Thalia’s smile finally reached her eyes. “Yes, exactly.” She took a deep breath, repeating more quietly, “Exactly.”
Henry searched the gardens of Weverton for any sign of his brother, but there were a surprising amount of guests in attendance, making the task almost impossible. After all, he was looking for someone who might look very different from the way he remembered Walter.
“You are too kind!” he heard Thalia chirp, drawing his attention. “Certainly, we would be happy to attend.”
She had transformed the moment she set foot onto the Weverton grounds, becoming a capable socialite who moved through the crowd with grace and confidence. A far cry from the nervous creature she had been at Catherine’s ball, sticking close to Henry’s side for safety and reassurance.
Naturally, he wanted his wife to feel at ease, but there was something so… false about the performance of it. Like a caricature of a duchess. And he did not know if he cared for it.
Where is the wit, the fieriness, the real you? Where is the Thalia who would roll her eyes at this simpering display?
He walked the short distance to her and offered a polite greeting to her acquaintance, an older lady with earrings so heavy it looked as if her lobes had melted. Subtly, he put his arm around his wife’s waist and pulled her closer to his side.
“What is my darling wife agreeing to?” he asked with a laugh, a secret smile playing upon his lips as he felt Thalia shiver; the pleasant kind.
The older lady hid a chuckle behind her fan. “Oh, Your Grace, I was just inviting you both to dine with us next month. A small party for my birthday.”
“I do not think she will be satisfied until we do not have a single evening free in our calendar,” he joked, holding her waist a little tighter, feeling that shiver again. “Why, I shall have to tell my friends that I cannot see them until November.”
The lady laughed, and so did Thalia, though hers was rather more bemused.
A short while later, as the older lady moved on to speak with some other acquaintances, Thalia squinted up at him. “Are you well? Have you imbibed too much?”
“Whatever do you mean?” he replied innocently.
“You are behaving very… oddly.”
He dipped his head, whispering close to her ear, “You said I should enjoy myself. That is what I intend to do.”
He considered kissing the curve of her neck, drawn by the sweet scent of her skin and the slight tremble of her as his breath caressed that spot. But people were watching, and he could not risk them garnering too much attention from the scandal sheets.
“Brother!” a lively voice that could only belong to one person made his decision for him, as Henry drew back from temptation.
Striding across the terrace as if he were in the midst of a parade, attired in the most astonishing garments of purple and red silk, no top hat upon his head for propriety, was Walter. An older, more sun-browned, more cheerful Walter.
“I wondered if, perhaps, you had decided to abandon your own welcome party,” Henry said, extending a hand to his brother.
But Walter walked right past it, and put his arms around Henry, pulling him in for a fierce hug. “I arrived fashionably late, but I thought it poor form to abandon it altogether, though I am certain I shall catch a chill in this weather.” He pulled back. “You look tired, Brother.”
“And you look… as if you ought to be somewhere far more exotic,” Henry replied, taking in the strange garments.
It was a suit, that was unmistakable, but the upper garment was longer than a tailcoat and all one length, with delicately embroidered patterns across the purple and red silk, silver buttons up the front. And a short collar that stuck up around the neck. The trousers, too, were unusual: looser than the English style, as if they might be rather comfortable.
“You cannot be in tight attire in Morocco, or you will boil alive. Although, that does not stopsomeEnglish visitors from trying… and immediately regretting it.” Walter grinned, his dark hair almost past his shoulders, his blue eyes alight with vigor and vitality.
He broke away from Henry and moved to stand in front of Thalia, not hesitating to take hold of both her hands. “Andyoumust be the divine duchess that I have heard almost nothing about. I relish a mystery.” He glanced back at Henry. “You could have mentioned that she was the rarest of beauties.”
Thalia blushed furiously. “I confess, I have only recently heard more about you, so we are equal in our mystery.”
“Then, let us talk and solve it,” Walter said with a wink.
Feeling as if he were about to be outcharmed by his brother, Henry let his fingertips stroke small circles against Thalia’s back. “Why would you lie so atrociously, Walter? Have you forgotten the endless pages and sonnets I wrote to you, proclaiming my wife’s extraordinary beauty?” he said. “She is witty, too, thoughIdo not have the wit to putthatinto poetry.”
“You have not written any such thing,” Thalia chided mildly, her face flushing a deeper shade of pink. “I am surprised you even mentioned me, when we were apart for years.”
“You are right,” Henry replied softly, smiling. “Now that I think of it, they were just my thoughts. The things I, perhaps, wanted to write.”
Thalia stared at him as if she had lost her memories again. Encouraged by the bewilderment, believing that this might be the way to woo her at last, he let his fingertips pause at her waist.
