Daniel hesitated only briefly before nodding. He slipped his hand into hers, tentative at first then firmer, and Lucy rose with him. Together, they made their way from the library toward the garden.
“Have you ever played Hunt the Thimble?” she asked.
Daniel’s head tilted, curiosity overtaking his shyness. He shook his head. “No.”
“It’s very simple,” Lucy continued, smiling. “One of us hides a small object, like a thimble or a pebble, then the other person has to find it. But here’s the trick... you won’t be told exactly where it is. I’ll say ‘warmer’ when you’re getting close and ‘colder’ when you’re moving away from it. Do you understand?”
Daniel’s eyes brightened. “So I have to listen carefully to you?”
“Exactly,” Lucy said. “The more you move, the more you might get a little… messy,” she added with a mischievous wink. “But that’s all part of the fun.”
Daniel giggled. “I like messy fun!”
They began near the rose beds, Lucy hiding the object beneath a low hedge while Daniel turned his back with great seriousness, counting aloud as she instructed. When he turned again, he searched earnestly, crouching to peer beneath benches and darting toward flowerbeds whenever Lucy laughed and said, “Warmer… warmer still.”
Before long, Daniel was running across the lawn, shoes damp with morning dew, trousers streaked with green where he knelt too quickly. Lucy fared no better. Her skirts brushed against soil and crushed petals as she followed him, laughing freely whenhe guessed wrong and clapping his hands triumphantly when he found the hidden object at last.
They played again. And again.
At some point, Lucy lost track of who was hiding and who was searching. The rules blurred, replaced by the simple joy of movement and laughter. Dirt smudged Daniel’s sleeves. Lucy’s hem grew heavy with grass stains, she did not once think to mind. The garden seemed to close around them, sunlight filtering through leaves as though time itself had slowed to watch.
It was only when Lucy paused to catch her breath, hands braced on her knees, that she realized how long they must have been there. She lifted her eyes, and she caught a figure by the window facing the garden. At first, she couldn’t make out who it was, but a second later, her eyes fixated on the figure, and she realized it was Rowan standing there. Watching them. His frown was subtle, almost imperceptible, yet it spoke volumes of his disapproval.
It did not surprise her, strangely. There was no world in which Rowan Clawridge would approve of his son rolling around in the mud. But she thought that he was too far away from her to chastise her for it, so she figured she got away this time.
Lucy’s chest fluttered. His eyes, sharp and commanding even from afar, held hers. For a heartbeat, the world shrank to just the two of them, the boy in the garden oblivious, the game forgotten, and the distance between their gazes tense.
A small voice cut through the charged atmosphere. “Am I still cold? Or maybe… am I warm?” Daniel’s question brought Lucy back to the moment.
She turned her head toward him, and without breaking eye contact with Rowan, she called out gently, “You’re still cold!”
The sound of her voice seemed to dissolve the taut moment. Yet, even as Daniel laughed and resumed his game, Lucy couldn’t help but steal one last glance toward Rowan before letting her eyes fall back to the boy.
CHAPTER SIX
“Iwould say I have done quite a number of things that I am proud of,” Rowan said, his voice entirely serious. “Once, I considered writing a book on manners… but I found it toopoliteto publish.”
Lucy blinked at him, unsure whether to laugh or be horrified. Lady Kitty, seated stiffly, looked positively bewildered, her polite smile faltering. Lucy felt her confidence sink. It felt pointless. Rowan was going to ruin everything with his sense of humor.
Lucy had arranged for the first candidate to arrive that morning, a woman whose reputation for charm and respectability made her, in Lucy’s careful judgment, the best choice on her list. Lady Kitty possessed the poise and refinement expected of a lady of her standing, and Lucy had spent the past week meticulously preparing the household for her visit, hoping to ensure that nothing could go amiss.
The boys had been given precise instructions: remain polite, but maintain a respectful distance. Lucy had rehearsed the plan in her mind several times, anticipating every possible hiccup. This was the crucial first step in her ambitious undertaking, the one that would prove whether she could navigate the delicate art of matchmaking at the household of a man as formidable as the Duke of Langridge. Every detail mattered. The light in the drawing room, the way the chairs were arranged, the subtle hints of welcome without excessive familiarity. Lucy could already feel her pulse quicken with anxiety, knowing that the success of this first meeting would set the tone for everything that followed.
But the one stumbling block threatening to upset her meticulous planning was the Duke himself. Rowan sat in the drawing room, his posture impeccably straight, hands folded, and eyes sharp as he observed both Lady Kitty and Lucy with an assessing air. But the more he talked, the more awkward the situation became.
Lucy took a breath and guided the conversation gently, steering topics toward shared values, hobbies, and interests, careful to draw out Lady Kitty’s charm without making her feel interrogated. She asked about family, about how she spent her childhood, and encouraged reflection on kindness, temperance, and the quiet virtues of society life. For a brief moment, Kitty relaxed, smiling politely and responding with grace, giving Lucy hope that this first trial might succeed.
But then, as the conversation began to deepen, Rowan’s subtle sense of humor crept in. A slight tilt of his head, a deliberate pause before he spoke, and a dry remark that was meant to amuse, yet no one quite understood. Lady Kitty blinked once,then twice, clearly unsure whether to laugh or to consider him dangerously eccentric. Lucy felt a twinge of panic. She could see it in Kitty’s eyes. The polite smile was faltering, confusion creeping in.
Lucy’s stomach sank. It was exactly what she feared. She tried to mask her concern, redirecting the conversation, but every time she attempted to steer it back to warmth and shared values, Rowan’s quips slid effortlessly back into the dialogue, dry as dust, precise as a surgeon’s scalpel, and twice as cutting.
Rowan leaned slightly back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “I once observed a goose in our gardens,” he began, “flapping with such vigor that I concluded it must believe itself a swan. The gardener, of course, disagreed, insisting it remained a goose. I found his obstinacy most amusing.”
Lady Kitty blinked again and offered another faint smile. “I… see, Your Grace. And the gardener? Did he maintain that the goose was indeed a goose?”
“Indeed,” Rowan replied. “He refused to indulge the creature’s delusions. Children, of course, are not unlike geese in this respect. Firmness must be applied.”
Lady Kitty’s eyebrows twitched. “Pardon me, Your Grace. Are you saying you think children can be likened to... geese?”
