Hugo straightened. His eyes were dry, but something raw lived behind them, something old and unhealed that he had carried so long it had become part of his posture.
“She died when I was eight,” he said. “The rest of it, I am not ready to tell you. But I will. Someday.”
“I will be here when you are.”
He looked at her. The mask was gone. What remained was Hugo, stripped and tired and honest. The man who stood before her bore no resemblance to the rake who had charmed ballrooms, bedded widows, and treated the world as a game he was too clever to lose.
This man was breakable. And he was letting her see it.
She reached out and took his hand. He laced his fingers through hers and held on, and they stood together in the warm, hay-scented quiet, and Dorado nudged Hugo’s shoulder with his nose, and Hugo almost smiled.
Almost.
CHAPTER 31
“You are glowing, darling.” Lady Brimsey seized Lily’s hands the moment she stepped into the Heatherwell ballroom and held her at arm’s length, examining her with the thorough delight of a mother inspecting a daughter who had been returned to her in improved condition.
“I am not glowing, Mama. I am warm. The carriage was stuffy.”
“You are glowing.” Lady Brimsey pulled her close and whispered against her ear. “Tell me, has there been any discussion of grandchildren?”
Lily’s stomach dropped. She stepped back and arranged her features into something she hoped resembled composure.
“We have not discussed it.”
“You have not discussed it? Lily, you have been married a fortnight.”
“And in that fortnight, we have been rather occupied with settling into the estate.”
“Settling in is precisely the time to discuss these things.” Lady Brimsey’s eyes glistened with the particular fervor of a woman who had been imagining grandchildren since her daughter’s first Season and who considered every passing month a personal affront. “Children bring so much joy to a marriage.”
Lily excused herself before the conversation could progress to nursery colors and sought refuge beside Sophia, who stood near the refreshment table with a glass of champagne.
“She asked about grandchildren, didn’t she?” Sophia said.
“Before I had removed my gloves.”
“She asked me about grandchildren at my own wedding breakfast. Between the fish course and the roast.” Sophia sipped her champagne. “You look well, sister. Truly.”
“I feel well.”
“Do you?”
Lily considered the question. Two weeks at Thornwaite Hall. Two weeks of fencing lessons, card games, swimming in the lake, and falling asleep beside a man who held her as though she were something precious and woke each morning with his arm still around her waist. Two weeks of laughter and desire and theslow, careful excavation of a life shared with someone she had not chosen but who had chosen her.
“I do,” she said. “I feel well.”
Sophia studied her. Whatever she found in Lily’s expression made her smile soften into something warmer.
“Good,” Sophia said. “That is all I needed to hear.”
Edward appeared with Hugo at his side. Hugo looked different. Not in any way Lily could have articulated to a stranger. His coat was the same. His cravat was tied with the same careful precision. His smile carried the same warm charm he deployed at every social event.
But something behind the smile had changed. A loosening. A settling. As though a knot that had been pulled tight for years had eased by a fraction.
“Duchess.” Hugo took her hand and raised it to his lips. The gesture was public, correct, and entirely proper. But the press of his mouth against her gloved fingers sent heat up her arm and into her chest.
“Your Grace.” She held his gaze. Hugo’s mouth curved. He tucked Lily’s hand into the crook of his arm and led her into the ballroom. Thetonparted for them with deference and curiosity and the particular, avid attention of people who had been discussing them for months.
