He’d helped stack the wood that morning, helped the children twist pine garlands around the benches, even shown the land steward how to shield the kindling from wind. Yet now that it burned bright, he couldn’t bring himself to step closer. The villagers laughed freely, their faces glowing red and gold in the firelight, and every sound of joy seemed to widen the cold ache in his chest.
Thomas found him there, lurking near the shadows. The boy had a mug of juice in one hand and a look of worldly disappointment in the other. “You look pathetic,” he announced.
Alaric arched a brow. “Thank you for that assessment.”
“You’re welcome. It’s accurate.” Thomas sipped his juice with the air of a much older man. “Have you figured out your groveling strategy yet?”
“I’m doing the reading at the service,” Alaric said, hoping it sounded noble rather than desperate.
Thomas made a noise that was half snort, half sigh. “That’s not groveling, that’s just participating.”
“It’s a start.”
“It’s weak,” Thomas countered mercilessly. “You need abig gesture.Something she’ll remember. Something that says, ‘Yes, I lied about being a duke, but I’m emotionally competent now.’”
Alaric huffed. “Such as?”
“I don’t know,” Thomas said, exasperated. “What do dukes do for such gestures?”
“Generally? Nothing. We’re not known for gesturing.”
Thomas’s eyes widened in mock horror. “Well, there’s your problem right there. You’ve got all the money and manners in the world and not a single dramatic bone in your body. Tragic, really.”
Alaric smiled faintly. “I’ve had a rather dramatic week, if you hadn’t noticed.”
“Yeah, but not the right kind of dramatic,” Thomas said. “Falling off ladders and getting yelled at in front of the entire village is accidental drama. You needintentionaldrama. Something that says, ‘look, Marianne Whitby, I am a reformed fool.’”
“I’m beginning to think you missed your calling as a statesman.”
“I’d settle for local gossip legend,” Thomas said cheerfully. Then, more quietly: “You really love her, don’t you?”
The question landed like a snowflake on a wound; soft, but undeniable.
Alaric didn’t answer right away. The fire crackled, sparks drifting upward like little confessions escaping to the stars. Finally, he said, “I don’t think I knew what that word meant until now.”
Thomas nodded solemnly, as though that confirmed some private hypothesis. “Then you’ll have to prove it. Because she’s not the kind of woman who believes words anymore.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“Actions,” Thomas said, tapping his mug for emphasis. “That’s what shall matter. You cannot hope to out-argue her, Your Grace; you must surpass even your own abilities.”
Before Alaric could respond, the church bells began to ring—slow, deep, and resonant, each peal rolling through the square like a heartbeat. One by one, the villagers turned toward the sound, laughter fading into reverent murmur. They began to move toward the church, families linking arms, children chasing in their wake. The bonfire burned behind them, casting long shadows that stretched toward the chapel doors.
Alaric’s eyes found Marianne instantly. She was walking beside her mother, her shawl drawn tight, the lamplight brushing her hair with gold. She didn’t look his way, didn’t even seem to notice he existed, but he couldn’t look anywhere else.
He remembered her laughter in the bakery, her hands steady on his when he’d kneaded bread like a fool, the warmth of her voice when she’d saidEdmundas if it meant something. And now she walked away from him with that same composure she’d shown while dismantling his lies.
Thomas followed his gaze, then gave a small, knowing sigh. “You’re going to have to be very brave,” he said.
“I’m aware.”
“Good,” Thomas said, stepping back toward the square. “Because you’ll need every ounce of courage you’ve got.” He flashed Alaric one last grin, crooked and mischievous as ever. “Good luck, Your Grace. You’re going to need it.”
***
The church was packed, every pew full, people standing in the back. Alaric entered to a wave of whispers and turning heads. The vicar had saved a place for him in the front pew, which was the duke's traditional seat, unused for over two decades.
Marianne was across the aisle, staring straight ahead with determined focus. Her mother sat beside her, occasionally patting her hand in maternal comfort.
