The plain truth was that he had not. That was the thorn in his soul that kept him awake at night. He hadn’t loved her enough.
Had he been fond of her, then?
Possibly. Like one was fond of a puppy that jumps into your lap and licks your hand. One pets it and gives it a treat. He’d done the same, quite literally, in that order. He grimaced, remembering how he’d patted her hand and given her a box of candied violets.
She blushed furiously and hadn’t been able to meet his eyes when she’d taken the box.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
He’d felt a flash of irritation. He’d dismissed her blushing, her persistent stammering, and her tongue-tied speech as mere awkwardness—symptoms of her youth, lack of personality, and inability to hold a conversation. Her nervousness in his presence he attributed to fear, which only annoyed him further. Yet why shouldn’t she be nervous? Even men older and more experienced than her trembled in his presence. It was a way ofcommanding respect, something he’d mastered early on with his father as the ultimate role model. Cool, distant, feared. The Duke of Aldingbourne. With Catherine, it was different. He found it hard to tolerate that she saw him more as a duke than as a man, respectful of his status but intimidated by his personality.
He couldn’t have been more wrong.
He’d understood nothing about her at all. Nothing.
A dark streak of anguish seared through him, followed by the old, familiar feeling of cold and leaden guilt pressing down on his chest.
He hadn’t understood that she was suffering from a severe case of adulation and that she, in fact, adored the ground he walked on. It had never even occurred to him that she had been deeply in love with him.
He’d been completely unworthy.
He had been a blind, stupid fool, who hadn’t seen or understood the treasure he was holding in his hands until it was too late.
So when she asked him the impossible question of whether they had been very much in love, what in the name of Zeus should he have said otherwise?
A “yes” might have been a lie, at best half a lie, but a “no” would not have been entirely accurate, either.
“Not yet”—should he have said that? In reference to when? The past or the present? What sense did that make?
Possibly, the more accurate answer should have been, “Maybe. If so, it was too late.”
ChapterSeventeen
The next morning,breakfast was a lively affair. The boys were animatedly recounting the details of the fireworks in the Augarten that had taken place the previous night, when Lena suddenly interrupted. “Children, we have a performance in several days. It’s the Peace Ball at the Metternich Palais. And, oh, let’s not forget, tomorrow is the annual market fair in Nussdorf. Mona and I will be bakinglebkuchenthe entire day.”
Everyone spoke at once.
“Oh yes, it will be a merry occasion,” Mona exclaimed. “We’ll take turns performing and selling biscuits. There will be music and dancing and plenty to eat and drink. There will also be puppet shows, travelling theatre troupes, and many stalls selling local crafts.”
The Duke, who had been listening quietly up to this point, set down his coffee cup with a frown. “The Metternich ball is one thing. But do you really intend to perform at a common fair?”
Lena tensed at the Duke’s cold voice, bracing herself for the inevitable conflict that would follow.
“Certainly. It has become an Arenheim family tradition. We go every year to provide the music.” Theo crossed his arms and threw him a challenging look.
“You intend to stand on the street corner like any ordinary fellow and play? With the entire city gawking at you? While people throw coins into your hat?” His voice was laced with incredulity.
“We have a tin box,” Hecki said. “After the performance, Mona goes around collecting coins. It clanks nicely when someone throws in a coin.”
“Good Lord.” The Duke seemed momentarily speechless.
“We certainly intend to perform. This is the most lucrative event of all, and ourlebkuchensells out to the last crumb,” Lena explained, in case he did not quite understand the extent of the matter.
“You are not only performing, but also sellinglebkuchen.” His voice grew increasingly frosty.
“You make it sound like we’re selling something revolting, like pig's innards.” Mona pushed out her chin in a challenge.
“What’s wrong with pig's innards? Pig's innards are good,” Theo said. “Haven’t had them in a while.”
