Chapter 38
Thirty-Eight
“April,” Theo murmured, standing just within the threshold of the drawing room.
She looked up, her expression softening as her gaze found his. Eugenia was fast asleep in a velvet chair by the hearth, her spectacles askew, and Tulip dozing beneath her skirts, her little belly rising and falling with tiny snores. April rose carefully, so as not to wake her, and crossed to him.
Theo reached for her hand and, without a word, led her through the quiet hallway toward his study. The hush of the morning settled around them like a second skin. Familiar and utterly theirs. Yet still, his pulse quickened as her fingers tightened in his.
He opened the door to the study and guided her in. She halted at once.
“The vase,” she breathed.
There, on a rosewood pedestal by the window, stood the delicate jade Chinese vase—restored. Its surface gleamed in the soft light, smooth again, its fractures mended by the faintest seams of powdered gold. It was the same and not the same. Like her heart, she thought.
“I thought it was lost,” she said, stepping forward.
“It very nearly was,” Theo replied. “But I remembered how you looked at it. And I could not abide seeing something beautiful broken beyond repair.”
He stepped back slightly, just enough to give her space to approach the vase.
“The fractures were fine,” he continued quietly, “but distinct. I studied them for days before I found someone who understood what needed to be done. The lacquer was imported through a collector in Somerset, and the gold—well, I spared no expense. It had to be real gold. The kind that endures.”
He glanced at her then, watching the light catch in her eyes as she examined the piece. “I thought it fitting,” he added. “To honor the damage, not hide it. There’s a kind of dignity in surviving what should have ruined you.”
She turned to him. “You… repaired it?”
“With lacquer and powdered gold,” he said. “A method called kintsugi. A Japanese philosophy of mending with honor. The restorer I found has spent his life perfecting the art. I thought… perhaps it would suit us.”
Us. The word curled around her heart.
Her eyes brimmed and she reached for him without thinking, folding herself into his arms. “You astonishing man. Thank you.”
He bent and kissed her. It was soft, slow, deliberate. The kind of kiss that reminded her she was cherished.
When they parted, he still held her close. “Come. I’ve had horses prepared. I’d like you to ride with me.”
She tilted her head, smiling. “Another gallant gesture? At this rate, you shall turn me entirely spoiled.”
“I should hope so.”
“And romantic,” she added, casting him a teasing glance. “You, a duke, inviting me for a morning ride? You’ll earn yourself a scandal.”
“Then let them talk,” he said. “We shall give them something worth whispering about.”
As they stepped outside, the air was clear and cool, the sunlight crisp over the gravel. The breeze played with the curls at her nape as Theo reached for her hand again.
“I spoke with your aunt yesterday,” April said. “She told me about that summer when you were poisoned.”
He did not look at her. “It was a long time ago.”
“But what if it wasn’t an accident?” she asked. “What if someone still means to harm you? And—what if I didn’t fall into that pond?”
He stopped at once, his hand tightening around hers. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve thought about it so many times,” she said. “I remember almost nothing. But… there was a sound. Footsteps. And then—I felt something. Not like slipping. More like being pushed.”
Theo went still. Then he drew her into his arms, pressing a kiss to her temple as if that alone could shield her.
“I will protect you,” he said. “No matter what. I swear it.”
She leaned into him. “I only want the fear to stop.”
“Then let us outride it.”
They reached the stables, the warm scent of hay and leather curling in the air. Theo moved first to inspect his stallion, Brutus, who nuzzled his hand. Then he crossed to Apollo, the gelding prepared for her.
As he crouched beside the saddle, something caught his eye.
A cut. Narrow, clean. So precise it could not be chance. The girth was held by the barest thread.
His chest tightened. Had she mounted him alone— He felt the horror rise, a tide of fury and dread. His breath came short, his ribs cinched tight. He braced a hand against the stall wall.
Not her. Not now. Not when I have just found her.
He forced his breath to slow. She is safe. She is here. No harm has come to her.
He rose, composed. She must not know. Not yet.
Turning, he walked toward her with a smile. “I’ve changed my mind.”
