Chapter 34
Thirty-Four
“Checkmate,” her father, Albert, declared with clear satisfaction, leaning back against the garden bench beneath the yew tree.
April blinked down at the board. “You moved the bishop.”
“I did.”
“That was underhanded.”
“That was brilliant,” he said, brushing a speck from his waistcoat. “Though I suspect your thoughts were far from the game.”
She lifted a brow, trying for lightness. “Am I so obvious?”
He regarded her with a familiar, knowing look. “To me? Always. What has you troubled, my dear?”
April’s eyes drifted past the rose bushes to the hedge maze beyond. I cannot tell him about Loretta. Not when I’m not even certain myself. She smiled and straightened her posture. “Nothing at all. But I do have a message for you.”
“Oh?”
“From Theo. He wishes to invite all of us to Brighton for a week. He thinks the sea air will do you some good.”
Albert’s expression warmed. “Now that is a splendid idea. The sea, the breeze, the absence of all this London noise. Yes, I accept.”
At that moment, Dorothy and August appeared on the path, arm in arm.
“Good afternoon, my darlings,” Dorothy greeted, eyes sweeping over the chessboard. “Oh, you played without me?”
Albert chuckled. “The Duke has extended an invitation to Brighton. A full week by the sea.”
Dorothy’s hand flew to her chest. “Brighton? How divine. My friends will be beside themselves with envy. And just think—May and June might meet entirely new prospects. Naval officers, perhaps. Or a baronet. Or—oh!—a gentleman with a minor title but a major fortune.”
April stifled a laugh as her father muttered, “Steady, my dear. Help me inside, will you? This sunshine has exhausted me.”
Dorothy took his arm with the pride of a queen escorting her king, and they disappeared toward the house.
August dropped into the seat opposite April and studied her face. “You didn’t even see the bishop coming, did you?”
She smiled faintly. “No. My thoughts were… elsewhere.”
“Would those thoughts happen to be six feet and two inches tall, usually clad in a well-tailored coat, and prone to brooding silences?”
April laughed. “You make him sound like a gothic novel.”
“I only observe.” He leaned forward. “How are you truly?”
April smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle from her skirts. “I’m quite well.”
“Content?”
She looked down at her hands. “I know now what happened to Theo’s family. What he endured. But sometimes, I feel there are still shadows. He shows me kindness, tenderness even… and then suddenly, he withdraws as though he’s crossed a line with himself.”
She thought of the handkerchief she’d embroidered—the one he kept tucked away like a secret.
He holds onto me, and yet, he hides it. What does that mean?
August nodded slowly. “It can take a lifetime to know a person. And even then, people shift and change. Some for better. Some for worse.”
April was silent for a beat. “Did he ever… love someone? When he was younger?”
August looked faintly amused. “To my knowledge, no scandal ever followed him. He’s always been careful, reserved. He respects himself—and women, if that’s what you’re really asking.”
April gave a faint nod. “What about Loretta Roth? Do you recall anything about their friendship?”
“They were friendly, yes. But it drifted. He went to Oxford; she entered society. They lived in different orbits after that.”
“And during her debut?”
“I couldn’t say.” August tilted his head, watching her more closely now. “What mystery are you unraveling, little sister?”
“I’m just curious. You know me.” April looked away briefly.
“I do. And you’re an abysmal liar.”
They were interrupted then by footsteps and voices.
“Oh, he is insufferable,” came May’s voice, brimming with outrage.
June came laughing behind her. “Lord Stenham again?”
April looked up. “Who is Lord Stenham?”
August stood with a grin. “May’s most loyal admirer.”
“He is not my admirer,” May snapped. “He is a menace. In pink.”
June burst into laughter. “He wore a waistcoat embroidered with roses. Pink roses, April. With sequins.”
“And he talks without drawing breath,” May said. “I sat through a monologue about the proper angle of a cravat for forty minutes.”
“He hasn’t asked her a single question,” June added. “All he talks about is himself—his horse, his tailor, his boots from Paris.”
April was grinning now. “He sounds… overwhelming.”
“Exhausting is the word,” May said. “I would rather talk to a stone wall. At least that does not lecture me about waistcoat buttons.”
August laughed. “You’ll sort it. I must leave you all to your suffering. There are letters from the estate demanding my attention.”
He tipped an imaginary hat and made his escape.
May and June turned to April, eyes gleaming.
“We have news,” they said in unison.
April blinked. “One at a time, or I shall go mad.”
May stepped forward, her voice low with excitement. “The ladies at my charity told me Loretta married Gregory very quickly. No one speaks directly of scandal, but the timing of their first child—it was rather swift.”
June nodded eagerly. “And I heard the Marquess of Linfield had been about to propose to her. Then she married Gregory Roth out of nowhere. No one understood it. Not then.”
“Now it makes sense,” April said, her voice slow. “She might have had no choice. And if Gregory wasn’t her first choice—”
“She might resent you,” May finished, “for having the life she once hoped for.”
April’s fingers curled against her skirts.
It fits. But it still doesn’t prove that she pushed me.
“I declare this picnic a triumph,” Dorothy said, shading her eyes with one hand and surveying the bustle of Brighton’s pebbled beach. “The sea, the sunshine, the society! It’s practically medicinal.”
“Indeed,” August muttered as May and June tugged at his sleeves from either side.
“When will you marry, August?” May asked, grinning up at him.
“You’re nearly thirty,” June added. “People will begin to think you a hermit.”
“They already do,” May said.
“You’ll turn to stone if you don’t wed soon,” June teased.
