Chapter Three
Maddie’s fingers danced over the keys of the pianoforte, the opening bars of Mozart’s Sonata in A Major rippling through the quiet room.
Her technique was questionable, but her love for the instrument wasn’t.
She always played alone—not because she was shy, but because she preferred to play as badly as she did without an audience.
The music filled the air, and for a moment, so did peace. Her left hand chased after her right in a clumsy duet—not a performance, but a conversation. One where no one interrupted or scolded her.
She closed her eyes and let herself get lost in it. Mozart didn’t mind her mistakes. Mozart didn’t ask about husband candidates Mother approved, or the sort of exciting man Maddie had hoped for instead.
When the final note faded, she took a deep breath and held it, trying to summon the courage the music gave her for just one more hour.
It slipped through her fingers. Her mother would never stop pushing.
And there was no harmony—not in her playing, not in her future, not in the face of choosing a husband like selecting fruit at market, lest she not land Paisley, whose mother was her mother’s friend and…
oh dear! He was perfect on paper and couldn’t be more vexing in person.
If she couldn’t secure another proposal, Paisley would come for her and her dowry before her mother arrived.
And if the viscountess found out that Ashley’s engagement celebration turned into a hastened wedding, there would be no mercy, and Maddie would be all but thrust into his hands.
A cold chill ran down her back.
Her thoughts spun to the last few weeks. Every dance, every tea, every practiced smile. Sometimes, it felt like breathing through gowns laced too tight. She wanted to prove her mother wrong so desperately and to escape the scheme she and Paisley’s mother had concocted for them—and yet…
She wanted to fall in love, too. And those two things never seemed to belong in the same sentence. She wanted something simple and impossible at once. Warmth that lasted.
There were ways to catch a duke.
None of them involved affection. But Maddie—for all her faults—wasn’t ruthless enough to trap someone without feeling.
A cold marriage? No, thank you. She didn’t need fireworks. But she needed warmth.
Otherwise, what would be the point?
The melody still hummed in the air. It quieted the storm inside her, just for now. Good that Charlene was nearby. She didn’t know what she’d do without her. As for Ashley… Maddie shook her head. Her friend’s engagement had been the sort of twist usually found in novels.
An enemy turned suitor. A proposal built on revenge. And somehow, love had crept in through the cracks.
Maddie had expected disaster when Ashley planned a vendetta against Thomas but somehow, they fell in love instead. What she got from watching her friend love so fiercely was proof that anything was possible.
Though Ashley had barely surfaced since the engagement was announced—odd, even for her. She’d even skipped breakfast claiming she couldn’t eat in the morning. So strange! Still, Maddie had her own dilemma to manage.
Namely: how to catch the heart of a certain questionable, aloof, annoyingly attractive duke.
If he had a heart, for which Maddie hadn’t seen proof since they were children.
And yet, she didn’t know another candidate and her mother made it clear that she better be engaged by the end of winter or else…
The final chord fell into silence and her fingers grew too heavy to play.
Maddie sighed. She’d love to play another. But she really ought to find Ashley before she turned the castle upside down.
The last thing she wanted to be was a burden—
“An interesting take on the piece, Miss Madeleine.”
Maddie spun, her eyes widening to full moons.
The duke stood a few feet away. Oh! He’d heard her play!
She swallowed hard. Interesting take? That was the piece. Mozart! What did he mean, interesting?
There was amusement in his eyes, if not a bit detached. Cold even. But she must just be imagining that. That faint glint of knowing that made her stomach flip—not in a good way but not in a bad way either.
Urgh. How confusing.
Her cheeks burned. First the frog and tea incident. Now this.
She was on a one-woman mission to destroy every remaining scrap of his hearing and throw in her dignity.
She straightened her spine. There was only one way out.
Play along.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she croaked, nodding. Then blurted, “I’m terrible at the pianoforte!”
His lips curved, just a little. Just enough to make her heart hiccup—not with excitement but that peculiar sort of embarrassment. Like he was superior to all and never let anyone forget it.
