Chapter 8
“Do you ever laugh?” Emily’s question dropped into the formal dining room like a stone into still water.
Louise’s fingers tightened on her soup spoon as she watched the Duke of Calborough pause mid-motion, his own spoon hovering above his bowl.
“Emily.” Louise kept her voice gentle but firm. “That’s rather direct of you.”
“But it’s just a question.” Emily turned those innocent green eyes toward her sister. “We’ve been here for days, and I’ve never seen him smile. Not even when Buttercup wore the bonnet.”
Aunt Cecilia’s shoulders shook with suppressed mirth. “Out of the mouths of babes …”
The duke set down his spoon with deliberate precision. “I laugh when something amuses me.”
“What amuses you?” Emily leaned forward, genuinely curious.
Louise watched the duke’s jaw work as he searched for an answer appropriate for a six-year-old.
The candlelight played across his features, highlighting the sharp angles of his face, the dark sweep of his lashes.
He’d changed for dinner into evening clothes that emphasized his broad shoulders, and Louise noted the way his hands moved with controlled grace.
“Books sometimes contain amusing passages.” His voice carried careful neutrality.
Emily’s nose wrinkled. “Books? That’s what makes you laugh?”
“Among other things.”
“What other things?”
“Emily, please.” Louise touched her sister’s hand. “His Grace doesn’t need to submit to an interrogation.”
“I’m not inter … inter-o-gating.” She frowned at the word. “I’m just talking. Lady Merrow said good talking is nice at dinner.”
“She’s quite right.” Cecilia beamed at the child. “And I find your questions delightful. Don’t you, Aaron?”
His gaze shifted to Louise, something unreadable flickering in those dark depths.
“Fascinating,” he muttered.
Heat crept up Louise’s neck. She focused on her soup, supremely aware of his attention even when she couldn’t see him. The weight of his regard felt physical, like warm fingers trailing along her skin.
“We never had men at dinner before.” Emily’s announcement broke the charged moment. “Just Louise and me. And George, but only a couple of times because he usually came home too late.”
Louise’s chest tightened at the mention of her brother. Days without word. Days of Aaron’s men searching while she sat here eating off fine china, wearing a borrowed dress, playing at being something she wasn’t.
“How fortunate for us that’s changed.” Cecilia reached over to pat Emily’s hand. “Though I must warn you, my dear, most gentlemen aren’t nearly as interesting as they appear. They talk endlessly about horses and hunting and their clubs, saying very little of substance.”
“His Grace doesn’t talk endlessly about anything.” Emily studied the duke with the intensity of a naturalist examining a new species. “He barely talks at all.”
“Some might consider that a virtue.” The duke’s voice held the faintest trace of dry humor.
Louise glanced up to find him watching her again. Their eyes met across the table, and something electric passed between them. Her breath caught. His fingers tightened on his wine glass.
“My nephew is what we call laconic.” Cecilia’s voice carried amusement. “It means he uses very few words.”
“Oh. Is that an illness?” Emily asked with genuine concern.
Louise nearly choked on her wine. The duke’s lips twitched, the closest thing to a smile she’d seen from him.
“No, darling.” Louise managed once she could speak. “It means someone who speaks concisely. Efficiently.”
“Like you tell me not to run on with my stories?”
“Something like that.”
“Sometimes,” Cecilia added with a meaningful look at her nephew, “it might be considered more of an affliction than a virtue. Particularly when one’s dinner companions are forced to carry the entire conversation.”
The duke set down his glass. “Would you prefer me to regale you with tales of my day? I reviewed correspondence. Examined ledgers. Met with my estate manager about drainage issues in the lower fields.”
“Thrilling.” Cecilia’s tone dripped with theatrical disappointment.
“You asked.”
“I asked for conversation, not a recitation of agricultural concerns.”
Louise watched the interplay between aunt and nephew, noting the affection beneath their sparring. The duke’s shoulders had relaxed slightly, his posture less rigid than when he’d first entered the dining room. She wondered if he knew how his face softened when he looked at his aunt.
