Louise’s hands trembled as she gripped the chair arms. Aaron hadn’t looked at her directly yet, his attention focused on adjusting Buttercup’s costume. The dog’s tail wagged with enough force to create a minor windstorm.
“Ladies and … lady,” Emily announced with theatrical grandeur, “I present to you the tragic tale of the duke who was actually an idiot!”
Louise’s breath caught. Aaron’s head lifted slightly, color rising in his cheeks, but he remained in character.
Emily cleared her throat dramatically. “Once upon a time, there was a very silly duke who lived in a very big house with a very loyal dog.”
Buttercup barked on cue, or possibly because he’d spotted a biscuit in Emily’s pocket.
“The duke was very good at many things,” Emily continued, pacing before her audience of one. “He could fight bad men and save people and make sure little girls had warm beds and good food. But he was very, very bad at one thing.”
Aaron stepped forward, his cape swirling with practiced flair that made Louise’s chest tighten with memory. When he spoke, his voice carried self-mockery that cut through her defenses.
“I cannot speak of matters of the heart,” he proclaimed in an exaggerated theatrical tone. “For I am too busy being noble and tragic and alone!”
Despite everything, Louise felt her lips twitch.
Emily nodded sagely. “The duke thought being alone kept everyone safe. But really, it just made everyone sad. Especially his dog.”
Buttercup chose that moment to flop onto his side with a dramatic sigh that would have done any actor proud. His ruff slipped sideways, giving him a rakish air.
“One day,” Emily continued, moving to stand beside Aaron, “a lady came to the duke’s house. She was brave and kind, and she made everyone happy. Even the duke, though he pretended not to be.”
Aaron’s gaze finally found Louise’s, and the impact nearly stopped her heart. His eyes held everything he’d never said, everything he’d been too afraid to admit, everything she’d dreamed of seeing there.
“The duke fell in love with the lady,” Emily announced. “But he was too scared to tell her because his father had been mean, and he thought maybe he would be mean too.”
Aaron winced at the simplified but accurate assessment. His fingers twisted in the cape’s fabric, a nervous gesture Louise had never seen from him before.
“But that’s stupid!” Emily declared with six-year-old authority. “The duke was never mean. He read stories and gave presents and let dogs eat his flowers. Mean people don’t do that.”
Buttercup barked agreement, though he’d become distracted by trying to eat his own costume.
“So, the Duke practiced being brave,” Emily said. “He practiced and practiced until he could say the most important words.”
She nudged Aaron forward. He moved toward Louise with none of his usual grace, stumbling slightly over Buttercup, who had chosen that moment to sprawl across the makeshift stage.
Aaron stopped directly before Louise’s chair. Up close, she could see his hands shaking slightly. The paper crown sat ridiculously and endearingly on his dark hair. Candlelight caught the gold flecks in his eyes, the same eyes that had haunted her dreams for weeks.
“The duke would like to say,” he began, his theatrical voice cracking slightly, “that he has been the greatest fool in all of England. Possibly Europe. Perhaps the entire world.”
Louise’s vision blurred. She pressed her hands harder against the chair arms to keep from reaching for him.
“The duke would also like to say,” Aaron continued, his voice dropping to something real, something raw, “that fear is a terrible master, and he should never have let it rule him.”
Emily beamed beside them, clearly pleased with her production. “Now the happy ending part!”
She whistled sharply. Buttercup lurched to his feet, padded over to Louise, and dropped something in her lap. A small velvet box that definitely hadn’t been part of the original script.
“Come on, Buttercup!” Emily grabbed the dog’s collar. “We have to go check on that thing! The urgent thing! In the kitchen!”
She dragged the reluctant dog toward the door, his claws scrabbling on wooden floors. The door slammed behind them with enough force to rattle the windows.
Silence fell like snow.
Louise stared at the velvet box in her lap, afraid to touch it, afraid to breathe, afraid this was all some elaborate dream from which she’d wake alone in her cold bed.
Aaron dropped to his knees before her chair. The paper crown tumbled off, rolling away into the shadows. Without it, without the ridiculous cape, he looked like himself again. Except for his eyes. His eyes looked absolutely terrified.
