Chapter 15 #2
“I thought it was a sham engagement,” he said, his eyes twinkling.
“It is.”
“Does Lord Luca know that? Or more importantly…” His grin widened. “Do you still wish it to be?”
Charlotte’s spine went rigid. “Luca is the last man I would ever marry.”
“Very well,” Alistair said with exaggerated mildness. “I won’t mention it again.”
She was nearly out the door when he added in that infuriatingly casual tone of his, “But—if you do change your mind about Lord Luca, neither Jane nor I would be opposed.”
“I won’t,” she snapped, and before he could say anything else irredeemably foolish, she swept from the study.
Her footsteps echoed through the corridor, her pulse quick and unsteady. The mere thought of marrying Luca Dexter was absurd. Entirely absurd.
It was, wasn’t it?
Luca stood before the looking glass, adjusting the crisp folds of his white cravat until the knot sat precisely at his throat.
He tugged once more at the ends, satisfied.
The clock upon the mantel chimed the half-hour, a gentle reminder that he had little time left to linger.
A curious flutter stirred low in his chest—not nerves, but a quiet anticipation.
He would see Charlotte again this evening.
It was a peculiar feeling, one he had not allowed himself to name. Earlier that day, she had been… different. Unmasked. Vulnerable. It had felt as though she were beginning to trust him, to believe that he would never betray her confidence.
A knock sounded. His valet, who had been quietly rearranging the bedchamber, crossed to open the door. Jude entered, his expression a mixture of irritation and curiosity.
“I was just informed,” his brother began, “that you will not be joining us for dinner this evening.”
“That is correct.” Luca turned from the mirror, smoothing his waistcoat. “I am dining with Charlotte and her family.”
Jude crossed his arms. “I thought you had no intention of marrying the chit.”
Luca gave a faint smile. “It is… complicated.”
His brother released a dramatic sigh. “Another poor soul caught in the parson’s mousetrap.”
Luca chuckled. “I thought that was precisely what you wanted—for me to marry and produce an heir.”
“Yes, but I had hoped we might enjoy a few more years of bachelorhood together before you abandoned me.”
“I am hardly abandoning you,” Luca said with a grin. “If—and that is a rather large if—I can convince Charlotte to marry me, we shall reside here until we find our own home.”
“Wonderful,” Jude muttered. “A newlywed couple under my roof. My joy knows no bounds.”
Luca arched a brow. “Do you object to me marrying her?”
“I cannot say that I understand what you see in Miss Winslow,” Jude admitted, his tone clipped but not unkind. “But I trust your judgment.”
“She is nothing like the world believes her to be,” Luca replied. “Beneath the poise and polish, she is kind, clever, and surprisingly tenderhearted.”
“If you say so.”
“I do. You will see it for yourself soon enough.”
Jude’s arms fell to his sides, his expression softening. “How I envy you, Brother.”
“You envy me?”
“Yes,” Jude said, moving towards the window. “You have followed your passions—purchased the newssheets, built something of your own—and now you are on the verge of marrying the woman you love.”
“I did not say I loved her,” Luca countered, though his tone lacked conviction.
Jude’s mouth curved in a knowing way. “You smile whenever you speak her name. That is enough.”
Luca exhaled slowly. “I am not yet certain what I feel. It is… confusing.”
“Love often is,” Jude murmured. He stared out into the darkening street below. “I wish I possessed your courage.”
“My courage?” Luca asked, puzzled. “To run the newssheets?”
“Perhaps. Or simply to choose something for yourself.” Jude’s voice had grown quieter, heavy with something unspoken. “I have done nothing of note.”
Luca reached for his black jacket and shrugged it on. “You are the heir to a dukedom, Jude. You will accomplish more than most men could dream of.”
“But what if I were not?” his brother asked. “If I were merely a second son—or no son of a duke at all—what would I be? A solicitor, perhaps?”
“Does it truly matter?”
Jude rested a hand upon the windowsill, his shoulders rigid. “I suppose not,” he said, though his voice carried an ache that unsettled Luca.
Luca moved closer. “What is stopping you from pursuing something you enjoy?”
“Father, for one,” Jude said bitterly. “And the title. There are expectations, duties. I have no liberty to wander as you do.”
“Forget the title for a moment,” Luca urged. “What would you do, if you could choose freely?”
Jude hesitated, then said quietly, “I would travel. See the world beyond these blasted social events and endless obligations.”
“Then do it.”
His brother gave a humorless laugh. “And what, pray tell, would Father say?”
“Explain to him—”
“No,” Jude interrupted sharply. “This is my lot in life, and I must bear it with dignity.”
Luca studied him. “Are you miserable?”
Something flickered in Jude’s eyes—pain, perhaps, or a sorrow long buried—but it vanished as swiftly as it came.
“You should go,” Jude said, straightening from the window. “You will not wish to keep Miss Winslow waiting.”
“I would rather continue this conversation.”
“There is nothing more to say,” Jude replied. “Talking will not change the truth.”
“Then change the truth,” Luca countered.
Jude laid a hand on Luca’s shoulder. “Not everyone is as fortunate as you, Brother.”
“Some would argue that you are the fortunate one,” Luca insisted. “You are the heir.”
“Yes, well,” Jude murmured, withdrawing his hand, “they would be wrong.” He turned towards the door. “Come, I shall see you out.”
They walked down the corridor together, the silence between them heavy with words unsaid. Luca cast his brother a sidelong glance, concern gnawing at him. Jude’s shoulders were too stiff, his expression too still.
“Stop looking at me like that,” Jude muttered.
“Like what?”
“Like I am broken.”
“You are not broken,” Luca said firmly. “Only… searching.”
Jude gave a low hum of agreement—or perhaps resignation. “Perhaps I shall go to the country for a time,” he said as they reached the stairwell. “Review the estate ledgers. Take some air.”
“And abandon Town in the middle of the Season?”
“Father will disapprove, naturally,” Jude said, descending the stairs. “But I can manage the accounts there just as well as here.”
“Then you should go,” he encouraged.
Jude didn’t answer, and the silence that followed told Luca more than words ever could.
They reached the main door, and Jude turned towards him, his expression softened by the flickering light from the sconces. “I hope you are happy. You deserve it.”
Before Luca could respond, Jude pivoted on his heel and strode down the corridor, his footsteps echoing against the marble floor until the sound faded into silence.
Luca remained where he stood, the words lingering in his mind long after his brother had gone.
Jude’s tone had carried both sincerity and sorrow.
It was a mixture that unsettled him. His brother was hurting, though he could not quite grasp how to help him.
With a quiet exhale, Luca stepped out into the crisp evening air.
The chill brushed against his cheeks, sharpening his focus.
He descended the steps and entered his waiting coach.
As the horses started forward, the rhythmic clatter of hooves filled the quiet.
The short journey to Charlotte’s townhouse gave him too much time to think—about Jude’s melancholy, about the strange turn his own life had taken.
He had not meant to fall into this pretense of engagement…
nor had he expected that the pretense would begin to feel so very real.
When the coach came to a stop before Charlotte’s residence, Luca stepped down before the footman could even lower the steps. The townhouse was warmly lit, golden light spilling from the tall windows and pooling across the stone steps. He took the stairs two at a time, eager to see her.
The door opened almost instantly, the butler stepping aside with a polished bow. “Good evening, Lord Luca.”
Luca handed off his gloves and hat and waited as the man moved to announce him. When his name was called, he straightened his shoulders and stepped inside.