The footmen cleared the soup course and brought the fish. Emily attacked her sole with enthusiasm that suggested she hadn’t seen proper meals in months, which wasn’t far from the truth. Louise’s appetite fled at the reminder of how far they’d fallen.
“You’re not eating.” The duke’s low voice carried only to her.
Louise looked up to find him watching her with what might have been concern. “I’m not hungry.”
“You’ve barely touched anything since you arrived.”
The observation startled her. Had he been paying attention?
“I eat enough.”
“Enough.” He repeated the word as if tasting it. “Like everything else you do. Just enough to survive, never enough to relish.”
The insight cut too close. Louise straightened her spine. “I’m not accustomed to such rich food.”
“Then become accustomed.” The words emerged as nearly a command. “You’re no use to your sister if you waste away.”
Anger flared, hot and sudden. “I’ve kept Emily fed and safe for years without your concern.”
“And look where that has led you.”
Across the table, Lady Merrow’s brows lifted ever so slightly. Then, with a hostess’s practiced instinct, she turned to Emily, her tone full of warmth.
“Emily dear, you must tell me your favorite story. Do you prefer tales with fairies, or brave little girls, or dogs as clever as Buttercup?”
Emily perked up as though someone had lit a lantern inside her. “Oh! The one about the girl who outsmarts the troll! And the one where the dog talks—”
Buttercup wagged furiously, thumping against the table leg. Cecilia laughed and leaned in, encouraging Emily to go on. Emily’s cheerful chatter with Cecilia faded to background noise.
Louise’s hands clenched in her lap, hidden beneath the table.
“You’re right.” She kept her voice level through sheer force of will. “My failures have led us to depend on your charity. I’m reminded of it with every bite.”
Something shifted in his expression.
Is that regret?
Before she could identify it, he looked away. “That wasn’t my meaning.”
“Wasn’t it?” she scoffed.
He met her gaze again, and the intensity there made her stomach flip. “You take responsibility for failures that aren’t yours. Your brother’s debts. Your father’s death. Your mother’s absence. None of those are your fault.”
“Emily is my responsibility.”
“She’s your sister, not your daughter.”
“I’m all she has.”
“Not anymore.”
The simple statement carried weight that pressed against Louise’s chest. She drew in a sharp breath and glanced toward Cecilia and Emily’s gentle chatter.
“This isn’t the place for such a conversation,” she whispered, the words tight, controlled.
“Perhaps not,” he murmured, “but it doesn’t make it less true.”
“Dessert!” Emily’s delighted exclamation shattered the tension. “Is that trifle?”
“Your favorite, I’m told.” Cecilia winked at the child.
Louise watched her sister’s face light up and felt her anger drain away.
Emily was happy. Fed. Safe. Warm. Everything else was just pride.
The meal concluded with Emily practically vibrating with sugar and excitement. Cecilia suggested they retire to the drawing room, but the duke rose first.
“Lady Louise, might I speak with you privately?”
Louise’s pulse jumped. “Of course.”
She followed him to his study, acutely aware of the breadth of his shoulders, the controlled grace of his movements. The room smelled of leather and brandy and so … Masculine. Intoxicating.
Aaron closed the door and moved to his desk, putting distance between them. “I’ve had news about your brother.”
Louise’s hands found each other, fingers twisting. “You’ve learned something about George?”
“I met with a man at Bow Street this morning. A Runner named Howlett.” Aaron pulled out a sheet of paper. “He’s made some inquiries on my behalf.”
“And?”
“George was seen at a gaming hell in Seven Dials four nights ago. He lost heavily at hazard. When he couldn’t pay, there was an altercation.” Aaron paused. “He fled before the proprietor could call in reinforcements.”
“Four nights.”
Before they’d arrived here. Before everything changed.
“Was he hurt?” she asked.
“Minor injuries, according to Howlett’s sources. But he hasn’t been seen since.”
Louise’s fingers twisted tighter. A gaming hell. An altercation. George fleeing into the night with men after him. It was worse than she’d imagined, and yet entirely predictable. How many times had she warned him about his gambling? How many times had he promised to stop?
“Where would he go?” she asked, half to herself. “He has no friends left. No money. No one to turn to.”
