The silence that followed was sharp; it hung in the air like fire.
Her mother’s frown deepened. “Love does not excuse duty.”
Aurelia did not respond immediately. She turned away from her mother, her gaze sliding to the window, to the gardens beyond.
“Then let me be clear,” she said quietly. “I will pursue this. Not for duty’s sake, and not for you, but because I am in love with him.”
CHAPTER 31
The Scovells had departed hours ago, but her mother’s words had not left her.
Aurelia stood in the dim corridor, absentmindedly staring at a vase with her hands folded behind her back. Her chest rose and fell with heavy thoughts she could not silence.
The grand estate was quiet now, but the questions in her mind bounced around restlessly.
What if Percival kept refusing to claim her? What if she could never convince him, not even once? What if she failed to give Lottie a sibling?
Her throat tightened.
And what if… What if the real reason was that he had never moved on from his first wife? His only… love.
Her nails dug into her palm. That possibility alone turned her stomach, dread coiling deep inside her. If that was the case, she was afraid she would never be able to bear it.
Then, she spotted him.
On the stairwell in the distance, a tall figure appeared. Percival. Her husband. His figure was outlined by the low candlelight before he disappeared into the library.
Aurelia drew a deep breath. There went the man who was driving her mad. Her mother’s voice echoed in her mind again, still reprimanding her.
All she wanted was to ask him a question. Not because her mother’s scolding was ringing loudly in her ears, but becausesheneeded answers too. She wanted to know.
So without a second thought, she pushed herself forward.
The only noise that could be heard in the library was the faint crackle of the fire. The Whitmore library was majestic, with high shelves, shadowed alcoves, and a large carved desk occupying the center.
Percival sat there, the lamplight casting a golden glow over his sharp features. He held a book in his hand, but when she entered, he looked up.
For a moment, silence reigned between them.
Dressed in a loose robe, with her hair pulled into a messy knot that let loose strands brush her cheeks, Aurelia had never looked more beautiful to him.
Though his composure did not waver, a dull ache pulsed in his chest.
“You should be asleep, Duchess,” he said calmly, masking the torturous need to cross the room and whisk her to his room. “Do you miss your family already?”
She smiled softly, almost conspiratorially, as though he had spoken a jest.
A soft chuckle slipped past her lips, and she shook her head. “No, not tonight.”
Her feet carried her further inside, the delicate hem of her gown brushing against the Persian rug. She let her eyes sweep over the room; she rarely visited the library.
“It’s beautiful,” she murmured. “How many hours have you spent in here?”
His lips twitched faintly. “Enough that I’ve stopped counting.”
Her eyes lingered on him for a moment before they drifted over the tall shelves. “And yet you are not asleep either.”
“For the same reason, perhaps. Restlessness.” The mirth in his voice was evident.
