Nora huffed, irritated by his dismissal.
“I am —” she stopped, lowering her voice to a hushed tone. “I am not some fragile prude to be shielded from risque subjects.”
“You would think so, would you not?” he questioned, taking a sip of his drink. “Well, it is just as the name suggests. Many things can be pleasurable in Paris. The bars, the sights and sounds, the theatre shows… the actresses featured in said shows. They offered quite a bit more pleasure than most, in fact.”
Nora blushed, suddenly irritated by the idea of a random Parisian woman running her hands over the Duke.
“On second thoughts, I would rather not hear about that,” she said quickly.
He simply nodded, the corner of his lips slightly quirked in what she could only assume was amusement. Clearing her throat, she tried to keep the conversation going.
“Did you enjoy it? Traveling?”
“I did. It was an educational experience, visiting and mingling with other cultures. And it was better than staying here at the time. Too many memories.”
His last statements brought a slight frown to his face, and she realized he was being rather open about his feelings for once.
“I remember your mother. Since I could barely remember my own, I think I somewhat revered her. She always looked so beautiful, and she was always so kind to me. I —”
“Enough,” Godric said, and Nora’s mouth snapped shut. “I… I apologize. I would rather not talk about this. About her. Not with you either.”
His frown had deepened, and he seemed tense. Nora had stayed silent, unable to stop her heart from hurting over the prospect of a man who was still in seemingly still mourning his dead parents.
“No, no. It’s … it was my fault. I should not have — I’m sorry.” She said gently, her voice apologetic.
The Duke had wordlessly accepted her apology, with a dismissive wave of his hand, but Nora felt something had shifted between them. Feeling slightly dismayed, she remained quiet until they eventually left the party.
Godric had said nothing to her the whole way back to her home, until the carriage had come to a stop in front of he house. He had disembarked first and offered his hand once more to help her out of the carriage.
Once she was out of it, she expected to be dismissed coldly, but the duke bowed and said,
“Enjoy the rest of your evening, Miss Nora.”
She mumbled her gratitude and watched him leave, unable to ignore the strange twist in her heart that sent flashes of pain through her.
And for the rest of the night, she had continued to think of him.
CHAPTER TEN
The carriage ride back to Godric’s estate felt stifling.
He stared out the window, watching the darkening London streets blur past, but his mind was miles away, still stuck in the memory of Nora's voice speaking about his mother with such genuine fondness. It had been so long, far too many years since anyone had dared mention his parents in his presence, and longer still since someone had done so with such warmth.
Most people treated the subject of their deceased parents as though it were a cursed subject to bring up, something to be avoided at all costs, likely in fear that they might invoke dire consequences. And perhaps they were right to have such notions. He had spent years building walls around that particular wound, ensuring that no one could get close enough to prod at it.
But Nora had done exactly that, and instead of feeling the familiar surge of anger and grief, he had felt something else entirely. Something warm and achingly bittersweet.
I remember your mother. She always looked so beautiful, and she was always so kind to me.
The words echoed in his mind, spoken in that soft, earnest tone that Nora seemed to reserve for moments of honest emotion. It had caught him off guard, left him vulnerable in a way he despised, and yet he could not bring himself to regret hearing those words.
His mother had been beautiful. His father loved to gaze upon her for hours, and Godric had learned to do the same, just as in awe as his father was over her existence. And she had been very kind. And she had deserved much more than the fate that had befallen her.
The carriage pulled to a stop in front of Cecil’s townhouse, and Godric disembarked, his movements reflexive as he made his way inside. The butler greeted him with a bow, but Godric barely acknowledged the man as he strode toward the drawing room with his painting, his thoughts still lingering on the events of the afternoon.
Once inside the sanctuary of the room, which he had somewhat repurposed into a study, he poured himself a generous measure of brandy and settled into the chair behind his desk. The amber liquid burned as it slid down his throat, but it did nothing to dislodge the weight that had taken root in his chest.
He was disappointing them.
