Your faithful servant,
Edward McMichael.
He leaned back in his seat and pondered the contents of the letter. Now his aunt will have her home in Kent, and she will becloser to him. Theo dipped his quill in ink and drew a parchment to respond.
“That is a lovely pond.”
Theo paused mid-sentence, his pen hovering above the parchment. The voice drifted through the open window of his study, delicate and utterly hers. April. The ink on his letter blotched, forgotten. His mind, always so precise, now spun with words he wouldn’t write.
Her voice unraveled him. That was the only word for it.
Then came Mrs. Maple’s familiar tone. “There used to be a well right where that pond is. Come closer, Your Grace, and I shall show you where the old stones still lie.”
There was a beat of silence then,“I think I’m comfortable admiring it from here.”
Theo stood with no thought nor plan. The walls of his study were like a vice. He needed air—or perhaps he needed her. He wasn’t certain anymore.
He crossed to the window, and there she was in a lavender frock, standing near the pond. Even from this distance, he noticed the tension in her shoulders and the slight caution in her step.
She’s still afraid of the water.
He remembered that moment at the Serpentine. How she had shrunk back from the edge, her eyes unfocused.
His restraint had teeth, and he was doing all he could to remain within the walls of this room. But then all thought left him, and he strode out, his work abandoned.
Outside, the breeze met him, carrying the scent of roses, trimmed hedges, and faintly, April. Always her.
He spotted them near the southern path. Mrs. Maple glanced up as he approached.
“Your Grace,” she greeted brightly.
“Mrs. Maple, I believe I shall take over the tour.”
The housekeeper curtsied, smiling between them before drifting off. He turned to April, offering his arm. She took it, and silence settled between them like mist.
He hated it. The quiet that used to be his ally now gnawed at him. She was next to him, but the distance between them was too vast.
“You have not spoken to me properly in days,” he observed. Not accusing. Not gentle. Just truth.
Her gaze remained forward. “I still have my voice. I simply have no way of using it.”
“I am not stopping you.”
She looked at him then. Truly looked. “Are you certain, Duke?”
He frowned, knowing very well where the accusation was coming from. If only it were easy to tell her everything she wanted to know.
Her words hit harder than he expected, but he kept his face still. He was good at that and had trained for years.
He opened his mouth, but nothing came. A war broke out behind his ribs, between pride and longing, between silence and need. Theo had left his study to conquer the distance between them, but all he had done was broaden the chasm.
“How do you like the gardens?” he asked, searching her face for a reaction. He found none.Isuppose this is what it feels like when one chooses to behave as aloof as I do.
“What are you doing here?” April asked instead of responding to his question. “Mrs. Maple was doing well showing me the manor.”
His eyes narrowed, and he felt his jaw clenching. She was slipping beneath his skin, but he knew he had to rein in hisemotions. It would be too easy to walk away and decide the conversation was over, but that would help neither of them.
“I thought you would prefer it if I showed you around instead of the housekeeper.”
