Chapter 3
The soft click of a handle being turned had been her only warning. Without thinking, Della let go of the vase, causing it to fall and break before she ran as quickly as she could.
Realizing she would not make it out the doors leading to the garden before being spotted, she quickly turned the corner toward the kitchens as Royce stepped out of the study. She slid to the floor, taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, and froze when she heard voices talking about the broken glass.
“Della, you idiot!” she quietly reprimanded herself as she placed a hand over her pounding heart, willing it to slow down. Della took a few moments to compose herself, and double-checked that the foyer was empty, before making her way out to the garden.
Despite the muffled conversation, she was able to distinguish enough words to gather the gist of their discussion. Apparently, the late Duke had wanted Royce to ask for her hand, the reasoning behind the request she did not fully understand, only that her father had agreed.
How could their fathers think that such an agreement would benefit her or Royce in any way?
Over time, Della and Royce had practically become strangers to each other, with little knowledge of the person the other had become. To make matters worse, the sight of Royce standing in the morning room doorway reignited the feelings she thought had faded.
Della closed her eyes as a light wind blew across her face, drawing the pungent scent of blooming roses toward her. Their small garden offered a means of escape from the hustle and bustle of London city life. Though she enjoyed all the entertainment London offered, a walk in a garden allowed her the opportunity to collect herself.
She strolled the cobbled path, taking in the beautiful scenery. The garden was a colorful display of rose bushes, and behind them were rows of immaculately trimmed hedges. Ivy wound about the trellises gracing the back of the house, reaching their leafy vines up to the balcony that sat above a wide set of French doors, leading into the morning room where Tilly still sat happily working on her needlepoint.
Della ambled past a simplistic fountain, with a handful of marble benches placed here and there, and over to a blooming cherry blossom tree. The blooms were white tinged with pink and a hint of yellow at their centers.
While all the other plants in the garden had their own beauty, this tree was the one she treasured most. When she was a child, Della and her mother had planted it together. And now, whenever she wanted to be alone with her thoughts, she would come and stand in its calming shade.
Though her mother was not there in body, Della could feel her presence, and that knowledge made her smile. She laughed to herself. If only her mother could have heard the ridiculous conversation that had just taken place.
Della knew that for some, a daughter was just a means to an end. Most matchmaking mamas and papas would happily see their daughter wed solely to improve upon their station—especially to a duke—without considering the unhappiness she might come to know.
But her parents had loved each other. It was always there in the way her mother would steal a glance at her father or how her father would kiss her mother’s cheek when he thought no one was looking.
It hurt to think she may never find a man who cared for her that way. And now her father had made an agreement with Royce…to help her. The shame she felt in that word sent a wave of embarrassment through her.
Della paced under the tree. She did not know what she was going to do, but one thing was for certain: she would rather remain unwed than marry someone she did not love. Nor did she want to be the reason Royce’s plans to move forward with his engagement to Miss Putnam went awry, regardless of her feelings for him.
It is true Miss Putnam appeared too serious and reserved, yet one could hardly find fault with her, given her father was the blustery viscount. Della could not help but laugh as she remembered a time when the man had flown into a fit of rage at a ball, all because of a minor offense. The way he had acted that night and the never-ending stream of words that had poured from his mouth had earned him the title of ‘the blustery viscount’ from her and Maggie.
Letting out a small sigh, Della lifted the hem of her skirt as she stepped over some flowers and made her way back to the house. Tilly had asked Della to accompany her to a ladies’ group that afternoon. Some high-to-do author was making a special appearance, and Tilly thought Della might enjoy hearing what she had to say.
The path she was walking on led her past the black wrought-iron gate leading to the front of the house. She looked out toward the street and saw Royce, deep in conversation with his horse.
Royce collected his hat from Croxton and made it to the bottom of the steps as Titan was being brought over, appearing agitated. The groom informed him that Titan had taken issue with a horse named Demeter. They had gotten into a disagreement over some fresh hay, and Demeter proceeded to bite Titan on the arse.
He made his way to Titan and adjusted the bridle, offering him comforting words from his ordeal. Titan was a sleek-looking horse with an inky black coat and had proven to be the best of companions since his father had given him to Royce on his twenty-ninth birthday.
It had been the last gift he ever received from his father.
“I am sorry, my friend. I promise you, not every female is so ornery. Let us get you home, hmm?” Royce patted the side of Titan’s neck before placing his foot in the stirrup.
“I would agree…we are not all ornery.”
Royce instantly recognized the voice as he let his foot down and looked over his shoulder. Della strode toward him and smiled. The sun’s gentle touch had transformed her hair into a stunning shade of golden amber; her lips rose-tinted and full, making Royce feel slightly off balance.
Titan seemed to pick up on Royce’s moment of sudden lust and whinnied, startling him out of whatever trance he had been in.
“Of course.” Royce nodded his head, regaining his composure. “I did not mean to offend. Only that Titan disagreed with a horse in your stables. Demeter, I believe the groom said.”
