Chapter 26
Twenty-Six
April blinked against the morning light as Miss Evans approached her with a silver tray, a folded note resting atop it.
“From His Grace,” Miss Evans said. April took the note and read:
April,
Would you care to ride with me this morning?
—Theo
She stared at the message, her breath catching. A ride? With him? Her fingers curled slightly at the edges of the note.
He was her husband now, yes, but the prospect of a morning ride alone with him sent a strange fluttering through her. Excitement tangled with nerves.
What could he mean by this invitation? Courtesy? Curiosity? Or something else entirely? He did mention that he wanted them to be friends.
“Miss Evans, please prepare my riding habit,” she said, straightening. She hoped her voice did not betray the tremble in her chest.
Within the hour, she descended the stairs to find Theo waiting in the foyer. He was dressed for the ride, the sharp lines of his coat softened by the relaxed cravat and the tousled look of his dark hair. The morning light streamed in through the tall windows, casting him in golden relief.
“Planning to steal me away from my duchess duties, are you?” she teased as she approached.
He raised a brow. “And what might those entail?”
“Redecorating this brooding fortress of yours. You’d be utterly lost without me.”
“I begin to suspect I already am.”
Her brow arched, but she could not quite suppress the smile. “That was almost charming.”
“I’ll try to restrain myself,” he said, but his gaze lingered a little longer than necessary.
They stepped outside and made their way to the stables, the path still glittering faintly with dew. The crisp air nipped gently at her cheeks, and she inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of hay, earth, and high summer.
Their horses were already prepared—Theo’s formidable black stallion and her gentle mare, Belle.
She ran a soothing hand over Belle’s flank before glancing sideways. “You truly ride every morning?”
“Before dawn, when the world is quiet,” he replied. “The stillness helps me think.”
As she approached her mare, he stepped forward. “Allow me.”
April blinked. “I’ve mounted a horse before?”
“Yes, and you shall again, but let me do this one thing, if only to pretend I’m gallant.”
She gave him a mock-curtsy. “By all means. Gallant away.”
He reached for her waist, his hands warm as they circled her. She felt the strength in his grip, and for a moment, her breath caught. She steadied one gloved hand on his chest as he lifted her.
Time slowed.
His gaze caught hers, and then dropped, just briefly, to her lips. She swallowed. Her heart was no longer fluttering—it was tumbling.
She swung her leg over and settled onto the saddle, but his hands did not drop at once. They lingered, just a second too long.
“Do you always rescue ladies from their own stirrups?” she asked, trying to keep her voice light.
“Only the ones who might fall for me,” he replied and stepped back.
Her laughter came a little breathless. “That was very nearly scandalous.”
“Scandal keeps things interesting.”
They rode past the paddocks and out into open fields, side by side.
“Those stables out there,” Theo pointed out, nodding toward the structures near the horizon, “we use for the younger colts, ones not yet fit for the Gloucestershire operation.”
April shaded her eyes with a gloved hand. “You run operations in two counties? Impressive.”
“It keeps me busy,” he said. “There’s one stallion in Gloucestershire you might like. Fierce temperament. Relentless.”
“Let me guess. You named him something grim and frightful.”
“Hades.”
She snorted. “Of course.”
“It suits him. He’s not easily forgotten.”
“So, you prefer dangerous creatures, then?”
He glanced at her. “Sometimes. But I find I’m increasingly intrigued by unpredictable ones.”
She tilted her head, lips curving. “You mean to say I’m unpredictable?”
“I mean to say you’ve outpaced me twice already. In wit and in riding.”
“Well, I can’t let my husband grow too confident. That would be unbearable.”
“Then I thank you for keeping me humble, Duchess.”
She smiled. “I think you enjoy it.”
“I enjoy many things I shouldn’t,” he murmured, and his eyes lingered on her just a second longer than necessary.
The wind stirred the edge of the veil on her bonnet, and her pulse jumped. He looked entirely too composed for a man making such statements.
“Tell me,” she said lightly, “is this how you charm all your riding companions?”
“You assume I have others.”
“Do you?”
“None quite so loquacious.”
“Well,” she said, meeting his gaze, “perhaps your life has been dreadfully boring until now.”
“I believe it has.”
“I suppose I’ll have to name your children instead.”
He looked at her, surprised. “You’re planning to name them Plum as well?”
“Only if they behave. Otherwise, Cerberus.”
After a time, their conversation turned to quieter things. Books. April remembered catching glimpses of Theo reading in the garden. The memory of him beneath the arbor, so absorbed, came vividly.
