Chapter 15
Fifteen
What lies has Deena been told?
Austin entered the dining room late. The heavy doors swung shut behind him, and heads turned eagerly towards him.
Candlelight chandeliers danced across polished mahogany and crystal and made the illusion of stars in the dining room.
His eyes swept the place in one practiced pass, seeking, always seeking, one particular face.
But he failed to find her reddish-brown curls catching the light, or her sharp green eyes meeting his across the table.
A chair at the table remained conspicuously empty, and he felt the absence.
He needed to be around her all the time, not just because his body wanted to, but it put his mind at ease, too.
Who knew what she would do with the secrets he told her and the secrets she held?
Before he could take another step, Lady Amelia rose from her seat near the center of the table and approached him with anticipation.
“Your Grace!” she called, voice bright and just shy of breathless. “I’ve kept your place right here. Please, do join me.”
Lady Ann stood up quickly, almost knocking a glass of wine down. “Your Grace. I saved you a seat as well. We were just saying how dull the conversation has been without you.”
Several other ladies’ heads nodded, smiles widening, eyes bright with expectation. Austin paused at the threshold.
“You’re both very kind,” he said smoothly. “But I’m afraid I must decline.”
A small chorus of disappointed murmurs rose as he apologized and walked away.
Selina caught his eye first, seated beside Dominic. She tilted her head in silent question as Austin took his seat opposite them.
Dominic leaned back, swirling his wine. “You’re late. Thought you’d be first here to charm the room into submission.”
Austin forced a lazy smile. “Had to make an entrance. Can’t have them thinking I’m predictable.”
Selina’s smile was knowing. “You’ve been very unpredictable lately. Having extended conversations with a certain lady, amongst other things.”
Austin lifted his glass in mock salute. “Guilty. Though I prefer the term ‘strategic alliance.’”
Dominic snorted. “Strategic. Right.”
“I’m going to go to the nursery to check on our children,” Selina said softly.
“I’ll come with you.” Dominic set his wine down to follow his wife, but she politely declined.
“You two can catch up whilst I’m gone.”
She left, and Austin watched as his friend stared lovingly after his wife.
“You and Deena truly looked like you were plotting the downfall of the monarchy, not picking brides.”
Austin’s gaze flicked to the empty chair again. “Where is she?”
Dominic followed his line of sight. “Said she needed to lie down, remember? She’ll be here soon. Although she could decide to skip dinner altogether in favor of hiding in the library with a book again.”
Austin smiled despite his growing anxiety whenever Deena was out of sight.
The image came to him instantly: Deena curled in one of the deep leather armchairs, firelight catching the red in her hair, a heavy volume open on her lap, completely lost to the world and at peace until the stranger behind the threatening letters sneaks up on her and—
She’s safe. He reminded himself.
It was either that or she was plotting his demise in her chamber.
“Sounds like her,” he murmured.
Dominic sighed, the sound half fond, half exasperated.
“She has always been like that. Even as a girl, any time the house got too loud or too full of people, she’d vanish into the library or the attic with whatever book she could carry.
Mother used to say she was born with her nose already stuck in a book. ”
Austin’s smile deepened. “And you used to go looking for her.”
“Every time.” Dominic shook his head, true fondness creeping into his voice.
Austin chuckled softly.
Dominic gave him a sideways look. “You’ve noticed that too, have you?”
“I notice everything,” Austin said lightly, lifting his glass in a small, self-deprecating toast. “It’s a curse.”
Dominic laughed under his breath. “You’re a menace, you know that? Always have been. But she’s worse. Stubborn as a mule and twice as clever. I swear, half the time I think she argues with me just to keep her mind sharp.”
“She probably does,” Austin agreed, eyes drifting back towards the empty doorway. “And wins every time.”
“Almost every time,” Dominic corrected with a grin.
“I still have a few victories. Though fewer since she came back from Paris. She’s…
sharper now. More guarded. But still my little sister.
” His voice softened. “Still, the girl who’d rather read about adventures than live them.
Until someone makes her want to live them. ”
Austin felt the words settle somewhere deep. He did not respond. It was unnecessary.
Dominic studied him for a moment longer, then sighed again, this time with genuine affection. “She is impossible, my sister. Brilliant, difficult, loyal … and completely oblivious to how many hearts she could break if she ever decided to try.”
Austin’s fingers tightened around his glass. “She doesn’t break hearts,” he said quietly. “She just… doesn’t notice them at all.”
Dominic raised a brow. “You’re right about that.”
Austin thought about his promise to help her find a husband, but he was starting to think that that would be impossible.
Dominic’s voice dropped conspiringly. “Speaking of the devil, we know …Deena was asking about you earlier.”
“Me?” Austin feigned surprise, but his interest piqued. “What did she want to know?”
Dominic looked around them before he whispered, “She was asking about your title.”
Austin stilled. “Was she, now?”
His words came out casual, but inside, something tightened. The gossip had finally reached Greystone estate and fallen into the wrong hands. He imagined this was the reason she called him a liar.
What am I to do?
Dominic shrugged. “She must have heard the whispers, and she wanted to know if there was truth in them.”
Austin took a slow sip of wine. “And what did you tell her?”
“The truth.” Dominic met his eyes steadily. “That there are murmurs. Nothing certain. No proof. But enough to make certain people… curious.”
Austin’s jaw tightened. “Curious is one word for it.”
Dominic leaned closer. “She’s worried, Austin. For you.”
The admission struck Austin in a peculiar way, but Dominic must have misread Deena’s feelings. She was worried about herself and her friend. He felt betrayed already.
Is Dee worried or plotting my downfall?
Her absence made him question her even more.
Austin set his glass down carefully. “She shouldn’t be.”
“She is,” Dominic said simply. “Deena trusts others and she cares deeply too, even when she’s angry.”