“Oh, Demeter,” Della said, sighing. “I am sorry. Demeter is my horse, and I am afraid your earlier statement does apply to her.”
“No harm done, though Titan may say otherwise.”
“I do apologize, Titan, and I promise that when you see Demeter again, she will be on her best behavior.”
Royce watched as Della stroked the side of Titan’s face. The traitorous beast leaned into the caress and lowered his head just enough to allow Della to give him a reassuring kiss on the bridge of his nose. With a hint of envy creeping up, Royce took a deep breath to compose himself. Was he jealous of his horse?
“I hope the meeting with my father went well, Your Grace,” Della said as she continued to stroke Titan’s nose.
“Indeed.” Royce nervously tapped his riding crop against the side of his leg and looked at Titan, who nudged Della for stopping the affection she was showing him. It had been a long time since Royce had been at such a loss for words. “Please, call me Royce.”
“What?”
“Call me Royce, like you used to before titles got in the way.”
“But you are a duke now.”
“I am, but I am still finding it hard not to look for my father when someone says, Your Grace.”
“All right, then you must continue to call me by mine. But,”—Della held a finger up—“only when we are with family and friends or alone. Not that we will ever be alone…that is to say…”
“Della…” Royce said, noticing a light blush creep from her neck up into her cheeks at her use of words.
“I am sorry for the loss of your father,” Della interjected. “I never had the opportunity to say anything to you after the funeral was over. People surrounded you and then you were…gone. I have not seen you since.”
“You were there?” Royce asked, her comment taking him by surprise.
“I was, but I did not want to be in the way, so I stood in the back by the carriages with my aunt. He was an extraordinary man, your father, and I consider myself very fortunate to have known him.”
“I thank you, but you should have stood with us. You were just as important to him as we were.” Royce’s throat tightened. “You would not have been in the way, Della.”
“You have my sympathies all the same,” she said softly. “I, too, know what it is like to lose a parent you love dearly, as you well know, but they never truly leave us.” Della paused for a moment, seeming hesitant to continue.
“Would it be terrible if I were to ask what the meeting with my father was about?” she asked, quickly changing the subject to something a little less morose. “You do not have to share if you do not wish to. I know it is not my place to inquire about such things, but I am afraid my curiosity has gotten the better of me.”
“Oh, nothing of great importance.” Royce mentally cringed at the lie. “Just a business matter that needed to be settled.”
“Everything is agreed upon, then?” Della asked as a slight sadness seemed to appear in her eyes.
“Just so.” Royce answered, not knowing what else to say.
His answer had been evasive, but it was better than having to tell her the truth. He needed to leave before Della asked any more questions.
Royce bowed as he bid Della goodbye and pulled himself into the saddle. Titan danced around, irritated, acting like he was being forced to leave the only person who ever showed him affection.
“Oh!” Royce circled Titan back around. “Maggie and Mother asked me to remind you of your promise to have an extra teatime this week.”
“Of course. I had forgotten. Thank you.”
“You are most welcome—“ Royce tipped his hat—”Della…”
As she watched them go, Della tried to hold back the tears that threatened to fall.
Nothing of great importance.
Though his words were not intentionally hurtful, they still stung. But Della could not be resentful toward Royce. To judge him for his reply when he was unaware of her having eavesdropped on his conversation with her father would be unfair.
Her question had probably left him scrambling for an answer that would satisfy her without revealing too much. Regardless, his words had cut deeply.
Della headed up the steps of the front door and paused when Tilly’s cat Hypnos rubbed against her skirts.
“There you are, you little troublemaker,” she said in a playful tone as she bent down to scoop the mischievous cat into her arms. “Tilly has been looking everywhere for you since you escaped this morning.”
Continuing up the stairs, she felt the gentle vibration of Hypnos’ purring beneath her fingertips as she scratched him behind the ear.
Perhaps her father and—though she loathed to admit it—the Ton were correct. Maybe she was too picky. Had she been anyone else, she likely would have leaped at the opportunity to become Royce’s duchess, whether he was engaged or not.
But Della was not another woman. She did not see the need to chase after a man—who would soon belong to someone else—hoping he might change his mind. Besides, a title did not recommend a man’s character, nor was there any assurance the man who held the title was not a loathsome person in secrecy.
When she was younger, Della used to imagine what being married to Royce might be like. The stories she read had made her hope for a fairy tale ending where the prince and princess lived happily ever after.
While a small part of her still clung to the idea of a fairy tale marriage, she understood that real life was much more complicated.
If she were to marry Royce, she would put in every effort to ensure their union was a happy one. And knowing him, he would do the same, trying to ensure a promising start to their marriage. But after a few years of being stuck in a marriage he did not want, married to a wife he did not choose, what then? Would he take a mistress? Would she take a lover?
Her father had always been supportive of her choices, but as each season passed, she noticed the subtle hint of worry on his face whenever he spoke to her about securing her future. Perhaps that is why he had accepted the agreement with the late duke.
But to marry Royce solely for that reason was about as far from a fairytale marriage as you could get…and she could not bear the thought of him eventually despising her because of it.