He offered her his elbow. “Shall we visit the recently remodeled aviary?”
“As you wish,” she stammered and somehow managed to curl her shaking fingers about his arm. She did her best to ignore how good the warm strength of his muscles felt beneath her palm.
Silkridge led her down the stairs and through the castle not as if they were en route to visit a partridge, but rather off to attend the finest ball in all the land.
Noelle could not help but wonder what it would be like if that were really true. If at the end of the stroll they did not enter an aviary, but an enormous ballroom filled with dancers and chandeliers and an orchestra. It would be magical.
Cressmouth had no shortage of assemblies, where someone or other would take a turn at the harpsichord, but it must be nothing like London.
Nothing like arriving on the arm of the Duke of Silkridge.
Even if it would only be for one night.
The thought caused her heart to contract. If she could have one night with him, a night of joy and love and magic where anything at all was possible, would she take it? Even if she knew it would all disappear by morning? Knowing she could have him no other way would make it very, very tempting. Who could blame her for seizing onto a moment’s happiness, especially if a single moment was all she could get?
She tightened her grip on his arm and thanked the heavens that she would not be put to such a test. One stolen kiss would have to be enough.
When they reached the aviary, Mr. Fawkes stood at the entrance to greet them with flushed cheeks and the triumphant smile. “The finishing touch has just been delivered.”
He swept open the door.
The aviary was as gorgeous as Noelle remembered. Tall and arching, paneled with angular glass windows that the workers had done a wonderful job of cleaning. Every surface shined to perfection.
Growing up through the dirt floor were dozens of bushes and trees, selected to correspond with the various types of birds Mr. Marlowe had outlined in his notes. They had been watered and trimmed into a true sight to behold.
All that was missing was the bird.
She frowned. Although she knew the aviary contained nothing more than a single partridge, the vast space seemed inordinately quiet and still.
“Do you see it?” she whispered, searching branches for a hint of feathers.
“I had no idea partridges were so good at camouflage,” the duke murmured back. He turned around. “Fuzzy Wig, where is the partridge?”
“Your Grace walked right past it,” Mr. Fawkes chortled. He pointed to a small tree that had not yet been planted.
A tree containing no birds at all.
The uneasy feeling in Noelle’s stomach matched the expression on Silkridge’s face.
He stepped forward. “That’s not a bird.”
“Of course not.” Mr. Fawkes puffed up his chest proudly. “It’s a pear tree, just like you asked.”
“Not ‘pear tree.’” The duke reached for Mr. Fawkes’s ear trumpet. “I said…”
Rather than place the horn to Mr. Fawkes’s ear, the duke handed it back to the old clerk without another word and turned to face Noelle with a desperate expression.
“Pear trees are… tastier than porridge?” she offered weakly.
Silkridge threw up his hands in exasperation. “I shall never escape this town.”
His words were a knife in her gut. The duke might want to kiss her, but he didn’t want to stay.
“Is something wrong?” Mr. Fawkes asked nervously.
“Thank you for your service,” Silkridge shouted into the old clerk’s ear trumpet. “The castle wouldn’t be the same without you.”
Mr. Fawkes beamed at the duke and patted him on the shoulder. “Anytime you need me, lad. I am at your beck and call.”
