It was the lads, no doubt. And Elspeth, in the middle of it all, her hands in the flour, a genuine smile on her face.
He closed his eyes and could see it, the way she smiled when he had laughed.
I laughed…
Hugo felt a strange pang in his chest. A mix of frustration and… something else. He wasn’t entirely sure what.
He returned to his desk, but instead of the ledgers, he pulled out a fresh sheet of paper.
He drafted a note to his staff to be prepared for the return of the boys from the orphanage, and a note to his cook to prepare extra provisions for their lessons. It would be a small, silent apology for his behavior, and a truce in their ongoing, undeclared war.
He had to show Elspeth that he was not just a grumpy duke.
I am a man of my word.
But also a man who, despite his best efforts, was completely undone by the storm named Elspeth in his house.
The clock on the mantelpiece in the main hall chimed eleven, its resonant tone echoing through the quiet house.
Hugo emerged from his study, the faint scent of ink and old paper clinging to his clothes. The day’s frustrations and the unexpected chaos in the kitchen had finally settled, leaving a hollow stillness in the air.
He had spent the last hour meticulously reviewing the household’s accounts. He had even taken supper in his study.
He had just started to ascend the grand staircase when soft light flickered from the landing above. His heart flipped, a physical reaction he had grown to recognize whenever Elspeth was near, much as he tried to ignore it.
She was standing at the top of the stairs, a single candle in her hand, its flame casting a warm, dancing glow on her face.
Her hair was loose, a cascade of dark brown locks that fell over the simple white cotton of her nightgown. She looked sweeter, softer, and in that moment, utterly disarming.
She may as well have been a fairy.
“Yer Grace,” she said, her voice a low murmur that barely broke the silence. “I dinnae think ye were still awake. Is that ye?”
He stopped, one foot on the bottom step. “And I thought the same of you, My Lady. I thought you would have been asleep hours ago, exhausted from your endeavors.”
A small, genuine smile touched her lips. “I was, near enough. But then I remembered somethin’ I had to do. A bit of a late night chore.” She took a step closer to the banister, the candlelight illuminating the playful glint in her eyes. “And what about ye? Was the quiet of the house too much to bear after all the chaos?”
Hugo ascended another step, his gaze fixed on her. “It was a relief, in a way. But now, it is almost too quiet.”
She hummed as she nodded, her gaze dropping to the floor. “Aye, I ken the feelin’ well. Me life was so quiet before I came here. Now, it is a a different kind of quiet. A restless kind.”
“Elspeth…” he trailed off. He ascended the remaining steps and stood before her, the warmth of her candle reaching out to him. “I behaved poorly this afternoon. With Middleby.”
Her eyebrows shot up, and the corner of her mouth quirked into a half-smile. “Poorly? Ach, nae at all, Yer Grace. It was highly entertainin’. I’ve never seen a man attempt to mark his territory with such aggressive condescension. It was a sight to behold.”
His jaw tightened. “I was not trying to be entertaining. I was trying to handle a situation. But my attempt was boorish.”
“Boorish?” she echoed. “Perhaps. Though I get the feelin’ that he’ll return. And the lads were fine, by the way. No one was hangin’ from the ceiling, if that is what ye were wonderin’.” A mischievous smile tugged at her lips.
“I know,” he admitted, a sigh escaping his lips. “Mrs. Whipple has a flair for the dramatic, as well as for creating opportunities for dramatic exits.”
Elspeth’s smile faltered as she lifted the candle higher, the flame catching her wide green eyes beneath long, dark lashes. Her gaze sharpened, steady and intent, as though the shadows themselves held her attention.
“Why, Hugo?” she asked, her voice soft. “Why did ye try to chase him off like that? I thought ye wanted to marry me off as quickly as possible.”
He met her gaze, a fierce honesty in his eyes.
He could not lie, not to her. Not now. Yet he could not speak the truth; even he did not know what that was.
