They headed to the gardens to find Eugenia seated on a bench beneath a budding tree, her face tipped toward the sun like a cat in perfect contentment. Tulip sprawled at her feet, equally still.
“Look at you two,” Eugenia said with a grin, eyes bright beneath her bonnet. “A perfect pair if ever I saw one. Theo, see that you walk her home properly. I expect glowing reports of your manners.”
April chuckled and dipped into a small curtsy. “You have my word, Eugenia.”
Theodore inclined his head in silent acknowledgment. They left through the garden gate, the path curling around rows of lavender and low hedges until they reached the street. Theo offered his arm, and April took it.
They hadn’t gone half a block before the stares began. Curious glances and whispers behind gloved fingers and fans. One bold matron actually paused mid-step, gawking outright.
April leaned in with mock intimacy, her voice barely above a murmur. “I do hope you’re prepared to dazzle them.”
“With what, precisely?”
“Your effortless charm of course.”
He said nothing, but his brows shifted slightly.
“We must sell it, Your Grace,” she went on. “They must believe we are deeply and hopelessly smitten. You’ll have to look at me like I’m the sun come down to earth.”
“And you?”
She fluttered her lashes dramatically. “Why, I shall gaze up at you like a swooning debutante. It will be our grandest performance yet.”
“A farce, then.”
“A stunning one,” she said, laughing under her breath. “I daresay we might even convince ourselves, if we try hard enough.”
He glanced at her. She couldn’t quite read his expression, but something moved behind his eyes.
“It is true!” the matron staring at them declared before hurrying to find someone to spread the news to; that the Duke of Stone truly was engaged to Lady April Vestiere.Ridiculous people!
Theodore shook his head. “I cannot say that I find your idea agreeable, but it is effective.”
“An admission from the man himself!” she chuckled while he stared ahead as though he was holding back a groan… or a growl.
They reached Wildmoore House all too soon. April stepped back and withdrew her hand from his arm. She opened her mouth to thank him, but the words stalled when he leaned in—not quite touching but close enough that she caught the scent of him: warm, spicy, and with the faintest trace of leather.
“Now that you’ve accepted my offer, April, I will not wait three weeks to marry you.”
April’s breath caught and held. “I beg your pardon?”
“I have already procured a special license. We marry in a week.”
He straightened and turned before she could so much as blink. Then he walked away, leaving her astounded on the steps.
Twenty-Two
“It is not crooked,” May insisted, arms crossed as her reflection glared indignantly from the looking glass.
“It is absolutely crooked,” June countered, standing on April’s other side. “Tilt your head slightly, April. There, see? It’s leaning left.”
“You need spectacles,” May replied with mock sweetness, her tone almost singsong. “It’s as straight as a soldier.”
“I do not need spectacles!” June huffed, reaching up to adjust the pearl tiara again.
April stood motionless between them, her gaze fixed on the mirror while her sisters fluttered like nervous birds, fussing over the tiny crown nestled among her chestnut curls. Her stomach churned, twisting and tumbling in time with their hands. Her palms were damp. Her heart, absurdly quick.
How peculiar it is to be a bride and feel nothing like one.
