The next day, Theo found himself walking the narrow streets near Covent Garden, the cold morning air biting at the back of his neck. The interrogation earlier had yielded little but frustration—words twisted into lies, glances that darted away at the first true question. He would find what he needed—he always did—but not today.
He had not intended to visit her, but as his boots turned up the quieter lanes, as his mind circled endlessly back to Lady April’s laughter in that bookshop, he let his steps carry him forward.
When he reached the modest townhouse, he rapped twice and entered without waiting for the butler.
His maternal aunt, Eugenia Forest, was seated by the fire, a knitted shawl wrapped around her frail shoulders, her sharp blue eyes immediately lighting at the sight of him.
“Theodore,” she greeted, holding out a thin hand.
He crossed the room swiftly and bent to kiss her knuckles, the gesture one he had done since boyhood. Then, without waiting for invitation, he settled in the chair beside her, the firelight catching the sharp line of his jaw.
“You are thinner than last time,” she observed, studying him critically.
“London does not feed a man well,” he replied dryly.
She chuckled, the sound soft and warm. “Nonsense. You just avoid every hearty meal in favor of brooding.”
“You know me too well,” he said, leaning back, crossing one boot over the other.
“That I do,” she agreed, pouring him tea with trembling hands. “You were brooding even in the cradle.”
He accepted the cup, the faintest gleam of amusement in her eyes. “Your cousin Gregory wrote me. He is still enjoying the Continent with his wife and children but he shall be returning soon.”
“So, his letter said,” Theo murmured. “He has been promising to return for months.”
“Oh, he wrote you, as well?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me,” she said, settling back with effort, “is there any happiness yet in your life, my boy?”
He hesitated, glancing into the flames. Then, carefully, he replied, “I am… courting.”
Her eyebrows rose with delight. “A lady?”
“Lady April Vestiere,” he confirmed, allowing himself the small pleasure of saying her name aloud.
“April,” she repeated fondly. “A spring name. How fitting. Is she lovely?”
“She is,” he admitted. “And clever.”
“Good,” Eugenia said. “A woman should be clever. Keeps a man honest.”
He smiled faintly and accepted the tea she handed him though he barely tasted it.
“Where did you meet her?” Eugenia asked, her voice bright with curiosity.
Theo sipped his tea, buying a breath of time. His hand slid into his coat pocket without conscious thought, fingers finding the worn handkerchief he always carried there.
“At a ball,” he said, deliberately vague.
Not the truth—but close enough to pass. He thumbed the cloth absently as he added, “She dances well. Speaks well. She is… bright.”
Bright enough to chase shadows from rooms I didn’t realize were dark.
Eugenia nodded. “A lady who dances and speaks well is already a treasure. But a lady who makes you smile, Theo—now that is priceless.”
He ducked his head, masking the twist of something in his chest.That lady might not exist, for it is not her with the faults but me.