“We have the Duke of Stone in our midst, and he is doing quite well,” August argued.
April laughed and glanced at her husband, who was seated beside their father. “The Duke of Stone is quite married. You’ll have to start making formal introductions to your cravat at this rate.”
Theo gave her a small smile while August turned to appeal to Albert, who was reclining in a chair with his face tipped toward the sun. “Father, some assistance?”
“I am retired from all such discussions,” Albert replied without opening his eyes. “Speak to your mother if you need sympathy.”
August turned to Theo next, raising one brow. Theo only shrugged. “You will leave me to the wolves, Stone?”
“The wolves are you sisters.”
“To escape this assault,” August said, straightening his cuffs with exaggerated dignity, “I shall point you all toward the sea. The wagons await. Go splash about and leave your decrepit brother in peace.”
“Come along, then,” Dorothy said, rallying the girls. “Our bathing wagons are waiting.”
They made their way toward the waiting wagons, giggling and clutching their shawls.
April lingered behind, eyes on the water.
Doubt still crept in, soft and sly, like seaweed twining around her ankles.
She had not forgotten what Loretta said at the ball: the warnings dressed as barbs, the insinuations stitched into each compliment.
But Brighton had lifted her spirits in ways she hadn’t expected. Theo had done nothing to give her cause to question his loyalty. He had only been patient, thoughtful, and tender in his quiet way. Every time doubts Loretta had sown curled near, it was as if his nearness simply… banished it.
Perhaps this is what trust feels like. Not certainty but the willingness to push the shadows away.
Theo stepped beside her and offered his hand. “Come, darling. Let us brave the waves together.”
She hesitated. “Do we really need to bathe in it?”
“Not so much bathe,” he said, leading her gently down the boards. “More of a ceremonial dip.”
“Ceremonial terror,” she murmured.
He leaned close as they approached the wagon. “Did I ever tell you about the time I attempted to row across the Thames using nothing but an oar and a borrowed washtub?”
She blinked. “You did not!”
“Ah, well. Then I’m only just getting started.”
Their wagon stood waiting, painted pale blue and fitted with curtains.
Inside, they faced away from one another to change.
Her bathing dress, made of dark wool and fitted with modest ruffles and puffed sleeves, was not the most flattering garment she’d worn, but it did its job.
As she adjusted the fastenings, she caught a glimpse of Theo through the mirror set into the panel.
He was fastening his braces over a white shirt, stripped of his coat and waistcoat, and for a moment, she forgot her nerves entirely.
He looks entirely too handsome for sea-bathing.
“Ready?” he asked, tugging his sleeves down.
She turned and nodded, her cheeks warm. “Ready.”
They sat together on the cushioned bench, the wagon beginning its slow roll toward the sea. April reached out and steadied herself with one hand against the wall.
The sea wind carried the scent of salt and brine as the wagon bumped forward, and April fought the urge to tell the driver to turn around. Her gaze shifted to Theo, who appeared perfectly at ease.
“Would you like me to tell you how August and I once convinced an entire dormitory at Eton that the headmaster’s cat could read Latin?”
April blinked. “What?”
He gave a modest shrug. “It involved a great deal of meowing and a cleverly hidden copy of De Bello Gallico. The cat sat on it, and we claimed divine scholarship.”
She laughed despite herself. “You are wicked.”
“Only mildly. Would you like to hear about the incident with the bell tower and six wheels of cheese?”
“Absolutely.”
As he spoke, April listened—truly listened—allowing the sound of his voice and the rhythm of the story to wrap around her like a shawl.
It was easy to forget her misgivings when he looked at her that way and when laughter settled between them like an old, shared secret.
And yet, somewhere deep inside, she still felt like she was standing before a door he had not yet opened.
What are you keeping from me, Theo? And why does it feel like I’m afraid to find out?
She offered a story of her own next, recounting the time she and May tried to fashion a swing from bed curtains and landed directly in a fountain.
“The entire east wing smelled of lavender water for days,” she said with a grin.
Theo chuckled. “I rather think we would have been insufferable as children had we grown up together.”
“You mean more insufferable than we already are?”
He gave her a long, amused look. “You are not insufferable. You are—”
But whatever he meant to say next faded as the wagon rolled deeper into the shallows, and April turned her head. The sky met the water in a seamless horizon, vast and shifting, endless.
Her hands clenched on her skirts. “I do not like this.”
“You are perfectly safe,” Theo said.
“It doesn’t feel like it.”
She couldn’t seem to draw in a full breath. The air felt thinner, the light too bright, the sound of waves too loud. Her eyes darted to the corners of the wagon.
It’s only water. Only the sea. You’re not alone. He is here. He won’t let anything happen.
Still, the memory of being submerged at the pond, the weight of her dress dragging her downward, stole into her mind with suffocating familiarity.
“I cannot breathe,” she whispered.
Theo shifted at once, taking her hands in his. “April. Look at me.”
She did.
“Good. Breathe with me.”
She tried. Her chest moved, but it wasn’t enough.
“Listen,” he said, his voice lower now. “You are not in the pond. You are not drowning. You are here with me.”
She nodded, still unsteady. Then he reached up and cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing the side of her face. His gaze dropped to her lips.
“If I kiss you now,” he murmured, “will it help or ruin everything?”
April’s heart stilled. He was so near, so tender, and his scent was wrapping around her like loving cloak.
I want you to kiss me. I have wanted it longer than I knew.
She gave a small nod, and he leaned in. Just before his lips met hers, April closed her eyes to truly live the moment.
Let this be real.