“This might come as a surprise, Miss Madeleine,” he said, “but skill is not everything.”
Is it not? Her brow pinched.
“You don’t believe me?”
She bit her lip. “Without skill, many things cannot be accomplished.”
He inclined his head. “Indeed. Some practices do require skill.” He nodded to the pianoforte. “But sometimes, heart matters more than precision. And you, Miss Madeleine, play with heart.”
A compliment from Paisley? What wonders!
“Did you hear the entire piece?” she asked, unable to help herself.
He nodded. “And the one before that. And the one before that.”
“I didn’t hear you enter.”
“Of course not. I was already here.”
Her heart plummeted. He’d been there? The entire time? How had she not noticed?
Ah, then she’d disturbed him?
Of course she had. She was Maddie.
What next? Stumble over his boots and land in his lap?
“My apologies, Your Grace,” she said, already backing toward the doorway. “I shall disturb your peace no longer.”
Then she fled.
Before she could ruin Mozart for him forever or the pianoforte for herself!
The music room exhaled behind her—banked coals, ticking clock, the faint sweet of lemon oil. She gathered what remained of her pride and slipped into the cooler corridor.
She turned the corner—straight into a wall of coat and chest.
“I’m terri—”
A single, alarming sneeze burst from a stranger. Heat. Damp. On her cheek.
Well, why not?
His hands found her arms—steady, apologetic—large and warm enough to fluster her in spite of everything.
“That will do,” she said, voice even. “You sound unwell. To your chamber and a hot brick, sir. And a handkerchief.”
His hands dropped and she started to bypass him with what little dignity remained, sleeve wiping at her cheek.
But when he looked up, she blinked.
He was… red. There was no kind word. Red nose, chapped lips, eyes glassy from illness. His skin was nearly translucent.
She wasn’t shallow. Maddie prided herself on seeing character, not countenance. But this? This was not character. This was contagion!
She shuddered and stepped back. “Please take care not to sneeze on other people.”
“I—”
She marched off without another word, scrubbing at her face harder.
She didn’t slow until she reached her room—only then did she let herself breathe again.
Yet even then… those watery eyes haunted her.
How his gaze made her heart flip! And looking at his eyes, they were surely the window to a brooding soul.
This curiosity had to be stifled, she decided.
May she never cross paths with that man again.
*
Swish!
Sebastian stood blinking in the hallway. What he saw—no, whom he saw—could only be a mirage brought on by frostbite. That young woman in pink? Far too lovely to be real. He gulped. Or… could she be real?
The girl in the light rose gown rushed past, skirts fluttering like petals. She vanished through the tall double doors toward the noisy chatter spilling from the Oak Room.
And just like that, she was gone.
He stared after her.
This wasn’t wise. He should’ve stayed at the stables with Paul, his coachman.
Since his father passed, Thomas had poured funds into his beloved horses.
Two four-stall stables, two coach houses, grooms’ quarters, and a small private brewery that produced everything from stout ales to something suspiciously like mulled cider.
The point was the stables were warm. And Paul didn’t expect conversation.
At least Paul could warm his toes. Sebastian had frostbite and a bruised ego on top of the chills.
But the pink girl—the lovely one—had scolded him. Righteously. And he couldn’t stop replaying her voice in his head.
“Ha-ha-choo!” As if to prove the point, a fresh sneeze rattled his body.
He groaned. Even his sneezes sounded tragic.
His nose ached from over-wiping. His boots still squelched with dampness. The wind shrieked outside, snow brushing the windows. And somehow, even shielded by the walls of this grand castle, he was still cold, inside and outside.
The room echoed with his sniffles. He’d have laughed if his lungs weren’t on strike. Where did the beauty go? He ought to apologize again for his sneezy outburst.
“Seb! You’re early!”
“Thomas, your ability to tell time is uncanny.”
He unrolled the scarf from his neck, the fringes frozen into miniature icicles that looked like sad lace.
