He shook his head. He was a duke, a brother, a guardian, an agent of the Crown above all. Fanciful desires did not have a place in his life.
Still, as he turned away, the image of her, so vivid, so unguarded, lingered in his mind.
Her laugh, the tilt of her head, the subtle grace in her movements…all of it was etched into him.
And he found it far too difficult to banish completely.
Dinner was lively, the clink of silverware and the murmur of conversation filling the room. Amelia chattered endlessly, a bright energy that made Helena’s head spin slightly, whileBenedict leaned back in his chair with an easy, teasing grin. Silas sat stiffly, a glass of wine in hand, occasionally casting an exasperated glance at his old friend.
Helena watched from her place at the table, the flicker of candlelight catching the sharp angles of Silas’s face. He looked…different here, more relaxed than in the library or garden, though the tension in his shoulders never fully left.
“You two are positively terrifying together,” Helena murmured under her breath, just enough for Silas to catch it.
“Are we now?” Benedict said with a sly grin, catching her glance. “I find us rather charming.”
Silas gave a sharp look, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Do not encourage him.”
Amelia piped up from the end of the table. “Oh, I know! Lord Richmont, how about you tell us a story from when you two were younger? It would be ever so lovely!”
Silas’s jaw tightened, and he shot Benedict a warning glance. “Not a word, Richmont. I forbid it,” he said, voice low but edged with irritation.
“Oh, come now, Silas,” Benedict said, wagging a finger, “a table without a story is like soup without seasoning! Don’t you agree?”
Silas’s expression tightened, a small scowl forming. “I told you, I don’t want?—”
Helena quickly leaned forward, her voice soft, careful. “I think it would be quite…pleasant, don’t you, Your Grace? To hear a story, one that shows who you are when you’re not worrying about…everything else.”
She gave a faint smile, letting the words linger in the air, subtle enough that Silas realized she was hinting at Amelia without having to say it.
Silas’s eyes flicked to hers, a faint softness creeping in. He exhaled slowly, the edge in his voice dulling.
“Very well,” he muttered. “Benedict, tell the one about the carriage. The one you promised you’d never tell again.”
Benedict’s grin widened dramatically. “Ah! Finally, the moment arrives! My dear audience, prepare yourselves for an adventure of wit, cunning, and my unparalleled charm?—”
“Do keep it brief,” Silas interjected, though the corner of his mouth betrayed a smirk.
“Of course, of course,” Benedict said, waving his hand with exaggerated flair. “Now, many years ago, Silas and I were traveling to the estate of a rather…eccentric uncle of mine. The roads were narrow, muddy, and utterly unfit for anyone’sdignity. Silas, ever the responsible one, insisted he would drive the carriage himself rather than entrust it to the coachman.
“I sat back, comfortably assured that nothing could go wrong, as one does when one has a brotherly friend with the composure of a duke.” Benedict grinned at Silas, who refused to look up.
“Everything that could go wrong did,” Benedict continued, mock horror in his tone. “The horse decided to chase a rather terrifying-looking scarecrow, I clutched my hat for dear life, and Silas, calm as a monk, leaned forward and shouted instructions to the horse as though he were negotiating peace in a war council.
“At one point, the carriage lurched violently, sending both of us tumbling into a hedge. I emerged with twigs in my hair, a muddied coat, and a story I vowed never to tell. Silas emerged with a perfectly pressed coat, not a hair out of place, and an expression that suggested he had single-handedly saved the world. Or at least the reputation of my family.”
Helena couldn’t suppress a laugh at Benedict’s delivery, and even Amelia clapped her hands together, delighted.
Silas leaned back in his chair, eyes softened as he glanced at Helena.
“It was not that funny,” he muttered, though the corner of his mouth lifted.
“Exactly,” Benedict said with a wink. “Silas, you were a monument of restraint! I, of course, was the unfortunate yet dashing victim of circumstance. History shall remember me as heroic.”
Helena caught Silas’s subtle smile. She noted it carefully, storing the image: the lean-back in his chair, the faint curve of his lips, and the warmth that seemed to linger even in his silence.
Amelia clapped her hands again. “Do another one!”
Silas shook his head, but his voice was gentler now. “No, I think you’ve had enough tales for one evening.”
