“Because he is a fop, Elspeth. Nothing more than an empty suit. He will never understand you. Therealyou. The one who smears flour on her face without a thought, who defends her beliefs, who truly cares for those boys. He would seek to fashion you into a mere Society lady, and I know you would despise it. Despise him.”
Her breath escaped in a sharp, little gasp, and his pulse stuttered at the sound. The air between them seemed to hum, thick with what neither dared speak.
She stepped closer, and he could feel the faint warmth of her, a subtle challenge in the tilt of her head and the gleam in her eyes.
“And what about ye, Hugo?” she asked. “Do ye understand me? Do ye think ye ken the real me?”
He reached out, his hand gently covering the one that held the candle. He said nothing. Could say nothing. The answer lay in the gentle weight of his fingers on hers.
Her eyes fell to their joined hands, wide and luminous with astonishment. He saw her inhale sharply, hold her breath, then exhale so quickly that it made the candle flicker.
Slowly, deliberately, she wrapped her fingers around his, her thumb brushing the back of his hand.
He drew back without a word, the suddenness of it propelling him up the stairs, leaving her warmth behind.
“Goodnight, Elspeth.”
“Goodnight, Hugo.”
Chapter Nineteen
“You look utterly exhausted, Elspeth,” Verity observed, taking a sip of her tea. “But also happier than I have seen you in a long time. I cannot quite put my finger on it. You are a most complicated character!”
Elspeth sighed, leaning back in her chair. “It is a strange sort of happiness. The children are wonderful, truly. And seein’ the difference we are makin’, even in small ways, is incredibly rewardin’. But the rest of it, Society, the expectations, the Duke…”
Later that week, Elspeth gratefully found herself enjoying a rare moment of peace with Verity and Marion in a quiet tearoom in the heart of London.
A delicate plate of cucumber sandwiches and warm scones with clotted cream and jam sat between them, accompanied by a fragrant pot of Earl Grey tea. The walls were painted a crisp white, adorned with vibrant paintings of floral patterns.
Light and happy conversations rang up from the tables, occupied by ladies such as themselves in desperate need of some tea. The chaos of the orphanage preparations, while exhilarating, was also draining, and she was glad for the respite.
Elspeth savored the scents and the sounds.
“Ah, who could forgetthe Duke?” Marion teased with a knowing look on her face. “Still the curmudgeon?”
“As sure as it will rain this week in London. But how about ye, Marion? How are ye farin’?”
“I must admit, me bairn has been equally demandin’ of late. Just like his grump of a faither,” Marion said with a tired laugh.
Elspeth smiled widely at the mention of her friend’s growing family. “I can only imagine! Is the lad still turnin’ yer house upside down?”
Marion’s eyes sparkled with motherly affection. “Oh, absolutely. Lachlan gets into everythin’; I hardly sleep a wink. I ken I should rely more on the maids, but that is just nae me way. Aye, me days are a whirlwind of tiny shoes and loud demands, but I wouldnae have it any other way.”
Then, a twinkle entered her eyes.
“But back to more important things—moredivertin’ things. Would ye say that ‘curmudgeon’ is an understatement for yer Duke? What is he really like, Elspeth?”
“Aye! He is exasperated, infuriated, and utterly bewildered by the chaos of me plannin’ and havin’ the lads over to the townhouse frequently. But he has also been helpin’ and been surprisingly understandin’ at times. He even was there with the boys the other day when we were testin’ recipes. It was hilarious!” Elspeth chuckled.
“Oh, do tell,” her friends chorused, before laughing.
“Would ye believe, one of the boys threw flour right at his nose!”
“Oh my!”
“But what ye willnae believe is that he actually laughed. A real, true laugh. Nae forced, nae fake.”
“I cannae believe it,” Marion breathed as she took a sip of her tea.
