He chuckled, effortlessly keeping stride beside her. “It would be prudent, considering how swiftly you abandoned your novel.”
She exhaled, short and measured, though the faint flush in her skin betrayed her. “You are impossible.”
“That has been established previously.”
They reached the landing, Heath caught the way her expression shifted—how excitement took root despite her attempts at composure.
He leaned in slightly, his voice low. “Try not to look too delighted, Duchess. It may ruin the impression that you’ve been suffering terribly in my care.”
Blanche’s eyes narrowed, but the corners of her lips tugged upward in the smallest, most reluctant betrayal of amusement.
“You presume I have not,” she countered, her chin lifting in an act of defiance. Heath knew better than to take her seriously.
Before he could retort, their guests came into view.
Blanche inhaled, gathering herself before stepping forward.
For a fleeting moment, Heath thought he saw her forget everything—every concern, every guarded thought—as genuine happiness took over.
And, strangely enough, he found he had no desire to interrupt it.
Blanche stepped forward with an eagerness she did not try to hide, her eyes bright as they settled upon her mother and sister.
Fanny, ever sweet and composed, mirrored her enthusiasm, reaching for her hands with an affectionate squeeze.
“Have you been well?” Fanny asked softly, searching her sister’s expression.
“I have,” Blanche assured her, warmth slipping into her tone. “Though I confess, I did not expect to see you so soon.”
“Nor did I,” Fanny admitted, a gentle smile curling at the edges of her lips. “But Mother was quite determined.”
Determined, indeed.
Lady Gooldwer stood a few paces behind them, surveying the great hall with the sharp intensity of a woman attempting to appraise every inch of its grandeur in a single glance.
“My word,” she declared, loud enough that Heath imagined half the house might hear. “I should have worn my best gloves. I didn’t realize how beautiful and elegant this mansion was during the wedding breakfast!”
Heath, ever composed, merely inclined his head. “It pleases me that you approve, Lady Gooldwer.”
“Approve?” She waved a hand, unbothered by decorum. “My dear Duke, this estate is positively indecent in its extravagance, and I mean that as the highest form of compliment.”
Blanche inhaled, pressing her lips together in an act of practiced restraint. “Mother…”
Heath’s smirk was barely visible—a whisper of amusement that only she would notice.
Fanny, ever the balance to her mother’s theatrics, gave Heath a knowing smile. “You must forgive her, Your Grace. She has a habit of forgetting that volume does not equate to grace.”
“Nonsense, my dear,” Mother interjected, undeterred. “His Grace appreciates honesty, do you not?”
Blanche exhaled, though Heath did not miss the twitch of amusement at the corners of her lips.
Heath met her gaze evenly. “I must confess I do.”
Lady Gooldwer grinned triumphantly. “There, you see?”
One servant approached then, offering tea and refreshments, but Lady Gooldwer barely acknowledged the suggestion before shaking her head.
“Oh, no need for all that. His Grace will show us the house,” she announced. “Surely, as family, we are entitled to such courtesy?”
