“Yes. It seems we may be getting answers sooner rather than later,” Richard responded, yet his eyes narrowed, assessing her.
Had he been able to pick up her disappointment?
No. She must’ve imagined it.
“Very well,” she said, wanting to distance herself from his piercing gaze. “I shall see you at the entrance hall promptly, then, yes?”
He only nodded in return, and after a swift curtsy, Victoria marched out of his study.
Less than half an hour later, they were strolling through Hyde Park. It was midday, and the ton had descended upon the gravel paths in full force, as though some unspoken signal had summoned them all at once. Elegant carriages lined the perimeter, parasols bloomed like flowers in the sun, and every turn of the path offered another familiar face, or another curious one.
The nursemaid finished setting up the stroller, its heavy frame and intricate metalwork gleaming faintly. Victoria watched with a strange sense of detachment, as though the object did not yet belong to her life, though she knew it already did.
Richard stepped closer. He offered his arm, his fingers brushing the sleeve of her walking dress as he did so.
The contact sent an immediate and unexpected shiver through her.
Ridiculous, she told herself.Entirely ridiculous.
“Take my arm,” he murmured, his voice low, for her ears alone. “Eyes will be on us. They already are. We’ll walk together with the stroller.”
She did not hesitate. She obeyed at once, because she understood the stakes as well as he did.
The moment her hand settled against his sleeve, heat flared along her skin, sharp and disorienting. She hated how exposed it made her feel, how easily her body betrayed her composure.
Then they began to walk.
As expected, attention followed them immediately. Some merely glanced, pretending disinterest. Others stared openly, curiosity unashamed. A few did not bother to conceal their speculation at all.
“Is that the Duke and Duchess of Hawksford?”
“They are holding a baby!”
“But … the duchess hasn’t been pregnant. Who is this child?”
“More importantly,whoseis it?”
The whispers came and went, but Victoria lifted her chin, straightened her spine, and placed her hand firmly on the stroller’s handle.
“Do not pay them any mind,” Richard muttered to her.
His hands were close, deliberately so. Near enough that she was acutely aware of their warmth, their steadiness, and she became painfully conscious of him. Of his stride beside her. Of the breadth of his shoulder. In a quiet way, he adjusted his pace to match hers. The rest of the park blurred at the edges of her vision.
“Yes. I never have,” she could only reply, and with the corner of her eye, she noted his mouth curl up the tiniest bit.
It was a performance. What else could it be? She played her part. When people paused to smile and coo at Melody, she inclined her head politely and allowed herself a soft expression. Richard, to her surprise, was unerringly smooth.
“Oh, this is Miss Melody,” he said easily to a passing acquaintance. “My late cousin’s child. She is now our ward and a member of Hawksford House.”
“A beautiful baby,” a dowager exclaimed, peering down with delight. “But you two must not let her consume you entirely! Now that you’re both here, Your Graces, allow me to invite you to my upcoming ball. I’d be most delighted if you attended.”
“When will it be?” Victoria asked, summoning interest, grateful for the mundane exchange.
“In a fortnight.”
Things were going well. Almost too well.
Then Melody made a small, distressed sound.
