April’s throat tightened. Her heart was too full to speak.Then, just as she caught her breath, Eugenia came forward and embraced her. “At last! I can die in peace knowing his heart is safe.”
Theo grunted, a sound halfway to a sigh, and April surprised herself with a soft laugh. Briefly, she felt warmth beneath all the decorum.
Back at Wildmoore House, the wedding breakfast unfolded in elegance. The laughter, the toasts, and the endless declarations of her radiance.She smiled through all of it, her cheeks aching with the effort.
Father. May. June. August. Mother.She summoned their faces like talismans to keep herself afloat. But through it all, she was still aware of the man beside her. Theo was too real and too solid.
When it was time for them to leave,May clung to her in a tight hug, June’s hand squeezed her, and her mother’s kisses landed with confidence, as if she’d finally let herself believe the future might hold.
Then her father took both her hands in his.“Be well, my girl.”
She gave him her real smile this time. Not dazzling or forced. Just full. “All will be well. I promise.”
Theo waited by the carriage. As she approached, he opened the door himself, offering his hand without a word. His palm was warm through the glove, and when she placed her hand in his, her heart beat faster.
He helped her in and followed, the door shutting behind them with muffled click. The outside world faded.Inside, the air felt close. Private.
She sat, smoothing her skirts with a composure that didn’t reach her heart.I am the Duchess of Stone now,she thought.
Not just for them. For me. For the girl who wanted to be seen. For the woman who chose this. And perhaps for this man, who is more enigma than anything else.
Theo watched her.
The pale blue of her dress softened the edges of the carriage’s dark interior, its delicate lace catching the light like water lapping at the shore. Her chestnut curls were swept up with a precision that suggested care, though a few rebellious strands framed her face and brushed her freckled cheeks.
He had always liked those freckles. They made her look less like a society darling and more like the girl who once told him he was impossible—and meant it.
She had not said a word since they entered the carriage, and her gaze had not once lifted in his direction. Her hands rested in her lap, clasped with such rigid poise that it might have fooled any observer. But not him.
He had seen April animated, laughing, furious. He had seen her glare like a storm and grin like a conspirator. This quiet composure was not her. It was a costume.
He broke the silence. “Why did you avoid me this past week?”
Still, she did not look at him. Her lips curved faintly. “I was dreadfully busy. You must know how much effort it takes to plan a wedding. I daresay you read about it. My mother and I visited every shop in Mayfair.”
Of course, he knew. Everyone knew. Her name had been in every drawing room and every column. But that was not the reason. He hated this mask. Hated the way her charm came laced with sugar and no substance.
April had never been a woman to swallow her words or soften her opinion. He had always admired that about her. She had never hidden from him.
Until now.
“Do not be like this,” he said. “I am not a man who plays games. I could not stand it.”
She finally turned to him then, her pale eyes sharpened. “Are you ready to talk about why you were hurting a man?”
He said nothing because he could not.
“That’s what I thought.”
“I had my reasons.”
“So do I,” she said. “Mine involve trying not to lose myself entirely in a marriage I didn’t choose. Would you like to hear them?”
He stared at her, but she wasn’t done.
“I wake each morning and remind myself that I agreed to this. That I said yes to a man I barely know. That I trust my brother enough to believe he wouldn’t barter me off to a monster. But it gets harder when that man won’t answer the simplest question.”
“I was protecting you, April.”
