“You were finding us a mother because Papa needed one. If you marry him then—” He lifted a shoulder. “—that rather solves it, does it not?” Brook smiled. “It makes you family.”
Anthony’s expression softened. “We thought you were going to leave us when the weeks were done, and we were already sad about it. But now, you’re staying. How could we be upset?”
Lucy’s chest tightened, emotion rising too quickly for her to steady it.
“Father told us,” Brook went on, brightening again, “that you are to marry him. So that means you are not going anywhere.”
Anthony grinned. “That is why we are pleased.”
“We can call you mama, right?” Brook asked.
Lucy forced a small smile though her eyes stung. This, she realized, was the danger of it all. Not the marriage, not even the Duke, but the way she had slipped, almost without noticing, into a place she had never intended to occupy. Their words carried too much truth, too much warmth, and she found herself without any defense against it. Explanations would only invite questions she was not ready to answer, feelings she had not yet dared to face.
She drew in a steadying breath and forced a smile, bright enough to distract, light enough to deflect. “Very well,” she said briskly. “Shall we take to the gardens? I believe I could be persuaded into a game, provided you promise not to argue over the rules.”
Anthony’s eyes lit at once. “Brook cheats.”
“I do not,” Brook protested, already turning toward the doors.
Lucy laughed despite herself, allowing them to pull her toward the doors, grateful for the excuse to move, to do anything other than think. As they crossed the threshold of the drawing room, she glanced back without quite meaning to.
Selina still sat where she had been all along, hands folded in her lap, her expression seemingly unreadable to anyone who did not know her well. Lucy knew it all too well. It was the look Selina wore when she had already drawn her conclusions and was merely waiting for the moment to voice them. A look weighted with knowing. With questions. With feelings Lucy was not prepared to examine, much less defend.
She looked away at once.
Deep down, she understood precisely what her aunt was thinking, and that was reason enough not to linger. If she granted Selina even a minute, if she slowed... if she hesitated, the words would come, and Lucy would never hear the end of it. About the boys. About their father. About herself and the situation she was in.
She would not have that. Not now.
So she tightened her hold on Anthony’s and Brook’s hands and let them draw her onward, choosing the gardens, the game, the blessed noise of motion over reflection. For the moment, it was easier to run into the open air than to remain behind and confront how easily, how dangerously, she was already being claimed.
“Mind the stone, Brook,” Lucy said, laughing as the hoop wobbled dangerously close to the edge of the path. “If it falls, you must begin again.”
“I can do it,” Brook insisted, gripping the stick with concentration. The hoop clattered, leaned, then righted itself. He grinned. “See? I’ve always been quite good at playing Hoop and Stick.”
Anthony was already several steps ahead, his own hoop rolling smoothly across the lawn. “You’re going too fast,” he called over his shoulder. “Remember, if you rush, you lose control.”
Lucy paused at that, though she kept her smile in place. “You are very wise, Anthony,” she said lightly. “But I think today, a little speed is allowed. How else is he going to catch up with you?”
She took her turn then, nudging the hoop forward with careful taps. It felt strangely satisfying, the simple rhythm of it. Step, tap, step. The world narrowing to the sound of wood against grass and the boys’ voices rising and falling around her.
“You’re good at this, Lucy,” Anthony said, slowing to walk beside her. “Better than Brook.”
“That is not true,” Brook protested. “She just cheats.”
Lucy gasped. “I do not cheat,” she said. “I merely use strategy.”
They laughed, all three of them, and something inside her loosened in that instant. She had not realized how tightly she had been holding herself until now, how every thought had circled back to what awaited her, to what she was becoming.
A sudden shadow fell across the grass, and Lucy looked up to see Rowan standing at the edge of the lawn, hand behind his back, surveying the game with a strange smile across his face. Lucy had seen him smile before, but this was different. This smile was different.
“May I join?” he asked with raised eyebrows.
Anthony’s face lit up immediately. “Yes! Yes, Father! Come see; we’ll show you how it works!” He darted forward, hoop in hand, tugging Rowan gently toward the path. “This is how you hold the stick, see? You must roll the hoop like this, slowly at first…”
“I know how to play Hoop and Stick, son.” Rowan chuckled.
Lucy stepped back a little, letting them take the space, and found a low garden bench near the flowerbeds. She settled there, quietly watching. Brook trailed behind Anthony, eager to demonstrate his own skills, but his father’s attention was now fully on the game.
