Something pulled tight behind his ribs. He ignored it.
The coat he wore was charcoal gray, well-fitted, the cravat tied with the careless precision that took twenty minutes and a mirror to achieve. He looked like what he was: a Duke who had come to make a statement.
Lady Haverford intercepted him before he reached the Brimseys.
“Your Grace.” She dipped into a curtsy that bordered on theatrical. “What a surprise. I did not expect you to actually attend a garden party.”
“Lady Haverford. I find myself newly motivated to attend events I would otherwise avoid.”
Curiosity flickered behind her careful smile. Hugo released her hand and turned toward the Brimseys, and Lady Haverford followed.
“Lord Brimsey.” Hugo extended his hand, and Lord Brimsey shook it with the measured grip of a man who understood exactly what was about to happen. “Lady Brimsey. A pleasure to see you both.”
He turned to Lily. She stood very still; her green eyes fixed on his face.
He reached for her hand. She gave it to him with the barest hesitation, and he raised her gloved fingers to his lips.
“My betrothed.” He let the words carry just enough volume to reach Lady Haverford’s ears. “You look lovely this afternoon.”
Lily’s fingers twitched against his.
Behind him, Lady Haverford inhaled. “Your… betrothed?”
Hugo released Lily’s hand and turned to the hostess with an expression of mild embarrassment he had spent the morning rehearsing.
“Ah. I may have spoken prematurely.” He glanced at Lord Brimsey, who gave a small, dignified nod. “Lady Lily and I have been engaged for some days now, though we had intended to keep the matter private.” He allowed a rueful smile to settle across his features. “It seems I lack the discipline for secrecy.”
Lady Haverford’s gaze darted between them with the speed of a woman recalculating every assumption she had made in the past twenty-four hours.
“This is wonderful news. Congratulations, Your Grace. Lady Lily.”
Hugo offered Lily his arm. She placed her hand on his forearm, her grip controlled, tension running through her like a wire pulled taut. He led her into the garden.
The effect was immediate. Hugo watched it ripple through the crowd the way a stone disrupts still water. Within minutes, the whispers shifted in tenor. Scandal became surprise. Surprise became intrigue. Intrigue became the glittering excitement thetonreserved for engagements involving Dukes.
“Smile,” he murmured.
“I am smiling.”
“You are baring your teeth. There is a difference.”
The corners of her mouth softened. Hugo placed his free hand over hers on his arm and addressed the garden.
“Ladies and gentlemen. I hope you will forgive the informality, but I find I cannot keep this news to myself any longer. Lady Lily Readthorpe has done me the extraordinary honor of accepting my proposal of marriage. I trust you will join me in celebrating what I consider the finest decision I have ever made.”
The garden went still. Hugo felt Lily’s fingers tighten on his arm. He kept his expression warm, his posture open, his gaze moving across the assembled guests with a calm confidence that expected congratulations and would accept nothing less.
Applause broke the silence. Guests moved toward them, and Hugo received each one with a handshake or a nod, steering the conversation with the skill of a man who had spent his life navigating rooms full of people who wanted something from him.
When a silver-haired matron remarked that Lady Fairhart had been right all along, Hugo deflected before Lily could respond, redirecting the woman’s attention with a question about her daughter’s Season.
Then Wilfrey appeared.
Lord Wilfrey’s coat was impeccable, his expression carrying the careful neutrality of a man who revealed nothing he did not intend to.
“Your Grace. Lady Lily. May I offer my congratulations.”
“You may.” Hugo kept his voice pleasant.
