“There was a summer—he had come home from Eton—he was sixteen, I think. Strong and proud, full of all the bravado thatcomes with that age. One evening, we were dining outdoors. He raised his glass and went white. Collapsed right there at the table.”
April’s breath stilled. “What happened?”
“Fevered, trembling, he drifted in and out of sense. The surgeons bled him until he was grey. Leeches, purging, the whole awful arsenal. Nothing worked. And then—” Eugenia paused, shaking her head as though it was still a marvel, “—a young farmer appeared. Barely more than a boy himself. Claimed to know his herbs though I suspect he had more knowledge than all the so-called professionals combined. He brewed a vile, steaming tea that made the whole house stink of roots and bark. It saved him.”
April blinked. “You mean… Theo was poisoned?”
“They never found out what it was,” Eugenia said. “But all agreed it had to be poison. Something insidious. He’d been unwell all day, and we’d thought it was summer heat. But no. It was something meant to harm him.”
April’s hand tightened in her lap. “And no one was caught?”
“Not a soul,” Eugenia said. “It vanished as quickly as it came. We told no one beyond the estate. The family had been through too much already. But I watched him teeter on the edge for three days, and now, I watch him hold steady because of you.” She reached over and took April’s hand. “You make him lighter. Do you see it?”
April nodded faintly, but a chill had begun to coil at the base of her spine. She looked out across the garden where Tulip was waddling determinedly after a butterfly, her soft snorts blending with birdsong.
Theo was poisoned, and I was pushed.
The thought pressed against her chest like a stone. Could these two events—years apart—truly be coincidence?
Is it possible these things are related?
Thirty-Eight
“April,” Theo murmured, standing just within the threshold of the drawing room.
She looked up, her expression softening as her gaze found his. Eugenia was fast asleep in a velvet chair by the hearth, her spectacles askew, and Tulip dozing beneath her skirts, her little belly rising and falling with tiny snores. April rose carefully, so as not to wake her, and crossed to him.
Theo reached for her hand and, without a word, led her through the quiet hallway toward his study. The hush of the morning settled around them like a second skin. Familiar and utterly theirs. Yet still, his pulse quickened as her fingers tightened in his.
He opened the door to the study and guided her in. She halted at once.
“The vase,” she breathed.
There, on a rosewood pedestal by the window, stood the delicate jade Chinese vase—restored. Its surface gleamed in the soft light, smooth again, its fractures mended by the faintest seams of powdered gold. It was the same and not the same. Like her heart, she thought.
“I thought it was lost,” she said, stepping forward.
“It very nearly was,” Theo replied. “But I remembered how you looked at it. And I could not abide seeing something beautiful broken beyond repair.”
He stepped back slightly, just enough to give her space to approach the vase. “The fractures were fine,” he continued quietly, “but distinct. I studied them for days before I found someone who understood what needed to be done. The lacquer was imported through a collector in Somerset, and the gold—well, I spared no expense. It had to be real gold. The kind that endures.”
He glanced at her then, watching the light catch in her eyes as she examined the piece. “I thought it fitting,” he added. “To honor the damage, not hide it. There’s a kind of dignity in surviving what should have ruined you.”
She turned to him. “You… repaired it?”
“With lacquer and powdered gold,” he said. “A method calledkintsugi. A Japanese philosophy of mending with honor. The restorer I found has spent his life perfecting the art. I thought… perhaps it would suit us.”
Us.The word curled around her heart.
Her eyes brimmed and she reached for him without thinking, folding herself into his arms. “You astonishing man. Thank you.”
He bent and kissed her. It was soft, slow, deliberate. The kind of kiss that reminded her she was cherished.
When they parted, he still held her close. “Come. I’ve had horses prepared. I’d like you to ride with me.”
She tilted her head, smiling. “Another gallant gesture? At this rate, you shall turn me entirely spoiled.”
“I should hope so.”
