April turned to see her sister leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, a knowing smile playing about her mouth.
“Absolutely not,” April said sweetly. “I am merely?—”
“Avoiding,” June finished for her, strolling in and flopping into a nearby armchair with a dramatic sigh.
April sighed and perched on the edge of a velvet settee. “How could you tell?”
“You have the look of someone about to be marched to the guillotine,” June said cheerfully.
April laughed despite herself. “It does feel rather dramatic, does it not?”
June tilted her head. “How do you truly feel about all of this, April?”
April hesitated, twisting the ribbon at her waist. “I do not know why he chose me,” she said quietly. “Or why August agreed to it so easily. I do not know if I can trust what people say about him, or if I am a fool for even considering it.”
June’s expression softened. “You could ask him.”
April barked a laugh. “Have you ever tried conversing with a brick wall?”
“No,” June said solemnly, “but I imagine it would be less frustrating.”
They both laughed, and some of the tightness in April’s chest eased.
“Still,” June said, sobering, “I noticed something at the picnic.”
April leaned forward. “What?”
“His attention,” June said. “It never wandered. Even when we tried to poison him with peppered scones and salted lemonade, he watched only you.”
April’s breath caught slightly. “Perhaps he simply wished to ensure I was not preparing another culinary assault.”
“Perhaps,” June said with a shrug. “But to me, he looked rather… invested. Only a man with a very particular interest would endure such an ordeal with so little protest.”
April fiddled with the ribbon again. “What do I know?” she asked lightly.
“What do any of us know?” June replied with a wry smile. “I am only eighteen, and this is my first Season.”
April smiled faintly. “Perhaps it is my own youth and inexperience with thetonthat obstructs my judgment.”
“Or perhaps,” June said gently, “you need to give yourself permission to find out.”
April sat back, absorbing her sister’s words.
Tonight.
She would not waste another evening smiling sweetly and wondering. Tonight, she would find a way to make the Duke of Stone speak plainly.
No more guessing. No more half-truths.
She would demand answers—and, God willing, some measure of truth.
Theodore walked into the Wildmoore drawing room, and he took in the gathering at a glance. The Duchess perched regally upon a settee, her daughters arrayed like polished jewels, and beside her, leaning heavily on a cane, the Duke of Wildmoore himself.
But it was Lady April who caught and held his attention. She wore an ivory satin dress that shimmered with her every breath. Her pale blue eyes sparkled with mischief and something softer he dared not name. As he crossed the room, he bowed low over her hand, letting his lips linger just a heartbeat longer than propriety allowed.
First, to tease her. Second, because he could not help himself. Her cheeks flushed, and satisfaction curled low and deep within him.
“They already look so in love,” the Duchess said, fluttering her handkerchief with a pleased sigh.
