And mother’s first thought is new jewelry?
Blanche exhaled slowly, biting back the words that threatened to rise.
She had more important things to focus on.
A sharp knock echoed through the house, cutting through the quiet like a sudden gust of wind.
Lady Gooldwer stiffened, eyes flashing with unmistakable anticipation. “That must be His Grace.”
Without wasting a moment, she turned to Blanche, already pulling at the folds of her gown, ensuring every detail was in place.
“Come, we mustn’t keep him waiting.”
Blanche barely had time to steady herself before her mother was ushering her toward the door, calling for Fanny as they hurried into the corridor.
The urgency in Lady Gooldwer’s steps was unmistakable as she led them down the staircase, her voice clipped yet eager. “Your posture, Blanche—graceful, shoulders back. Fanny, smooth your hair. This is an important moment.”
Blanche exhaled, barely absorbing the instructions as they descended, each step bringing her closer to the entrance, to Heath—to the man whose presence had unsettled her more than she cared to admit.
Blanche’s heartbeat stammered, her steps measured, though every inch of her was acutely aware of what—of who—awaited them beyond the threshold.
The door swung open, revealing Heath standing at ease, his presence effortlessly commanding.
Blanche inhaled sharply.
It was truly unfair how unaffected he appeared, how composed, how entirely unreadable—while she, at the mere sight of him, felt the warmth bloom unchecked beneath her skin.
She could do nothing to stop it—the treacherous flush creeping along her cheeks, the way her breath hitched as she met his gaze.
And of course, Heath noticed.
He stepped forward, greeting Lady Gooldwer and Fanny with effortless charm before turning his attention to Blanche.
“Lady Blanche.” His tone was smooth, teasing, as he took her hand with deliberate ease.
The warmth of his lips whisked against her knuckles—a gesture far too formal for the knowing smirk curving his lips.
As he straightened, his gaze flickered over her face, amusement flickering in his striking blue eyes.
“How fortunate that the afternoon lends you such a lovely shade,” he murmured, voice just low enough that only she could hear. “Or shall I assume I am responsible for the blush, Wildcat?”
Blanche inhaled sharply, resisting the urge to retreat, to avert her gaze—refusing to surrender to the triumph lingering in his expression.
“The heat, Your Grace,” she replied, gathering herself. “It is merely the heat.”
His smirk only deepened, as though the answer delighted him.
And as Lady Gooldwer launched into pleasantries, Heath remained effortlessly composed—while Blanche, despite every effort to maintain her poise, could not quite shake the lingering fire that his presence had ignited.
Lady Gooldwer wasted no time in ushering Heath toward the drawing room, her smile pleasant yet undeniably rehearsed.
“Do allow us to host you properly, Your Grace,” she said with practiced ease, gesturing toward the well-worn armchairs.
Fanny, ever dutiful, straightened. “I’ll fetch the tea.”
Heath inclined his head, settling into his seat. His gaze flickered briefly around the room—the faint signs of wear, the quiet absence of bustling servants.
“You seem rather… scarce on service this afternoon.” His tone was mild, yet there was no mistaking the inquiry behind it.
