Lucy remained seated on the bed, Daniel’s small hand warm in hers. Thunder rolled again outside, but the room felt cozy.
Lucy watched Daniel’s eyelids grow heavy, the warmth of his father’s embrace and the beat of Rowan’s chest lulling him toward sleep. Her hand still rested in his, and as she watched him drift, she felt the instinctive urge to smooth his hair.
But at the same moment, Rowan’s hand moved in the same motion, fingers reaching instinctively for the crown of his son’s head.
Their hands met, fingers brushing, tangling for a brief instant.
Lucy let out a small, nervous gasp and pulled her hand back abruptly, causing Rowan to look up, startled, and their eyes met. For a heartbeat, the glance was loaded. She could tell that he saw the flicker of something in her reaction, something that was not meant for him to read.
However, he said nothing, simply turned back to Daniel, brushing his son’s hair back gently, and she immediately felt apang of guilt for her own impulsive motion and the reaction it had sparked.
“You’re angry with me, aren’t you?
The words hung in the air, tentative yet loaded with tension that neither of them had dared to voice until now.
Daniel had long since succumbed to sleep, his chest rising and falling softly between them. Rowan had carefully placed him on the bed, but the boy’s small hand still clutched Lucy’s, and she didn’t dare move for fear of waking him. She remained seated at his side, her fingers resting lightly in his while Rowan positioned himself on the other side. In the middle, Daniel slept, unaware that he was a tiny barrier between them both.
For a long moment, they simply sat in silence, the faint crackle of the storm outside the window the only sound accompanying the slow rhythm of Daniel’s breathing. The silence that lingered between them had made it almost impossible to breathe. It was undeniably awkward, too intimate, too still... but there was a strange comfort in the shared presence.
When Rowan finally spoke, breaking the hush, she felt a pang of relief mixed with nerves. Even if the words were small, even if they carried just a trace of tension, at least the silence had been lifted. Yet, that very relief made her heart pound all the more.
Lucy drew in a breath, her gaze fixed somewhere between the flickering candle he had lit a few minutes ago and the far corner of the room. “I am not angry with you, Your Grace,” she said lightly, almost in protest to the thought that had clearly been lingering. “Why would I be?”
Rowan’s eyes softened. “For the past two days...” he began carefully, “... you’ve been avoiding me. Ever since the ball. You haven’t come for breakfast, lunch, or dinner. I’m guessing, so you wouldn’t run into me. You don’t seek me out, and you haven’t asked about Lady Judith or what I’ve been doing. I can’t help but wonder… perhaps it is because of that conversation at the ball when I questioned your matchmaking ambitions. Perhaps you’ve been keeping your distance because I suggested it might be guilt, rather than choice, that drives you.”
Lucy’s cheeks flushed, a mixture of surprise and embarrassment. She hadn’t realized he already knew. That he had seen through her avoidance and deduced its cause. For a moment, words failed her.
“I…” she started, then exhaled softly, meeting his steady gaze. “Yes, I suppose there was a sting when you questioned me. I’m sorry if it seemed unprofessional, but I needed time to think. Your words struck something in me I didn’t expect. I had to wonder if I was doing this—being a matchmaker—because I felt too guilty to allow myself to fall in love.” She paused, her hands tightening slightly in her lap. “I wasn’t ready to answer that, even to myself.”
Rowan leaned back just a fraction. “You are very good at it,” he said to her. “I do not want to take that from you. If this is truly what you wish to do, the talent is yours, and no one can ever take that from you. You have a rare gift, Lucy, and I think you know it. It is yours to wield as you will. It does not matter your motivations. All that matters is what makes you happy.”
Her chest lifted slightly as his words sank in. For the first time in a long time, she felt seen. Like someone who held doubts about her path decided to understand her.
Lucy’s voice softened, almost apologetically. “I’m sorry again for the past few days. For avoiding you like that.”
Rowan shook his head gently, a faint, reassuring smile tugging at his lips. “You needn’t worry about that,” he said simply, the warmth in his tone settling some of the tension in the room.
A pause followed, the storm outside reduced to a distant murmur. The only sound was the gentle rhythm of Daniel’s breathing as he dozed peacefully between them. Lucy shifted slightly, gathering courage, and then turned toward Rowan.
“May I ask you a question, Your Grace?” she ventured.
“Of course,” he replied immediately, his gaze steady on hers.
She hesitated for a heartbeat before speaking. “Could you tell me about the late duchess?”
Rowan’s brow lifted faintly, a trace of surprise flickering across his features, but he said nothing, allowing her question to linger.
“I understand it is difficult,” she continued quickly. “You needn’t tell me if you would rather not, but I am curious. Even though I think I have found the sort of match you might seek, I would like to understand why you married her. What it was in her that drew you in. What you liked about her.”
Her fingers tightened lightly in Daniel’s small hand without realizing it, a nervous anchor as she waited for him to respond. The room fell into a careful, expectant silence, broken only by the soft rustle of sheets and the far-off rumble of thunder.
Rowan’s eyes softened as he settled back slightly. For a long moment, he said nothing, gathering the right words, letting the silence in the room stretch before them.
“My wife…” he began carefully, then cleared his throat. “She was dutiful. That is the best way to describe her. Too dutiful, perhaps. From the moment we married, it seemed she measured everything by what she must do. For the dukedom, for appearances, for our lineage. She cared little for affection, for companionship... for love. It was all duty, all expectation. I suppose I expected the same of myself. I am an only child, so I was trained thoroughly to do exactly what was expected. Manners, propriety, the careful execution of every obligation. I learned early that deviation was dangerous, and that sentiment could be costly.”
He paused, brushing a hand through his hair. “We married young, and I know what you want to hear, but unfortunately, it was not out of love. It was duty. I thought it was what I must do. She had her own expectations of the marriage. She thought she must provide heirs, secure her position, and cement the future of the dukedom. We never truly matched. Our lives together were a series of duties performed in parallel. I did what was expected, she did what was expected, and between us, there was distance. A polite, cold distance that never bridged the divide of our hearts.”
Lucy listened, silent, her fingers tightening around Daniel’s small hand without realizing it, caught in the intimacy of the moment.
