And yet.
And yet…
There is another side to this velvet, one less spoken of in the drawing rooms and card parties; one that does not stain so easily.
If you are at the Hunt and have been watching him these past days amid the flutter of fans and the parade of eligible daughters, you might have noticed that the Duke has been… different. Not the careless seducer of gossip, not the man whocollects hearts like a child collects butterflies. Instead, he seeks one particular lady.
Many of us are asking what happened to our precious Velvet Duke. Has a lady changed him so?
We have seen him carry children on his shoulders with the same care he might give a priceless heirloom. We have seen him crouch to a boy’s level to speak of ducks, bread, and adventures, his voice soft in a way the ton has never heard.
Velvet stains, yes. But velvet also cradles. It wraps, it comforts, it endures.
And in those small, unguarded moments, we begin to suspect something quite astonishing: the Velvet Duke might, in fact, make a particularly good father.
Ladies, let us be honest with ourselves. We have chased titles, fortunes, handsome faces, and witty conversation. We have sighed over rakes and reformed them in our dreams. But when the music stops, and the candles gutter low, what quality do we truly wish for in the man beside us?
Not perfection. Not even passion, though it has its charms.
We want a man who will love his children. And a man who understands that love is not a conquest, but a quiet, steady promise.
So, look closely, my darlings. Look past the velvet. Look for the man who cradles what is precious without staining it.
Because if the rumors are to be believed, and we have only whispers, no proof, then the Velvet Duke may well be his father’s true son in many ways. The resemblance between father and son, in both countenance and certain unmistakable habits, is positively uncanny.
Yet habits are not destiny.
And perhaps this particular duke is learning to wear his velvet more gently.
Until next time, keep your fans at the ready. The Season, after all, is only beginning.
— Lady Veritas
Deena set the quill down. Her fingers ached; ink stained the side of her hand. She stared at the page, the careful script suddenly foreign to her, and she doubted publishing this piece. She had meant to wound. To distract. To feed the beast one more lurid morsel so he would grant her another day.
Instead, she had written… this.
A defense wrapped in scandal. A warning disguised as gossip. A quiet, dangerous hope. She touched the final paragraph again, tracing the words with her fingertip. Beside the article lay theletter she decided to post to Penelope before the Hunt began. As she folded the paper, she silently prayed that her friend would respond.
Deena had written the article to protect Austin, to prove to whoever held the leash that Austin was legitimate and that the rumors were baseless. Yet reading it now, the sentences felt like something more. A confession. A claim. As though she was staking her own small flag in his defense.
Her chest ached.
Something is missing.
She felt it like a hollow space beneath her ribs, something unfinished and unspoken. The article said too much and not enough. It shielded him, yes, but it also revealed too much about her own feelings: the way she watched him, the way she noticed the softness beneath the velvet, the way she wanted?—
A knock sounded at the door, and Deena squashed the parchment in the palm of her hand.
“You may enter,” she called out, and the door opened slowly.
Sixteen
Austin walked into Deena’s chamber. She sat upright at her dressing table with an astonished expression. Her nightgown hung loosely over her body and the sheer material revealed parts of her that he would cherish in his memory forever.
“What are you doing in here?” she asked nervously.
“Am I not allowed to visit?”
