Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Cassian sat hunched over his desk in his study, trying, but failing, to focus on his work. The ink on his documents had already dried in uneven patches, evidence of how long he had been staring at the same page without absorbing a single word.
Lady Isabella had haunted his mind ever since she had slipped under his arm and raced from his presence. What had she thought of the kiss? She certainly had not resisted in any way, shape, or form.
On the contrary, she seemed to enjoy the encounter as much as he had. The feeling of her body responding beneath his touch still seared into the tips of his fingers as she sat back irritably and allowed his quill to fall to the side.
How can I banish her from my mind?
He looked around irritably, wanting a distraction from his thoughts.
Michael stood at the side of the desk, finishing his verbal report of the household.
“And Lady Kendrick?” Cassian asked absently, only hearing half of the matters regarding the running of the house. He had not spoken to his grandmother since their argument, but he had been avoiding eating his meals in her presence as well.
Michael hesitated. “I… have not quite seen her, Your Grace.” He cleared his throat almost uncomfortably.
Cassian stilled, then he rose abruptly, pushing aside the parchment on his desk as he strode out of the room.
He had regretted raising his voice to his grandmother, but there was no reason for her to hide from him.
He walked swiftly through the corridor, each step echoing with dread he refused to name, until he reached his grandmother’s chamber and rapped sharply on her door.
“Grandmother?” he called before pushing the door open.
Lady Kendrick sat on a chair near the window, her back slightly bent, her features arranged in a frown. When she turned her face, Cassian felt a sharp crack inside his chest.
She looked defeated, and it was his doing.
“I upset you,” he said quietly, feeling the former anger drain from his chest.
She said nothing, but her eyes shimmered faintly.
Cassian felt a pang of guilt coincide with the regret in his chest.
“You must see it from my perspective,” he said. “A show of unclothed, dancing men is hardly something one expects to see organized by one’s grandmother.” He averted his gaze, not daring to enter her chambers until she showed signs of forgiving him.
His grandmother nodded, her sad eyes locked on her intertwined fingers.
He loathed seeing her like that.
Damn it.
Cassian let out a long sigh. “You may continue your club. As long as it does not involve partially naked men in my house, you may do as you please. However, this is only because I would rather keep the club running than have you remain in this room and not eat anything in protest. Your health matters to me, even if you are intent on defying me at every turn.”
A spark of her usual brightness appeared instantly and lit up her face. “Truly?” she asked, allowing a hint of a smile to touch her lips.
He nodded reluctantly.
“Then there would never be any such display again,” she declared, nodding vigorously.
Cassian huffed out a soft breath.
“I shall take your word for it.” He shook his head and turned, leaving his grandmother’s chambers as he set off in the opposite direction.
Why must all of these women vex me so?
“I still cannot believe this,” Isabella muttered over the open letter in her hand.
It had come from Everthorne townhouse, from Lady Kendrick specifically, the day before, stating that the Laurel club would resume activities soon, and she could not wait for their next meeting.
Isabella had read the letter twice when she received it and three times this morning, scarcely believing how easily the matter had been settled. The duke had been furious, and yet Lady Kendrick had somehow managed to protect the club.
As she rode with her maid toward the location indicated in the letter, where the next Laurel meeting would take place, Isabella found herself eager to meet with the Laurels. She’d been so focused on her encounter with the duke that she had barely considered the forced closure of the club.
She sighed.
It would have been awful for them all if things had come to an end before the club truly had a chance to find its footing.
When her carriage arrived before the iron gates of the public garden, Isabella stepped down onto the gravel path, her shoes crunching faintly beneath her.
The morning sun filtered weakly through the bare branches above, casting long, delicate shadows across the trimmed hedges and frosted lawns. The air held a crispness that felt both invigorating and sharp, like the world had been washed clean overnight.
A new beginning.
The crispness in the air brought renewed hope to her thoughts.
She spotted Lady Kendrick instantly from across the barren landscape.
“Lady Isabella, my dear!” the older woman exclaimed as she approached, her arms already open for an embrace. “How I’ve missed you.”
Isabella felt warmth rush through her chest as she accepted the hug, returning it with genuine affection.
“And I you, Lady Kendrick.” She pulled back with a smile, one that faltered at once.