“That’s what I intend to find out.” Aaron set the paper aside. “Howlett is continuing his inquiries. In the meantime, I need you to think. Does George keep lodgings elsewhere? Somewhere he might hide?”
Louise thought of the address she’d found months ago, scrawled on a letter George had carelessly left in the study. “There’s a place in Cheapside. I don’t know what he uses it for, but I found correspondence with that address.”
“Write it down for me.”
She took the paper and pen he offered, her hand trembling slightly as she wrote. When she finished, Aaron studied the address with a frown.
“I’ll look into it. See if anyone there knows where he might have gone.”
“I should come with you.”
“No.”
“He’s my brother. My responsibility.”
“And you’re under my protection.” Aaron’s voice brooked no argument. “I promised to help you find him, and I will. But I won’t risk your safety.”
Louise opened her mouth to protest, but something in his expression stopped her. Not coldness, she realized. Concern. Carefully hidden beneath that implacable exterior, but it was there.
“What am I supposed to do?” The question came out smaller than she intended. “Sit here and wait while you search for him?”
“You’re supposed to care for my aunt. Keep your sister safe. Trust that I will find your brother.” He held her gaze. “Can you do that?”
Trust. Such a simple word for such a difficult thing.
“I don’t have much choice, do I?”
“No,” he said quietly. “You don’t.”
“Stop.” She stepped closer, close enough to catch his scent, to see the gold flecks in his dark eyes. “Stop treating me like a fragile flower. I’ve survived everything life has thrown at us. I can handle searching my brother’s rooms.”
“I don’t doubt your strength.” His voice dropped lower. “I’ve seen exactly how strong you are. But I won’t risk your safety.”
“It’s not your risk to take.”
“You’re in my home now. That makes it my risk.”
They stood close enough that Louise had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. Close enough that she could see his pulse beating at his throat, quick and not quite steady. The air between them crackled with more than argument.
“I can’t just sit here.” The words came out softer than intended. “I can’t be useless while you clean up our mess.”
His hand rose as if to touch her face, then dropped. “You’re not useless. You’re keeping your sister stable. You’re giving my aunt purpose. You’re …”
“I’m what?”
His jaw clenched. “You’re staying here. That’s final.”
Louise turned away, moving to the door. “Fine. I’ll bid you good evening then.”
“Listen to me, Lady Louise,” she stopped to look back at him. “Your brother … when I find him, he’ll need you whole. Not damaged by whatever danger he’s stumbled into.”
The concern in his voice nearly undid her resolve. “I understand.”
She left quickly before she could say something foolish. Like how his protection felt different from a burden. Like how the way he looked at her made her feel seen for the first time in years.
In her room, Louise stood at the window and watched snow fall. Soft flakes at first, then heavier, coating the garden in white.
Somewhere in London, George was hiding or running or making choices that would destroy them all.
And she was supposed to sit here and wait.
Louise pressed her forehead against the cold glass. She’d spent her entire life managing, fixing, solving.
How could she unlearn that in one night?
Two hours later, she heard hoofbeats on the street below. The duke, cloaked and mounted, heading into the snowy night. Louise watched until he disappeared into the swirling white.
Then she went to her wardrobe and pulled out her cloak.
Emily was safe with Cecilia. The staff wouldn’t check on her until morning. And Louise was tired of being protected like some porcelain doll.
She slipped down the servants’ stairs, grateful for childhood years spent sneaking through her father’s house. The side door opened silently. Snow immediately dusted her shoulders, but Louise pulled her hood up and stepped into the night.
George’s lodgings weren’t far. She’d visited once, months ago, appalled at the shabby rooms he’d chosen for himself. Formally, he lived with Louise and Emily in their house, but he’d often come here whenever he wanted time to himself.
Following the duke’s tracks in the fresh snow was almost too easy.
What she’d do when she caught him was another question entirely.
But Louise had given up control of everything else. She wouldn’t give this up, too. Not when it was her brother, her family, her responsibility to bear.
The snow fell heavily, muffling sound, turning London into something from a fairy tale. If only the ending could be as happily ever after as those stories promised.
But Louise had learned long ago that fairy tales were lies told to children. Real life required harder choices.
And she was about to make one.