He smiled, handing her the carefully wrapped loaves. “It is my pleasure. Enjoy the festivities, and may they bring you as much joy as they do the rest of us.”
She tucked the parcels under her arm and turned, glancing toward Mason in the distance, her heart light and eager, ready to share every magical moment with him.
Mason turned just as he tucked a small bundle into the basket, and there she was, her eyes bright with excitement. A smile tugged at his lips.
“Did you get all the bread we needed?” he asked, his voice teasing but gentle.
“Yes,” she replied, returning his smile, “even more than we need.” She shifted the parcels under her arm, her energy still bubbling over. “But… I’d like to stay a little longer. Just to see some of the festivities. Then, we can go back home.”
He studied her for a moment, the sunlight catching the edges of her hair, her eyes sparkling with the innocent joy of someone utterly caught up in the moment.
“I like that idea,” he said, nodding. “There’s no rush. We have the day to ourselves.”
Her smile widened at his words, and he felt a familiar warmth coil in his chest. As they stepped back toward the square together, his hand brushed against hers, not by plan yet perfectly natural. He realized, once again, how impossible it was to look at her and not feel utterly captivated.
As hours passed by, Mason followed Cordelia from stall to stall, her laughter weaving through the crowd like music. She insisted on trying everything: the sweet, sticky candied nuts, the sharp tang of fresh cheeses, even a small, rickety game where she tried to toss rings onto wooden pegs.
He watched her closely, catching the light in her eyes, the way her fingers curled around a prize she’d won, which was a small carved wooden bird. Despite himself, he found himself laughing more than he had in years, stepping up to join her in a few games—clumsily at first yet unable to resist when she clapped at his efforts.
“Not bad, Your Grace,” she teased with a twinkling gleam in her beautiful eyes.
“I assure you, it is all for your amusement,” he replied, smiling, though he knew the truth. His enjoyment was tied entirely to her, to the way she moved, the way she spoke, the simple way her happiness seemed to demand his attention.
When the time had come for them to head back home, they did so walking side by side with Mason carrying the basket easily, the weight nothing compared to the pleasure of seeing Cordelia so utterly alive.
“Do you remember when we tried that silly ring-toss game?” Cordelia bubbled, skipping slightly as she recounted the event. “And I nearly tipped over the entire stand! And then we laughed so hard the vendor scolded us!”
Mason nodded, smiling quietly, letting her words flow over him like the tide.
“And the pie contest! Oh, the pies smelled divine, and you, oh, you tried one of each type, didn’t you?” Her excitement never dulled, her voice carrying the joy of a child discovering a new world.
“I did,” he said simply, and that was enough. She didn’t need commentary or critique; she wanted the undivided attention of someone who cared to see her delight. Mason found himself content to offer exactly that.
“And the ribbon dance!” she continued, her cheeks flushed with memory. “I can’t believe you actually joined me, even though you said you were horrible at it. I think you secretly enjoyed it!”
He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Perhaps a little,” he admitted though his gaze never left her face.
Her words tumbled on, a flood of small, sparkling memories, and Mason found that he didn’t need to speak. Each story, each laugh, each delighted squeal filled him with a warmth that made the evening air feel gentle against his skin. Listening to her, watching her, was more than enough. He realized that at this moment, he wanted nothing else but to follow her home, carry the basket, and remain by her side, fully present and fully captivated.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Cordelia looked up from her book, the soft rustle of the pages barely audible above the morning song of birds. The garden was fragrant with roses and honeysuckle, and the sunlight caught the tips of her hair in gold.
She had been enjoying the rare quiet, a moment stolen from the bustle that had returned with the servants’ arrival. It seemed the house could barely contain the flurry of activity with linen being pressed and polished, breakfast being served with elaborate care, and every whim anticipated before she even realized it.
“My dear Duchess,” Mason’s voice called across the garden, warm and teasing, carrying with it that familiar mischievous lilt, “I have a little surprise for you.”
Cordelia looked up, curiosity flickering in her pale blue eyes. “A surprise? Do tell—or must I allow myself to be led blindly?”
He smiled, a hint of mystery in the tilt of his lips, and extended his hand. “I think you must allow me to lead you. It will be far more enjoyable that way.”
She hesitated a moment then allowed him to take her hand. There was a thrill in the small touch, a promise of something joyful just beyond her knowing. Her heart beat a little faster as he guided her along the stone path, past the roses and the trimmed hedges, past the fountain that tinkled like laughter.
At the edge of the garden, the path opened onto the sands of the beach. The sea stretched wide and sparkling under the morning sun, waves lapping in steady, rhythmic applause. Cordelia blinked, overwhelmed, as Mason led her a little further along the shore. Nestled in a quiet curve of sand, a small picnic was laid out: blanket spread, a wicker basket open to reveal fruits, cheeses, fresh bread, and a modest bottle of wine. The sunlight gleamed off the surface of the bottle, and tiny seashells were scattered along the blanket as though placed by mischievous hands.
Her hand went instinctively to her mouth, stifling a gasp. “You… This is… Mason, you didn’t have to,” she murmured, her voice catching with a mixture of surprise and emotion.
He smiled, settling beside her on the blanket, and gestured to the food. “Do you remember that first day we arrived here? Just over a week ago now?”