Austin stared at his plate, appetite gone.
Deena should be angry. She has every right to be angry.
He had pushed her, teased her, kissed her senselessly in a moonlit meadow, and still expected her to trust him and help him find a wife who wasn’t her. He was a scoundrel who betrayed a woman once scorned, and now his title was in her hand.
The dowager’s voice suddenly rang out, cutting through the low murmur of conversation.
“My darlings!” She rose at the head of the table, glass raised. “Before we move to dessert, a small announcement. Our winner of today’s obstacle course, His Grace, the Duke of Windemere, has earned himself an incredibly special prize.”
All eyes turned to Austin.
He inclined his head and kept his expression carefully neutral.
The dowager beamed. “Tomorrow evening, the Duke may choose one lady for a private dinner. Not completely isolated, of course, we must maintain propriety, but in the small rose salon, with only a few trusted chaperones nearby. A chance for intimate conversation, and even courtship.”
A ripple of excited whispers spread through the table.
Lady Amelia flushed pink. Lady Ann straightened, smoothing her napkin with sudden purpose, and the Countess of Harrow winked at him from across the table. Austin felt every gaze on him like an unwanted weight.
The Dowager Duchess looked directly at him. “Well, Your Grace? Have you a lady in mind?”
Silence fell when Austin rose slowly, glass in hand. He looked around the table, at the hopeful faces, the practiced smiles, and the eager eyes. But none of them stirred anything in him.
Not a single one.
“I appreciate the honor,” he said, voice carrying easily. “But I find I’m not yet ready to choose.”
A stunned hush fell.
The dowager’s brows lifted. “Not ready?”
Austin inclined his head. “I’ll redeem my prize tomorrow if that’s all right with you, Your Grace? After I’ve had time to… consider.”
He set his glass down with a soft clink.
“Good evening.”
Without waiting for replies, he walked out and heard the room erupt into whispers.
Velvet Stains
My dearest readers,
Prepare yourselves. Today, we must speak of stains.
Velvet, as we all know, is one of the most luxurious fabrics.
Soft, rich, inviting to the touch. It drapes beautifully, catches the light with a subtle shimmer, and whispers promises of indulgence with every movement.
It is, in short, the very material our most celebrated bachelor has been titled: the Velvet Duke.
And oh, how well the name suits him.
We have already recounted one particularly vivid tale from last Season: a certain Lady X., as I’m sure you all remember.
Velvet stains, my darlings. It catches every mark, every spill, every careless drop of wine or perfume, and once stained, the mark is almost impossible to remove without damage to the fabric itself.
So too, it seems, with the Velvet Duke. He glides through the Season leaving behind a trail of flushed cheeks, racing pulses, and secret letters that will never be exposed.
Ladies sigh his name in their sleep; matrons fan themselves when he passes; debutantes dream of catching that slow, devastating smile meant only for them.
And yet.
And yet…
There is another side to this velvet, one less spoken of in the drawing rooms and card parties; one that does not stain so easily.
If you are at the Hunt and have been watching him these past days amid the flutter of fans and the parade of eligible daughters, you might have noticed that the Duke has been…
different. Not the careless seducer of gossip, not the man who collects hearts like a child collects butterflies. Instead, he seeks one particular lady.
Many of us are asking what happened to our precious Velvet Duke. Has a lady changed him so?
We have seen him carry children on his shoulders with the same care he might give a priceless heirloom. We have seen him crouch to a boy’s level to speak of ducks, bread, and adventures, his voice soft in a way the ton has never heard.
Velvet stains, yes. But velvet also cradles. It wraps, it comforts, it endures.
And in those small, unguarded moments, we begin to suspect something quite astonishing: the Velvet Duke might, in fact, make a particularly good father.
Ladies, let us be honest with ourselves. We have chased titles, fortunes, handsome faces, and witty conversation. We have sighed over rakes and reformed them in our dreams. But when the music stops, and the candles gutter low, what quality do we truly wish for in the man beside us?
Not perfection. Not even passion, though it has its charms.
We want a man who will love his children. And a man who understands that love is not a conquest, but a quiet, steady promise.
So, look closely, my darlings. Look past the velvet. Look for the man who cradles what is precious without staining it.
Because if the rumors are to be believed, and we have only whispers, no proof, then the Velvet Duke may well be his father’s true son in many ways. The resemblance between father and son, in both countenance and certain unmistakable habits, is positively uncanny.
Yet habits are not destiny.
And perhaps this particular duke is learning to wear his velvet more gently.
Until next time, keep your fans at the ready. The Season, after all, is only beginning.
— Lady Veritas
Deena set the quill down. Her fingers ached; ink stained the side of her hand. She stared at the page, the careful script suddenly foreign to her, and she doubted publishing this piece. She had meant to wound. To distract. To feed the beast one more lurid morsel so he would grant her another day.
Instead, she had written… this.
A defense wrapped in scandal. A warning disguised as gossip.
A quiet, dangerous hope. She touched the final paragraph again, tracing the words with her fingertip.
Beside the article lay the letter she decided to post to Penelope before the Hunt began.
As she folded the paper, she silently prayed that her friend would respond.
Deena had written the article to protect Austin, to prove to whoever held the leash that Austin was legitimate and that the rumors were baseless. Yet reading it now, the sentences felt like something more. A confession. A claim. As though she was staking her own small flag in his defense.
Her chest ached.
Something is missing.
She felt it like a hollow space beneath her ribs, something unfinished and unspoken.
The article said too much and not enough.
It shielded him, yes, but it also revealed too much about her own feelings: the way she watched him, the way she noticed the softness beneath the velvet, the way she wanted—
A knock sounded at the door, and Deena squashed the parchment in the palm of her hand.
“You may enter,” she called out, and the door opened slowly.