“They’re waiting for the right time to make an announcement,” she said softly, her voice carefully steady.
He moved a pawn without much interest in its position. “How do you feel about him?”
April adjusted a piece with a light touch, avoiding her father’s eyes. He always could see right into her heart “He’s a good man, Papa. Exceptionally so. He’s reserved, yes, but thoughtful. He’s loyal to the ones he loves. And patient—more than I would have expected.”
“Tell me more about him.”
“He loved sweetmeats as a child,” April added, the memory bringing a softness to her voice. “His aunt told me he could eat sugarplums until he was nearly ill.”
Her father chuckled. “Then he and you are well matched. You loved sweetmeats too—and still do.”
April grinned. “Yes, that is something we have in common.”
Her father raised a brow. “I take it you’ve grown rather fond of him.”
She smiled. “I think anyone would, given the chance to know him. He gave me a book of poetry, theFaerie Queene. Then brought another by Ashcombe. We speak often. He listens. Truly listens.”
Her father let out a short laugh. “And now you’ve endeared him to me entirely. A respectable man with a former weakness for confections. I imagine you find these things out in clever ways.”
“I remember when you were five,” he said, with a look that drifted somewhere past her shoulder, toward the swaying wisteria. “You insisted on having your own tea set. Not the painted wooden one your mother found for you—but porcelain. ‘Proper cups, Papa,’ you said. ‘My dolls are very particular.’”
April laughed softly. “You bought me the tiniest porcelain set from Paris. I thought it the finest treasure in the world.”
“Yes, and you broke the sugar bowl within a week.”
“And cried for two.”
He chuckled then coughed lightly, waving her off when she rose halfway from her seat. “I’m fine. Just remembering. You always did have an eye for what mattered. Even if it made you difficult.”
Her eyes stung again. She blinked it away.
“I hope,” he said quietly, “that I will have the strength to walk you down the aisle.”
The words struck her like a stone through glass.
April gripped the edge of the table, nodding quickly. “You will.”
They played on though neither cared for the game any longer. When the air cooled and the light began to turn golden, she helped him to his feet and walked him slowly back to his chambers.
Inside, she eased him into bed and smoothed the blanket over his chest. He gave her hand a small squeeze. She held it a moment longer than necessary.
When she stepped into the hallway, Dorothy stood there waiting. “I didn’t want to interrupt.”
“He was stronger today,” April replied.
Dorothy’s eyes lingered on the door. “It is harder than you expect, April, to bring him bad news. Everything I do is so he is not stressed.”
April stepped closer to her mother. “I thought you wanted me to accept the Duke’s offer, so we might avoid gossip… or improve our prospects.”
Dorothy gave a quiet sigh, folding her hands in front of her. “Those things matter, yes. But no, child. Not chiefly. August is doing all he can to keep the estate afloat, but there is much to be done, and progress is slow.”
That would explain why he looks so worn. Poor August.
“Your father sleeps more than he wakes, and every night I wonder… what if this is the last one? I wanted him to know that his daughters are safe. Settled. That he had done well by all of us.”
April’s throat tightened. “I understand better now, Mama.” She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her mother. It was not the embrace of two women at odds but rather from different ends of the same story.
They did not say more. There was no need to.
