” she asked, tilting her head. “August mentioned a duke in his letters.”
He glanced at August, almost uncertain, then gave a small nod. “Yes.”
“Where are you from?”
“Kent.”
“Is that very far? Do you have a dog?”
He shifted slightly. “Kent is far from Norfolk. And no, I don’t have a dog.”
“Are you my brother’s dearest friend?”
He hesitated then nodded. “I suppose so.”
April narrowed her eyes. “Why are you being quiet? Are you always like this?”
Another shrug. “I don’t know.”
She blinked then noticed his shoulders drawn tight against the cold. “You look frozen. Come inside. We have fires and biscuits, and June has already tried to eat an ornament.”
Theo said nothing, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
She reached for his hand, small and unbothered. “Come on.”
Inside the manor, warmth and noise collided with Theo like a wave. April’s parents sat near the hearth. May and June were a tangle of curls and chatter beside the tree.
April tugged him toward the chaos. “Last year, June tried to wrap the cat in gold paper. He escaped but not before stealing a bow.”
Theo blinked.
“May thinks the gingerbread biscuits whisper. Last Christmas, she said one called her a goose, and she threw it in the fire.”
“Did it scream?” Theo asked, deadpan.
April giggled. “Only she would know.”
He gave a soft snort, almost a laugh.
“And once June thought perfume was rosewater and sprinkled it everywhere. The house smelled like lavender for a week. Father still twitches when he smells it.”
He looked at her then. Really looked. His eyes took in the room, the glowing fire, the chatter, the comfort. Like he didn’t quite believe it would hold still if he moved too fast.
August wandered over, tousling April’s hair. “I told you my sisters were a handful.”
“I am not,” April objected instantly.
“Do try not to overwhelm him.”
April turned to Theo with solemn concern. “Am I overwhelming you?”
He stared at her, unsure how to answer, then shook his head. “No.”
She beamed. “Good. Because you look like you need more stories.”
He didn’t respond, but he smiled. Really smiled. And April decided then and there that she was quite fond of him.
Even if he didn’t have a dog.
The memory had faded over time until it felt like a dream, and his face in the memory blurred beyond recognition, but at this moment, seeing him framed in the doorway of her bedchamber, the memory returned with startling clarity. As if it had happened just yesterday.
“You look like you did at Christmas,” she said, before she could stop herself.
He raised a brow. “Which one?”
“The one when you came home with August. You had snow in your hair and no gloves. And you looked like you didn’t know what to do with a family.”
Theo stepped into the room. “I remember. Your sister fed me four biscuits and tried to convince me your Christmas tree was magic.”
“She still believes that,” April said softly, stepping back to allow him entry.
“I am surprised you remember. You were so little then.”
“And you indulged my thousand questions.”She tilted her head. “Why have you come?”
His eyes met hers. “Because I cannot stop thinking of that boy. And the girl who tried to save him with warm fires and gingerbread.”
April swallowed, her hands clasping in front of her even as the past hovered between them and neither of them moved.
Theo stepped further into the room. “May I sit?” he asked.
April blinked. “So formal. Do you require a written invitation as well?”
He gave a small shake of his head and walked over to the sofa near the hearth. She shifted to make room, her heart beginning to drum without reason. He sat beside her, the fire casting gold and amber across his face.
For a long while, he looked into the flames, shoulders drawn tight.
“I was finishing at Eton when August invited me to spend Christmas with your family. I did not want to come. The idea of spending the holiday with strangers held no appeal.”
April tucked her legs beneath her and leaned slightly toward him. “And yet you came.”
“Because August insisted. But you…” He turned his head, meeting her eyes briefly. “You made it different.”
A quiet smile rose on her lips. “Then why didn’t you return?”
His jaw flexed. “I assumed my title soon after. The duties were... consuming. And I didn’t wish to encroach on something I had no right to.”
I waited for you, she thought. I searched the door the Christmas after that. Then another until three years passed… and you became only a story in my mind.
Theo shifted again, his hand dragging slowly down the armrest. “I’ve noticed the changes you’ve made to the manor. The drawing room feels brighter. The music room—more welcoming.”
April arched a brow. “You sound surprised.”
“I am. Though I admit, I feared you might hang lace in the library.”
She gave a soft laugh. “I thought about it. I refrained out of mercy.”
“I appreciate the mercy. Though I must ask—what possessed you to rearrange every book by theme and language?”
“Because your former system was an abomination,” she replied, lifting a brow. “Fencing manuals next to German philosophers? Three copies of Paradise Lost wedged between gardening guides?”
“I knew where everything was.”
“I’m quite sure you did not.”
“Perhaps not. But your order has made it unnervingly… efficient.”
“Heaven forbid,” she teased.
“Even Aunt Eugenia will likely say she hardly recognizes the manor when she visits. I suspect she might think I’ve sold the place and moved into a pastry shop.”
April grinned. “Then we must bring her here when it is finished. I’d like her to see it transformed.”
“She would like that,” he said after a pause. “She has long considered it too bleak, but she never said so.”
“It’s not bleak anymore. It just needed… a little life.”
“That it has,” he murmured.
Then, more quietly, he added, “Stone Hall has been in my family for nearly a century, but I never lived here with my parents. We stayed in Kent—an older manor, falling to ruin in places.”
Something shifted in his voice—something old and frayed at the edges.
“One night,” he swallowed, and his eyes took on a darker look,, “men broke into the house. My mother had just enough time to tell me to hide in the servants’ passages.
So I did. I stayed hidden… even when I heard her scream.
Even when they found my father. He tried to protect my sister and my brother. ”
April’s fingers curled around the cushion. Her breath had stilled.
“They were killed,” Theo finished. “All three of them. And I did nothing. I stayed hidden like a coward.”
She reached for his hand, threading her fingers through his.
“You were a child.”
He did not look at her. “I should have fought. I should have helped.”
“You survived. That was all your mother asked of you.”
His eyes remained on the fire. “Eugenia took me in afterward. But from that day, I promised myself—I would never allow softness to blind me again. I hunted the men responsible. Some were caught. Others vanished.”
April sat very still.
“The man you saw me question… he was one of them. I’ve been trying to confirm it for years.”
“Then I was wrong to judge you.”
“No. You were right to ask. I should have told you.”
“Then why did you not?”
A silence stretched between them that was both tender and heavy.
“I did not want a marriage of war, April,” he added after a moment, and she understood that the answer to her question was not forthcoming. “I married you because I thought… we might find friendship. Something… honest.”
Friendship, she echoed in her mind. Is that all you hoped for?
Still, she nodded. “Then let us begin again. If not as man and wife in truth, then at least as allies.”
He looked at her then really looked at her, and her cheeks warmed. “I have been watching what you’re doing with the manor.”
“You have?” she asked, tilting her head.
“Every detail. I noticed the change in the vases. And the wallpaper in the blue drawing room. Even the new curtain tassels in the stairwell.”
Her cheeks warmed. “Now, you’re merely showing off.”
“You should know by now, I do not waste words.”
She flushed deeper, caught off guard. And then he reached out, gently brushing a loose curl from her cheek. Her breath hitched.
He leaned in, the distance narrowing—
But just as her heart caught in anticipation, he brushed his lips against her cheek. Warmth spread through her, but not before her senses were jolted by surprise.
His lips lingered on her cheek, and April leaned into him for a moment before he straightened.
“Good night, April.”
She swallowed and managed a nod, her heart racing. “Good night.”
As the door shut behind him, April sat still for a long while. A feeling bloomed in her chest—something fragile and aching.
Why does it hurt when you leave me?