Sophia’s expression clouded, but only slightly. "He is in his study."
"I shall go at once," Lavinia said, rising. She tucked the blue fan under her arm. "You may wait here, or in the hallway if you prefer."
Sophia nodded, already drawing small, secret shapes upon the pianoforte keys.
Lavinia made her way through the hallways of Evermere Hall, her footsteps echoing over the ancient wood floors. Every step toward the Duke’s study brought a new and more colorful phrase to mind, most of which could not be spoken in company.You have withstood three creditors, Lavinia. One mere Duke is nothing to you.
She reached the heavy oak door and raised her hand. It hovered there, uncertain, for the space of two heartbeats.
She knocked.
"Enter," called His Grace, with the crispness of a man who expected never to be kept waiting.
Lavinia stepped inside.
The Duke was at his desk, surrounded by neat piles of correspondence. He wore a black waistcoat, and the severity of his attire made the blue of his eyes even sharper in contrast. He did not stand, but motioned for her to approach.
"Lady Lavinia," he said. "Is there a matter requiring my attention?"
"Yes, Your Grace," Lavinia replied, managing a curtsey that was neither too shallow nor too deep. "Lady Sophia has expressed a wish for her lesson to be held in the garden. I came to request your approval."
He studied her, as if the request were a problem in mathematics. His hands pressed together, fingertip to fingertip. "You believe this will be more productive than indoors?"
"I do, Your Grace. Lady Sophia has shown remarkable progress, but she thrives when allowed a measure of freedom."
He leaned back in his chair. "And what would you teach her in the garden?"
"We are working today on the art of the fan. Social signals. Conversation. I believe the open air will make the lesson more memorable."
The Duke’s gaze shifted to the fan in her hand. "And does the fan truly convey all you claim for it, Lady Lavinia?"
"More than words, Your Grace. It is a whole language—one that every lady must master, or be at the mercy of those who have."
He considered this. "Very well. I grant permission, on one condition."
Lavinia inclined her head, bracing herself.
"I shall escort you," the Duke said, rising. "There are matters I must attend to on the grounds, and it will afford me an opportunity to observe Sophia's instruction firsthand." His expression suggested this was less a convenience and more a direct test.
"As you wish, Your Grace," Lavinia replied, then added, "Sophia awaits in the music room."
"Let us not keep her waiting," the Duke said.
They walked together in silence to the music room, and Lavinia was keenly aware of his massive presence beside her. Sophia looked up at their arrival, her hands frozen mid-chord.
"Your wish is granted, Lady Sophia," the Duke announced. "We shall have your lesson in the garden."
Sophia’s eyes widened. "Thank you, Father."
He merely nodded, but Lavinia saw the infinitesimal softening at the corners of his mouth.
They moved as a unit—Duke, daughter, and tutor—down the main hallway and through the conservatory. Lavinia could not help but notice how the Duke’s presence altered the very air: it became charged, as if even the birds beyond the glass paused to watch his every step.
They emerged into the walled garden, and he surveyed the grounds, then took up a position beneath an arched trellis, arms folded, every inch the vigilant parent.
Lavinia led Sophia to a stone bench near the lavender beds. "Let us begin, shall we?" she said, unfurling her fan with a snap so discreet it was practically inaudible.
Sophia mirrored her, managing an opening that was only slightly clumsy.