Because standing a few feet behind Lady Kendrick, hands clasped behind his back and face unreadable in the pale winter light, was the Duke of Everthorne himself. And he was watching her like a silent storm that threatened to break on the horizon.
The breath stilled in Isabella’s lungs.
No. Not today.
Not when she had vowed with every desperate fiber of her being to avoid him.
What is he doing here?
Lady Kendrick, who must’ve felt Isabella stiffen, turned in mild confusion.
Then, her eyes brightened mischievously. “Ah, yes,” she said with cheer, “my grandson insisted he come along today. To ensure I remain on my best behavior. Apparently, I cannot be trusted not to conjure another troupe of unduly unclothed men.” She stifled a mischievous cackle.
“Marguerite,” the duke warned with a low but not truly threatening hiss.
Lady Kendrick ignored him. “You will forgive him, my dear Isabella; he is simply overzealous in his concern.”
Isabella forced her lips into the shape of a polite smile, even as her pulse thrummed dangerously beneath her skin. She dipped her head toward the duke in greeting. He returned the gesture with the slightest bow, his eyes never leaving her face.
Soon, the other Laurels arrived in clusters of bright shawls and soft chatter, and Lady Kendrick introduced the activity for the day: botany.
The older lady introduced the botanist, Mr. Jones, a mild-mannered gentleman with spectacles perched precariously on his long nose, who began leading them through the gardens. His tall, lanky frame guided the way as he pointed out winter specimens in a flamboyant manner.
“What type of plant is this? She’s so magnificent,” one of the ladies neared a magenta plant, pointing at it to gain Mr. Jones’ attention.
The older man turned with a smile and neared the plant. “She truly is magnificent. Not merely for the way she looks, but what she’s capable of. She can endure even the harshest winter months. It is commonly known as butterflies’ candy in more common vernacular.”
Looking down, Isabelle admired the light pink flowers with their darker center and lines of yellow that separated the petals. It truly was a remarkably beautiful flower.
The ladies’ gasps of surprise and adoration filled the open space, and then they began moving again.
Feeling as if she were being watched, Isabelle looked up to see the duke’s eyes tracking her every move. Her breath caught in her throat, but he quickly averted his gaze and began to follow the throng of ladies.
Was he thinking of the kiss?
Isabella wondered if he would address the matter at some point in time. What would she even say to him if he brought up the kiss? She took a deep breath and fell into step behind the group.
“Do you have any lilies we can explore?” Another one of the ladies asked when the group reached a display of frost-tipped shrubs, winter roses, and evergreen bushes.
Mr. Jones smiled.
“Unfortunately, due to the extreme weather, we pull them out and replant them when it’s more favorable to do so. I believe there is hardly a person who would appreciate seeing frozen lilies.”
A few ladies laughed while others sighed in disappointment as though their whole world had just collapsed.
Must they always be so dramatic?
Isabella fought the urge to roll her eyes, stealing a glance instead at the duke, who seemed just as unimpressed as she was with their reactions.
Next, they approached the glass-domed conservatory containing delicate foreign plants, which were examined with eager interest by the ladies.
Yet Isabella found it nearly impossible to listen, not with the pressure of the duke’s presence around her.
The duke walked only a few paces behind her and Lady Kendrick. Sometimes, he lingered close enough that his coat brushed her cloak.
Every gentle breeze and whisp of wind made his presence undeniable as the wooden scent of his must drifted past her.
Once, as the botanist pointed out a rare winter fern growing beneath a stone arch, the duke stepped forward at the same instant she did, and their shoulders collided lightly, unintentionally, yet enough to jolt her body with an awareness she despised.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Your Grace,” she murmured.
He only nodded in response and walked away.
Still, that slight touch lingered far longer than she’d like to admit.
Their gloves brushed a moment later when they both reached to steady Lady Kendrick over a small patch of uneven stone. Isabella had snatched her hand away at once and caught the clenching of his jaw, but neither of them had said a word.
“There is a hedge maze on the grounds. Why not end our excursion with a little adventure?” Lady Kendrick announced, her brows wiggling with mischief, and the Laurels welcomed the idea at once, chattering excitedly as they approached the tall green walls of the maze.