“I’m going to the village,” Daphne declared, feeling a sense of adventure enveloping her.
Before the Duke could comment, she had already left the house. A short walk would take her to the nearest village, and somehow, passing through the large gates on foot felt satisfying. She seemed like she was in a fairy tale of her own with little flurries of snow falling all around her.
In her case, the wonder was seeing the staff peering at her through the windows, amazed that their master’s proper duchess was walking in the snow, as thrilled as a child would be. Their expressions made her grin more widely. She did feel like a child at that moment.
By the time Daphne was in the village, she was delighted to see some of the locals on the streets, building snowmen. Such days were really for doing this, and she wished she had that kind of experience as a child. Well, she did, but only with her dear siblings, and she was fortunate to have many of them.
“Good day!” she greeted cheerfully, startling everyone.
“It’s the Duchess!” one exclaimed, her voice a mixture of fear and awe. Daphne could not believe anyone was receiving her in such a way. She was just a young woman of twenty.
“Good morning, Your Grace!” a few people chorused.
She smiled at them, and said, “I’d like to join.”
“Oh!”
Their expressions relaxed when she said that, and she was ushered into a corner where a small cluster of children had just begun building snowmen and other chilly structures.
“Are you really the Duchess of Wolfcrest?” a boy of about ten asked her, while their hands worked on their new snowmen.
“Andrew, that is rude!” a woman who might just be his mother chided.
“Oh no, ma’am. It is quite all right. I am new to Wolfcrest. So, I can understand that many people do not know me yet.”
“I am not a ma’am,” the woman said, blushing even as she smiled shyly. “Uh, Your Grace.”
“I only wish to show you the respect you deserve,” Daphne explained, as she refocused on her snowman.
The wonderful thing about building snowmen with the children was that they did not care if she was the duchess. They included her in the activity and did all that was in their power to create the best, sturdiest structures possible. Daphne marveled at the children for they were still very competitive, even as her noses and cheeks flushed red from the cold and the effort.
As she was trying to shape her snowman’s torso, she heard a few gasps of surprise. A carriage was approaching. Then, the wheels stopped. She looked up in time to see a familiar, tall figure descending the carriage.
The Duke.
“Good day, all,” he said.
He could not help it. His voice held a timber of intimidation. The children near her froze, their gloved hands stilling on their works of art.
“Do not be afraid. It’s just the Duke. He is a kind man,” she reassured them. She believed those words, even as she kept her distance from him and sought to understand his secrets.
The little one named Andrew took the reassurance to the extreme, throwing a snowball at the Duke. Adrian stood as if frozen, widening his eyes. The children looked scared again for a long moment, but the Duke suddenly gave them a silly face and started throwing snowballs at the children, too.
The exchange went back and forth. More snowballs hit the Duke than they ever did the children. In fact, the children were barely grazed with anything. Daphne suspected that he was losing on purpose.
No. Not suspected. She was certain.
The children giggled when he dramatically flung himself onto the snowy ground in defeat. Some even went to him to give him hugs. Daphne’s chest tightened at the sight. It looked like the Duke of Wolfcrest was trying. He really was.
For the next hour, he joined her in a quiet snowman building session. It made Daphne’s heart soar. She was right. It was going to be a good day. She felt that as soon as she saw the snowy gardens.
As a pair, they made their own snowman. The Duke contributed his strength to haul the massive balls of snow and Daphne provided the artistic eye, as she carved the shape and added the features.
“He needs a more serene expression, Your Grace,” Daphne said, as she stepped back with her hands on her hips to admire their handiwork. “He seems too severe, almost ducal.”
He looked back at her, his eyes twinkling at her teasing. He bent to pick up a twig to use it to carve a mischievous grin onto its face.
“There,” he declared, also stepping back to look at what they had so far. “Isn’t that what our Duchess needs? A roguish smile. It is more appropriate.”
