“Is it swollen,” the Duke grumbled into his chest.
“Obviously…” Carrowell shuffled in close and dipped his fingers into the salve before applying it on her ankle.
Yvette winced from the pain, and the salve burned at first before cooling, and soon she began to relax as her ankle turned numb.
“Thank you.” She watched the Duke, who had his head turned away.
“It is the least I can do,” Carrowell said.
She had not been speaking to Carrowell, and she hoped the Duke knew it.
As Carrowell continued to attend her swollen ankle, Yvette watched the Duke closely. She wished he would turn and look at her. She wished that he would speak what she knew was in his heart. She wished… she wished that it had not taken so long for her to realize what was so plainly obvious.
The Duke was falling for her, she was certain of it. He was awkward about it. He was scared of what it might mean. But she heard it in his voice, she understood it in his words, and she felt it in her heart.
As I am falling for him…
The very notion terrified her. Never before had she admitted such a thing. Then again, never before had she wanted to. There was a litany of reasons for this, that he was beyond her, that she did not want to marry, that a happily ever after was not hers to covet…
Finally, she was done with all the lies. Just as she was through with caring what people thought. The fear was still there, her natural aversion to marriage and childbearing, but where theDuke was concerned… he was the one person who she might be willing to risk it all for.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Yvette struggled to find sleep that night, and it was for two reasons.
The first and most obvious was on account of her conversation with the Duke. It rattled about in her head and left her with a sense of being unfinished. Although she was certain that she knew what he had meant, just as she had been able to sense what he wanted, that they said nothing further felt wrong to her.
They were so close… the answer was right on the tip of their tongues. But they were unable to say it, speaking around what they wanted, while unwilling to put voice to the risk that she knew they needed to take.
At least that is how I feel. And while I am certain the Duke feels the same, how can I be sure? How can I know that which he does not say?
If what Yvette thought she knew was the truth, then they had to do something about it – they had to stop talking around it and speak to what was in their hearts.
This was easier said than done.
The ride home had been awkward. With the mood broken, and Yvette’s ankle now the center of attention, the Duke seemed perfectly happy to ignore what they spoke of, and Yvette certainly wasn’t going to be the one to voice it.
What is it going to take for us to say what is on our minds? What do we need to happen so that we might finally take a chance…
She was afraid, was why. Still, the lingering fear deep within so that if she was to do something about it, she needed a final push.
She tossed and she turned with these thoughts, and it was made even worse by the state of her ankle. It throbbed painfully, it rolled up her leg and through her body, and every time she turned over or moved without consideration, a spike of pain would shoot through her body.
For hours she tried to find sleep, and it would not come. Desperate, and out of options, she decided to make her way to the kitchens and have some chamomile tea – her father used to drink it when he struggled to sleep, and she prayed that it would help her do the same.
She limped through the house silently. She hugged the walls and used them to balance. She crept down the stairs, wincing with each step taken. Finally, after what felt like hours, she stumbled into the kitchen.
“Yvette!” Lucinda was there. “What are you doing?”
Yvette started at the sight of the cook. The kitchen was perfectly dark, the house sat in a state of absolute silence, but there was Lucinda, wide awake and very much pregnant.
She sat on a stool by the sink, hands on her swollen belly, staring out the window and into the night as if searching for answers. The moon shone across her face, she smiled to see Yvette, and then she laughed as if at a joke.
“Maybe you should be the one asking what I am doing,” she chuckled and shook her head. “Nothing nefarious, I promise you.”
“Now, why don’t I believe you?” Yvette smiled as she approached the pregnant cook.
Lucinda grinned. “Just trouble sleeping, I promise! It’s this darn thing!” She held her belly with both hands and jiggled it. “It is impossible to find comfort, no matter what I do.” She grimaced suddenly and then winced with pain.
