“You have only seen them on their best behavior,” I replied. “You should visit when open warfare breaks out. It is far less impressive.”
His expression softened. “Even so,” he said. “It says a great deal about the one who holds it together.”
For a moment, the room fell away, and it was only the two of us, his gaze resting on me with an understanding that felt both unsettling and impossibly gentle.
“So, Your Grace,” Petunia said brightly, shattering the spell with all the innocence in the world, “how many horses do you own?”
The next half hour was spent in alternating bursts of laughter, teasing, and Petunia’s relentless curiosity about ducal life. Steele answered each question with good humor and patience, though his gaze strayed to me often enough to make my pulse unsteady.
When the teapot was empty, and the last crumb of cake vanished, Petunia sighed with satisfaction. “That went rather well,” she announced. “Do come again, Your Grace.”
“I fear I shall have no choice,” he said, rising. “Your invitation leaves no room for refusal.”
“Excellent. Tomorrow, then.”
“Petunia,” I said warningly. “The duke is quite a busy man.”
“Not tomorrow,” Steele said, “But soon.” He turned to me with a slight bow. “Lady Rosalynd, as always, a pleasure.”Something in his tone lingered, warm and genuine, settling beneath my ribs in a way I had not anticipated. For a breath, I could not look away.
I told myself it was only courtesy, nothing more, yet the truth pressed closer than I liked. He felt more than he was saying.
He took his leave with perfect composure, every gesture measured and courtly. The instant he was gone, the room erupted.
“Well, that was rather illuminating,” Grandmother declared, folding her hands atop her cane.
Chrissie leaned forward, eyes sparkling. “If you do not marry him, I will,” she said, fighting back a grin.
Claire howled with laughter. “You will have to fight Petunia for the privilege.”
Petunia straightened her shoulders with great dignity. “I was merely being hospitable.”
“You were being an inquisitor,” I said, lifting a brow at her. “You tricked me.”
“I invited him here. I did not ask to be invited to his home.” Petunia flicked an accusatory glance toward Laurel. “Like some people did.”
Laurel looked up at last from her book. “He is rather handsome,” she admitted, a faint blush rising in her cheeks. “And he does have a splendid library.”
Fox stepped forward, brows drawn together in a sincere puzzle. “I do not see what all the fuss is about.”
Chrissie waved a dismissive hand. “That’s because you’re a boy. Wait until you are interested in girls.”
Fox snorted. “That is never going to happen.”
Cosmos studied me with a drawn brow. “Seriously, Rosie, do you have an interest in marrying Steele? Because if you do, we should start thinking about arrangements.”
Petunia’s head snapped toward him. “What arrangements?” Her voice tightened, the first thread of worry visible.
Claire jabbed an elbow into Cosmos’s ribs. “Hush.”
He winced. “Yes, yes, you are right. Er, I beg your pardon.”
But Petunia edged closer, her brows knitting. “What arrangements?”
“Obviously, he means us, Petunia,” Fox said, far too intelligent for his age. “We would have to choose whether we would live with Rosie or Cosmos.”
The color drained from Petunia’s face, and her bottom lip trembled. The idea had never occurred to her. It was all I thought about some days. “I do not want to be split up,” she cried out. “I want us to remain together. All of us.”
Before anyone could stop her, she fled from the room, tears streaming down her face.