The butler, McGulligan, took the soaked garment with a wince. “You’re even wetter than the new kittens in the stables after they fell in a puddle, milord.”
“Right, well.” A soaked cat. What a lovely image.
“Milord, where shall we deposit the barrels of oysters and baskets of Billingsgate fish?” the man asked, voice painfully dignified for someone holding shellfish.
Sebastian blinked. “Oysters and what?”
“For the engagement festivities,” the butler intoned, eyes narrowing in that uniquely Scottish acidity that said, This is beneath my station, but I will persevere.
“Bring them to the back,” Thomas said breezily. “There’s ice enough for the oyster platters.”
Sebastian trailed behind him toward the grand staircase. The whole household buzzed, the air full of floral soap and simmering sauces.
It all reeked of celebration. And not the relaxing kind.
He frowned at the row of ancestral portraits. Every earl of Thomas’s ancestry glared down at him as if to say, Try not to sneeze on anything valuable.
“You’ll want to change and come down to dinner,” Thomas said.
“Who’s we?”
“Everyone,” Thomas said, grinning. “The Expecting Party.”
Sebastian missed a tread, then caught it.
“Ashley is with child,” Thomas added, pride bright as a torch.
Sebastian found the banister and his voice. “Well. That explains the oysters.”
Good for him. Warmth for a friend, and a small, sharp tug beneath Sebastian’s ribs—find your own place, man.
Sebastian followed in a daze, water squishing from his boots with every step. The last time he and Thomas had been here, they were drinking port and debating the ideal saddle. Now Thomas was hosting… baby-themed buffets?
Everything in the castle was the same. His room hadn’t changed—same books, same drawer with his letterhead, same dent in the armchair where he read. But everything else? Different.
His best friend had grown up. And he was going to marry the love of his life, Ashley, and they were going to be a family.
Sebastian stood in the doorway, soaking and silent, while Thomas flung himself across the bed.
“So,” Sebastian said slowly, peeling off his socks, “an Expecting Party is a thing now?”
“It is when Ashley says it is.”
“Does anyone else know?”
“You’re the first I’ve told.” He couldn’t stifle his smile. “But she probably told her friends, Charlene and Maddie. Sera and the prince haven’t arrived yet.”
Sebastian snorted. “How long has she—?”
Thomas coughed. “Let’s not talk about timing.”
“Could’ve warned me.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
Sebastian scowled. “Some of us like warning. Preparation.”
Thomas only grinned. “Don’t be jealous.”
Sebastian sat straighter. “I’m not jealous!”
Thomas smirked. “Right. Of course not. Speaking of triumphs—Lady Swift has been unbeatable lately. She’s going to dominate the field next season.”
Sebastian blinked. “Your mare? What does your horse have to do with your unborn child?”
“She’s of excellent breeding. Bold spirit. Lightning-fast gait.” He paused for effect. “Just like you.”
Sebastian gave him a long, unimpressed look. “Did you just compare me to a horse? And a female on top of that?”
“If the hoof fits.”
“Please stop.”
Sebastian rubbed at his temple. He needed a nap. A nap, hot tea with honey, and six blankets.
“A-a-choo!” Another sneeze, sharp and wet. He fumbled for his soggy handkerchief and dabbed at his nose, which had now developed that raw, flaking texture of early-stage misery.
“That sounds awful,” Thomas said. “I’ll send someone with tea and to light the fire.”
“I don’t need—” Sebastian sniffled again. “Fine.”
Thomas headed for the door, pausing just long enough to deliver one last dagger. “Ashley’s friends are already here. Rotheworth is here somewhere as well.”
Sebastian’s stomach dropped. Pink dress. Scathing scowl.
“I’m begging you,” he muttered. “Don’t let me say anything stupid.”
Thomas grinned. “You? Say something stupid? Never. Just remember—girls talk.”
And with that, he was gone.
Leaving Sebastian, damp and feverish, with the knowledge that the most beautiful girl he’d ever sneezed on was likely somewhere downstairs.