Upstairs, the study welcomed him with familiar silence. The fire had been lit earlier, burning low now, casting long shadows across the bookshelves. He removed his coat and settled behind the desk, just as a knock came, and Jennings reappeared.
“A letter, Your Grace. From Mr. Smythe.”
Theo accepted it, broke the seal, and read.
Your Grace,
I hope this find you well. I have news regarding the matter you asked me to attend to.
Twenty years past, a man referred to in my findings as H.R. was killed alongside his wife and two children under violent circumstances that were officially recorded as an unfortunate robbery. Upon thorough investigation, I have uncovered that this individual was, contrary to official records, employed covertly as an Agent of the Crown.
Further inquiries into the nature of his final assignment are underway. You shall hear from me again within the week.
Your obedient servant,
Mr. Charles Smythe
Theo stared at the paper then lowered it slowly, gaze turning to the fire.
So it was true.
He said nothing. Made no sound. But the pressure behind his sternum changed. The pieces were falling into place at last. This news was useful, exceptionally so.
He folded the letter and tucked it beneath a stack of documents. As he did, his hand brushed against a familiar leather cover.
The Faerie Queene.
He drew it out and opened it at random. His thumb found the passage he had marked days earlier:
“For he that once hath missed the right way, The further he doth go, the further he doth stray.”
He stared at the words. Spenser understood discipline. He knew that to waver once was to lose direction entirely.
Theo closed the book. He would not lose direction.
It was time to end the drift between them and to remind April that his intentions were clear and that her part was to accept or refuse. But there would be no more delays. No more ambiguities.
She would give her answer. And if it was no…
He rose and straightened his cuffs. Then he would ensure she found herself incapable of saying it.
April lay awake, staring at the canopy above her bed. Theodore’s voice echoed in her mind.
I shan’t promise romance. It would be a falsehood.
And yet, it hadn’t felt false when he had looked at her that way. When his voice had dropped and his gaze had fixed on hers with such startling precision—as though he saw not her dress, not her manner, not her name buther.
She turned onto her side and exhaled. Sleep would not come. Not when every thought was shaped like him.
She pulled on her dressing dress and stepped quietly into the hallway. The house was silent, dim save for the glow of a single lamp left burning downstairs. She made it halfway down the staircase before nearly colliding with a small, warm figure.
May yelped. The plate in her hands wobbled alarmingly.
“April! Gracious—you gave me a start.”
April steadied the platter. “What are you doing, skulking about with a tray like a footman after midnight?”
“I was hungry,” May replied with dignity, cradling her prize. “Bread, cheese, a slice of cold beef. And perhaps a thimbleful of sherry from behind the decanters.”
