“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Alexandra sat heavily, pressing a hand to her temple as if the weight of her thoughts had finally grown too much to bear. “I did not expect this,” she said.
“You kissed him in the rain beneath an oak tree,” Sophia said dryly. “What did you expect?”
“A bit of flirtation. A touch of scandal. Not...”
“Not feelings?” Louisa asked softly.
Alexandra said nothing. Her fingers curled around the edge of the cushion, heart thudding unevenly. Was it fear that he would not mean it—or that he did? Love had always seemed like something meant for others, something that came with shackles and expectations. And yet, here it was, staring her in the face, asking if she dared to believe in it. She didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or run straight into the garden and demand answers from the wind. The word 'feelings' echoed in her head like a challenge she wasn’t ready to face.
* * *
At the Berkshire townhouse, Magnus was pacing.
James watched him from the chaise. “You realize you’ve declared your love in every way but the actual words?”
“It felt... premature.”
“You kissed her. In public. In the rain. And now half of London is quoting sonnets and betting on the wedding date.”
Simon added, “The wagering men are already murmuring that she will say no—just to keep society properly scandalized.”
“Helpful,” Magnus muttered, rubbing the back of his neck and beginning to pace again.
James set down his drink. “You need to do something big. A gesture. A declaration so undeniable that she can’t pretend not to be in love with you, too.”
“Like what?"
Simon grinned. “Something public. Something bold. Something impossibly romantic.”
Magnus stared at the fire.
He had been a flirt. A rogue. But Alexandra had changed something in him—forced him to confront how hollow his charm had become. She had seen through his easy smiles and careless bravado—like that moment in the rain when she'd called him out for pretending not to care, when she'd touched his cheek and looked at him like he was more than a charming rogue. It had shaken something loose in him, something he hadn’t known was caged, and in doing so, made him want to be more. Not just for her, but for himself. He no longer wished to be a man content to play at affection without risking his heart.
Not with her.
Never with her.
Alexandra had ruined him. Admitting it felt like releasing a truth he’d been holding back, even from himself. He no longer fit the mold he had so carefully constructed—a rogue untouched by sentiment. And strangely, it didn’t feel like a loss. It felt like freedom.
And now he would prove he was worth it.
* * *
Two days later, an invitation arrived.
Lady Marshwell was hosting another garden party—a far more exclusive affair than the first. Fewer guests. More gossip.
Alexandra rolled her eyes the moment the invitation arrived. “What do they expect me to do—curtsy and recite poetry in the rose garden?” she muttered.
“Or accept a proposal,” Lavinia quipped.
“I have become the season’s entertainment,” Alexandra grumbled. “Next they’ll start placing bets at White’s.” She tossed the vellum onto a table. Alexandra had no intention of attending. “I will not be paraded about like a prize pig at market,” she told her sisters.
“But what if you are the prize?” Sophia asked.
Alexandra glared.
Yet somehow, come the day of the party, she found herself in a new gown—soft green silk that hugged her body. Maybe it was Lavinia’s hopeful looks, or Sophia’s relentless teasing, or a fragile voice in her own heart daring to believe. Either way, she stood at the edge of the lawn, wondering what she was truly hoping to find.
