“I am not sure.”
“What time are you leaving?” he asked next.
“I… I assume early evening. But I am not sure.”
“What are you going to wear?”
“A dress, I suspect,” she said.
“But you don’t know?”
Yvette eyed Hugh flatly. “Is there a point to all these questions?”
“Just that you d -- don’t seem to know much about anything.” Hugh’s grin was mischievous. “Are you sure that you are attending a ball tonight?”
She rolled her eyes. “Do you think that I am lying?”
“Maybe…”
“And what would be the point of that?”
He shrugged. “You t -- tell me. You’re the one who is making it up.”
“I am not!” she laughed.
It was the day of the ball, and despite every good sense that Yvette had inside of her screaming that she should be terrified at what the night might bring, she would be lying to herself if she said that she was not excited for it.
Oh yes, she had been rather terrified at first. For the entire day, following her invitation, she had gone through a list of excuses detailing why she could not go with the Duke. She was feeling sick. She had nothing to wear. She would only embarrass them both, and so on.
Once she listed off those excuses and determined that none of them would do, she allowed herself a glimmer of hope… that fleeting sense that her dreams were coming true and the night of the ball might just be the best of her life so far.
Some of it was the chance to rub shoulders with the peerage and to steal a glimpse into their world. But most of it was the obvious thrill she felt at being given a chance to spend more time with the Duke. A night free of the manor, escaped from work and expectation, and in a setting that would allow them to be real with one another in ways that they hadn’t been yet.
What does that even mean? To be real? It is not as if the Duke and I do not spend enough time together as it is. Why should a ball be any different?
Of course, she knew the answer to that, just as she refused to ponder on that answer for too long… just in case.
“Do you like spending time with my father?” Hugh asked her suddenly.
Yvette started at the question. “I… what do you mean?”
“I don’t know,” he shrugged and turned shy. “I was just curious, what you thought of him.”
“What I think of him? In what way?”
Again, he shrugged, and he looked down at his feet. The two of them walked through the back garden, taking advantage of the morning sun, and he kicked a pebble off the path as they went. “He is kinder than I thought he would be… not as mean as he looked when we first met.”
Yvette laughed at the comment. She had thought the same of the Duke when they first met, likening him to a monster torn from the pages of a fairytale, and certainly not someone with whom she might find a companionship that went beyond anything that she had before with another man.
Even his scars don’t scare me the way that they used to…
“Looks are certainly deceiving,” she agreed. “But I think we can both agree that your father is far kinder than he lets on. More honest too… There is a softer side to him, and I see it more each day.”
“I guess…” Hugh scrunched his face, and she could see doubt flicker behind his eyes.
“Hugh.” Yvette came to a stop on the path. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” he said a little too quickly.