“What were you reading the other day in the gardens?”
He glanced at her—and said nothing.
“Race me,” he suggested suddenly.
“You are avoiding the question.”
But he had already spurred his horse forward. She gave a small cry of surprise and urged Belle into motion.
They thundered across the field, the wind tearing at her veil, laughter rising with each stride. Her mare flew, swift and sure, and April leaned into the rhythm, her heart pounding.
She reached the edge of a low stone wall just before him, breathless and triumphant.
“You let me win.”
“I did no such thing.”
“You did. Confess it.”
He looked at her, and then… he smiled.
It was not careful. Not guarded. It was a smile that transformed him entirely, drawing warmth to his eyes, a softness to his mouth. He’s beautiful when he smiles. Heaven help me.
She looked at that mouth and wondered—just for a moment—what it would feel like to kiss him.
Dangerous, she thought. Tempting.
“I think I like riding with you,” she said.
“I should hope so. You’re already far too good at it.”
“Well, I have to impress my husband somehow.”
“I assure you, April, you needn’t try.”
And he meant it. That was the most disarming part of all.
They slowed and turned into the woods, dappled light breaking through the canopy above. In a small clearing, nestled between trees, a blanket had been laid out. A basket of food waited atop it.
April halted. “You planned this?”
“Somewhat,” he confessed, dismounting.
“You planned it,” she repeated, watching him with a mix of wonder and wariness.
“I thought it better than another stiff breakfast across that endless dining table.”
He secured their horses. She settled onto the blanket, carefully smoothing her skirts as he sat beside her.
She poured tea for him first, adding a spoonful of sugar then milk. He accepted it without comment. She poured her own then buttered a slice of toast.
Theo reached into his coat and pulled free a small leather-bound volume.
“The Faerie Queene,” she said softly.
He nodded.
“I read it often. My father read it to me when I first learned to read. Every night, he’d read one canto aloud. I didn’t understand half of it, but I still memorized every line.”
She paused mid-motion, her knife poised over a scone. “Then it’s sacred,” she said. “A piece of him.”
He nodded again, slower this time. April spread jam and cream cheese over the scone and handed it to him. Their fingers brushed, and for a moment, neither moved.
They ate quietly, sunlight filtering through the trees above. “Tell me more about you, April.”
She looked up at the sky. “My sisters and I used to pour over The Lady’s Monthly Museum, dreaming up every detail of our debut. We practiced our curtsies and imagined the dresses. I never thought I’d marry before the Season ended.”
“Do you regret it?”
She turned her head and found his deep blue eyes on her. The way he looked at her… it wasn’t cold or guarded. It was full.
She looked down quickly. “No. I do not.”
Theo didn’t press. “Tell me more about yourself, April. Not your sisters. Just you.”
She blinked, surprised by the request, then looked out across the clearing.
“Very well. I used to wander the manor when I didn’t want their company.
I’d slip away, especially on dull afternoons, and find little nooks to hide in with a book.
Behind the staircase, up in the attic, once even beneath the dining table—until the tablecloth betrayed me. ”
Theo’s mouth twitched. “Did it rustle dramatically?”
“Like a gust of scandalous wind,” she said, smiling. “My mother thought a cat had gotten in. I did not correct her.”
“You were rather spirited.”
“Indeed, I was.” April adjusted the folds of her skirts as she leaned forward. “I always dreamed of having a home of my own to decorate. Not merely to fill with fine things but to shape it. To make it soft in places, striking in others. To make it feel… lived in.”
Theo looked down at the scone in his hand. “Then you enjoy redecorating Stone Hall?”
“I do,” she said simply. “It is a pleasure, not a chore.”
He was quiet a moment then nodded slowly. “When my aunt comes to visit, she’ll hardly recognize the place.”
April smiled as she handed him the preserves. “That’s rather the goal, isn’t it? To surprise her into speechlessness?”
“She has never been speechless in her life.”
“Then we shall make history.” April leaned slightly, brushing crumbs from her lap. “She will be cross about the wallpaper in the front parlor, I think. She warned me she detests anything with a vine motif.”
“Then we shall cover it in roses and pretend it was your idea alone.”
April laughed. “You’re becoming dangerous, Duke.”
“You say that as though you are not the true menace.”
She met his gaze, light catching in her eyes. “It’s only fair. You’ve upended my world after all.”
“And you’ve rearranged mine. Room by room.”