“It’s time,” he said, smoothing a hand down his coat. His voice was quiet but final. “We need to return.”
Cordelia set down her empty teacup, though it had long been forgotten, and nodded, rising to her feet. She glanced once more at the fire, the scattered toys, the sleeping infant in the cradle near the hearth. It was hard to believe this place had ever been a secret and harder still to believe it could remain one.
But the Duke had kept it hidden for years, and now… she was part of it. She didn’t know what that meant.
Isabelle walked them to the door with Thalia clinging to her skirts and Henry waving a jam-covered hand with a soldier’s solemnity.
“Don’t wait too long to visit again,” Isabelle said, her eyes lingering warmly on Cordelia as she passed. “You’re welcome any time.”
Cordelia flushed, dipping her head. “Thank you. I… thank you.”
He exchanged only a look with his sister. There were no words, but whatever passed between them had weight.
And then they stepped outside with the door closing behind them with a softclick, and the forest wrapped around them once again. For a while, neither of them spoke. The sun had begun its descent beyond the treetops, casting long ribbons of light across the mossy ground. Their footsteps fell in tandem, quiet over earth and roots and scattered leaves. The birds had returned, chirping overhead in that indifferent way of creatures who cared nothing for human revelations.
Cordelia tried not to wring her hands. She failed.
She cleared her throat. “Your sister is remarkable.”
A pause, but he still replied. “She is.”
Cordelia pressed her lips together then tried again. “It… explains a great deal.”
There was another pause, longer this time. His eyes didn’t stray from the path ahead.
“You don’t have to say anything,” she added quickly. “Only, I didn’t understand before. But I do now… about the drawings, about the silence. Why you were so, uhm…furiouswith me.”
The Duke didn’t look at her. His voice, when it came, was clipped and firm. “Not here.”
Cordelia blinked. “What?”
“Not here,” he repeated, his amber eyes cutting briefly toward hers. “The trees have ears. And so do servants who take long walks under the pretense of mushroom hunting.”
Cordelia huffed. “That’s very specific.”
“Experience has made me specific.”
She narrowed her eyes, but there was no invitation for further argument. The forest was lovely, but it was also not safe for revealing secrets.
So, she adjusted her pace, folded her arms tightly across her chest, and after a moment, realized she couldn’t walk with him in silence.
“Well. If I am forbidden to speak of things that matter, then I suppose I shall have to speak of things that don’t.”
She peeked up at him, watching for the edge of a smile, but none came.
Fine.
She kept going. “Did you know that my guardian once tried to marry me off to a man who couldn’t spell the wordorchestra? He pronounced itorch-est-ra, like a drunk with a mouth full of walnuts. This was, of course, while my father was still alive, and my guardian couldn’t show his true intentions yet.”
That earned her a grunt, possibly of amusement. She took it as encouragement.
“He also believed that women should never read novels unless they were… what did he call them? Ah, yes. Instructive. He gave meA Sermon on Domestic Orderfor Christmas.”
“Delightful,” the Duke said flatly.
Cordelia smiled despite herself. “Yes. Nothing saysfestive cheerlike sermons on submission and starching one’s husband’s cravat.”
He didn’t smile, but his comment was meaningful. “You’ll be free soon.”