“Oh?”
“You shall ride with me.”
Her brow lifted. “On Brutus? That great beast who nearly sent August flying into a hedge?”
Theo grinned. “He only throws those with too much pride.”
She laughed that laugh he would follow through fire. “You are scandalous.”
“Exactly my aim.”
He lifted her easily, placing her atop Brutus, then mounted behind her. She settled into the curve of his arms, and for a moment, everything felt right.
They rode through the estate, past wild hedgerows and sunlit fields. April let her head fall back against his shoulder.
“You planned this,” she said.
“I did.”
“To hold me?”
“To feel the wind on your face. And yes, to hold you.”
They cantered a little faster. April laughed as her bonnet ribbon fluttered loose.
By the stream, they dismounted for a time, letting Brutus drink. She reached down and flicked water at him. He returned the favor more thoroughly, and she yelped, laughing. Theo picked a wildflower and tucked it behind her ear.
“You are ridiculous,” she said.
“You love me anyway.”
She said nothing—but the answer shimmered in her smile.
They returned to Stone Hall glowing with sunlight and contentment. April kissed his cheek, murmured something about Eugenia’s embroidery, and disappeared into the house.
Theo stood still a moment then he turned to the front doors.
“Redmond,” he said.
The butler arrived promptly. “Yes, Your Grace?”
“I want every groom, stable hand, and steward in the stables assembled. Immediately.”
Redmond’s brow furrowed. “Is something amiss?”
“Yes. Someone wanted my wife to fall off her horse today.”
Redmond’s face hardened. “At once, Your Grace.”
When the servants had gathered in a salon, Theo entered with the damaged tack in hand. The grooms stood with their hands behind their backs, the stable boys with pale faces, and the head steward hovering to the side with a furrowed brow.
Theo held up the cut girth for all to see.
“This was meant to fail,” he said. “And had my wife ridden alone, it would have done so. I ask you only once. Who did this?”
Silence.
He studied them one by one. Eyes darted. Feet shifted.
“I will only say this once,” Theo said. “If the culprit is among you, produce him before dawn. If not, you all shall face the consequence. I do not make idle threats.”
Still, not a word. He turned and strode out of the room, his muscles drawn tight with rage and something deeper. The ache of helplessness.
April appeared just outside the door.
“What has happened?”
He paused. “Nothing that you need worry over.”
Her eyes searched his face. She took his hands in hers. “I know you are worried. I see it.”
He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her. “All I want is for you to feel safe. Stone Hall is your home. I’ll not have you afraid within its walls—or outside them.”
She laid her head against his chest. “I know you’ll keep me safe.”
They began walking toward the drawing room, her arm linked with his.
Before they reached it, Redmond appeared again.
“Your Grace,” he said. “You are wanted back in the salon.”
Theo turned to April. “Go to my aunt. I will join you soon.”
She nodded and watched him go.
Back in the salon, the servants had not moved, but one of the stable boys—a lad of no more than twelve—was weeping.
“He confessed,” the steward murmured as Theo approached.
Theo’s gaze fixed on the boy. “What did he say?”
“A man came yesterday. Rugged face. Coat all dust. Paid the boy a pound to do it.”
Theo closed his eyes then opened them slowly.
The boy sobbed harder. “He said it was just a jest. He said it wouldn’t hurt no one!”
Theo’s voice was flat. “He knew what he was doing.”
The steward nodded.
“He will not remain here,” Theo said. “He is to be escorted from Kent before sundown. I’ll not have him near my family again.”
The servants all stood stiff as he turned to them.
“If I discover that anyone else was involved—if even one of you knew and kept silent—you will wish you had confessed when you had the chance.”
Several recoiled. One dropped his eyes to the floor.
Theo turned to Redmond. “Ensure every window, gate, and door is inspected. I want a full account of who enters and exits this house. Anything out of place, you report to me.”
Redmond gave a tight nod. “It will be done.”
Theo turned once more, walking out of the salon and into the cool shadow of the hallway. The girth still dangled from his fingers.
No more shadows. No more near misses. It ends now.