Without thinking, she reached out and touched his arm—just a brush of her fingers, light and brief. He glanced down then back at her but said nothing.
They reached her front steps, the house familiar and distant all at once.
He paused at the bottom step. “Thank you. For being kind to her.”
April’s throat felt suddenly dry. She nodded. “She made it easy.”
Theo inclined his head and turned to go.
April stood at the top of the steps and watched him walk away, his figure sharp against the fading sky.
She stood there far longer than necessary, her hand resting lightly on the railing, her heart utterly undone by something as quiet as kindness.
She finally entered the house. It was still, save for the tick of the clock in the foyer. She handed her bonnet and reticule to her maid and turned to the butler.
“Is my mother home?”
“No, My Lady. Her Grace is out with Lady May and Lady June, taking tea with Lady Allenham.”
“I see,” April murmured.
With a nod, she turned and walked down the familiar hallway to her father’s chambers. She tucked the book under her arm—Ashcombe’sCollected Verses, the volume Theodore had lent her—and entered quietly.
The curtains were half-drawn. Her father lay dozing in his chair by the fire, a blanket pulled loosely over his legs. April sank into the chair beside him and opened the book, turning gently to a marked page.
She began to read in a soft voice, one that would not wake him yet might ease his dreams:
O voyager adrift at sea, whose course the stars forsake,Fear not the tempests’ angry cry, nor waves that seethe andbreak.For though the wind may steal your oars, and thunder chase your light, The dawn will find you home again, borne safe by faithful night.
The rhythm of the lines calmed her, each syllable settling over her heart like a balm. She read on until she sensed a shift.
Her father stirred then opened his eyes. He smiled faintly. “Why are you not off taking tea with your mother and sisters?”
April took his hand. “I just returned. I was at Lady Darnell’s. She’s the Duke of Stone’s aunt.”
He raised a brow. “So, the courtship progresses.”
She said nothing, only smiled.
“Will you read to me a little longer, or are you already bored of me?”
“Never,” she said, lifting the book, but he reached for the blanket and sat up.
“I’d like to take a walk in the garden. Get a bit of sun before it sets.”
April rose and fetched his cane, helping him carefully to his feet.
They walked slowly through the hall and out into the garden, the light mellow and gold, clinging to the last edge of day. They walked in companionable silence for a time, until her father said, “Your mother is beside herself with delight. She tells me your prospects are blooming like her prize camellias.”
April gave a small, rueful laugh. “She’s already planning my trousseau, I imagine.”
“Perhaps she is,” he said. “But I think… you could be happy.”
She said nothing, her thoughts drifting to Theodore and the afternoon they shared.
Perhaps this was not the mad notion she once believed it to be.
Later that night, April sat before her vanity, brushing her hair in long, absentminded strokes. The fire in the grate had sunk into a gentle glow, the kind that softened corners and made everything seem a little less real.
