“Aunt!” Lucy cautioned her.
Rowan’s expression stiffened, and his jaw tightened slightly. “I do not believe that will be necessary.”
Lucy felt the words prick at her, and she pressed her hands to her lap, struggling to keep her composure. She looked from her aunt to Rowan, noting the faint edge in his tone that bespoke more than mere civility.
Selina’s eyes narrowed just enough to convey mild surprise. “Not necessary?” she repeated.
“It will be a small event,” Rowan replied, inclining his head with careful formalities. “Brief. Entirely private. Nothing beyond what must be done.”
Selina’s lips pressed together lightly, the hint of a smile tugging at one corner. “I see. Very well, Your Grace,” she said. “It would be wise to depart on the morrow or the next day,” she said, her tone carefully neutral though her eyes flicked to Rowan with a glint that suggested she was gauging his reaction.
Lucy hesitated, her fingers twisting in her lap. “Yes… that seems prudent,” she murmured.
Rowan’s hand, which had been resting casually behind him, flexed slightly, the knuckles whitening as he made a fist, though his face remained composed. He gave a curt nod, a barely perceptible acknowledgment, like he was swallowing down whatever impulse rose within him. Finally, he exhaled, the tension easing slightly from his shoulders, and he allowed himself to speak. “Very well. Tomorrow, then.”
Lucy caught the movement of his hand, the tightening and release, and a flutter of unease passed through her chest. She glanced quickly at him, noting the subtle rigidness in his posture, the way his eyes seemed to flick toward her before he turned his attention elsewhere.
She sighed softly, almost imperceptibly, and allowed herself a moment to process what had passed. The room was still, tense—even more tense than the past couple of days had been for her—and Lucy felt utterly overwhelmed.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“You wish to go and check on the boys before retiring?”
Lucy hesitated for only a moment. “Yes… I have a bad feeling. I ought to make sure that they are all right.”
Selina inclined her head, a small, knowing smile playing about her lips. “Very well. But you have been over to them before, have you not? Surely everything is in order?”
Lucy bit back a sigh. “I have, Auntie, and nothing has ever troubled me before, but…” Her gaze flicked toward the door. “… tonight, I cannot shake the unease. It is not that I distrust them. Anthony and Daniel are ever so predictable, but Brook…” She stopped herself, not wanting to voice the thought entirely.
Selina’s expression sharpened, just slightly. “There is no need to imagine troubles where none exist, child. You are fond of the boys, yes, but you know the depth of their mischief, do you not?”
“Yes, I am fond,” Lucy said quickly, as though defending herself. “I will be more at ease when I see that they are fine. They are children, Aunt Selina. Vulnerable, spirited children with a father who loves them but is too busy to show it often.”
Selina leaned against the doorframe, her head tilted at a knowing angle. “I have been watching you all evening, Lucy. Ever since I arrived. There is a look on your face. There is a way your gaze lingers when you see the Duke. Even at dinner, I saw it.”
“It’s not just the boys you’re ‘fond’ of, is it?” Selina asked. “I know you, Lucy. You strive to be always professional. Always detached. But here? In this house? You look less like the matchmaker you want to be and more like a woman who is ready to go to war for the man at the head of the table.”
Lucy felt a hot, uncomfortable prickle of color rise to her cheeks. She turned away, pretending to adjust a vase of wilting lilies on the sideboard. “Don’t be absurd, Aunt. The Duke is a client. A difficult, brooding, and remarkably stubborn client. My concern for his welfare is strictly tied to the success of this contract.”
“Oh, strictly,” Selina hummed, stepping closer. “Is that why your breath hitches every time he steps into your personal space? Is that why you look at him the way that you did? There was a tension in that drawing room that has nothing to do with matchmaking and everything to do with the way he watches you when you aren’t looking.”
“It is friction, nothing more,” Lucy countered. “We disagree on nearly everything. He wants a statue for a wife, and I refuse to provide one. If you sense tension, it is merely the sparks of two opposing wills clashing. There is nothing there, Aunt Selina. Truly.”
Selina let out a soft, melodic laugh that did nothing to soothe Lucy’s nerves. “Friction creates heat, my dear, and heat, if left untended, tends to start fires. You can tell yourself it's professional all you like, but I know you. You’ve never been this invested in anything before. This is your first time in this profession. You aren’t just trying to find him a wife, you’re trying to save him. You have gotten too involved.”
“I am trying to do my job,” Lucy insisted, finally meeting her aunt’s gaze with a look of practiced steel. “Part of that job is ensuring he doesn’t marry a woman who will break those boys’ hearts. Anything else you think you see is a figment of your overly romantic imagination.”
A beat of silence passed between them. “Then go,” Selina said at last. “See that all is as it should be with the boys. But it is curious, though, how much you care for them.”
“Good night, Aunt Selina. Sleep well,” Lucy said.
She turned toward the door, her hand already reaching for the brass handle, eager to escape her aunt’s perceptive gaze. The conversation had hit far too close to a truth she wasn’t ready to examine, let alone admit.
“Lucy,” Selina called out.
Lucy paused, her shoulders tense, and looked back over her shoulder. “Yes, Aunt?”
Selina sat up on the bed. “We made a deal before we ever set foot in this estate. I told you that if you could successfully find a match for the Duke, I would finally stop trying to marry you off and instead teach you my trade.”
