Still, Gooldwer hesitated.
Until Heath added—softly, but with razor-sharp purpose, “Whatever you fled from, I’ll find it. Whether you help me or not.”
The threat wasn’t cruel, and Heath knew without a doubt that Gooldwer, looking him straight in the eye, understood two truths that were latent between them in that moment.
First, that his daughter was no longer alone.
And second, that his past was no longer buried.
Twenty-Two
“Absolutelynotthat shade of red,” Blanche said, her voice cool as she eyed the bolt of silk with faint disapproval. “I intend to host a ball, Fanny, not a masquerade at Vauxhall.”
Chuckling, Fanny looked at her older sister with a mixture of mischief and tenderness. “Someone’s… on edge.”
Blanche scoffed and rolled her eyes.
It had been her mother’s idea—rather enthusiastically—that they dedicate the morning to selecting fabric for the gown Blanche would wear. “ADuchesscannot host a proper ball without silk, lace, and a touch of triumph,” Lady Gooldwer had proclaimed.
Blanche, cornered by maternal enthusiasm and Fanny’s eagerness, had surrendered to the plan with as much dignity as possible, grateful as she was that, at least, her mother was busy enough that morning to be unable to accompany her daughters,allowing the two sisters to share a pleasant moment alone. But Fanny’s pointed questioning was wearing on her very last nerve.
Now, the sun filtered gently through the high windows of the Ashbourne Sewing Room, illuminating bolts of fabric, sample trims, and a pair of discarded bonnets that Fanny had refused to take seriously.
The morning was quiet but charged, threaded with the subtle tension of anticipation and change—both in the air and within Blanche herself.
Fanny, unfazed as ever, tilted her head and held the fabric to the light. “But imagine the dramatics, dearest. If His Grace is to parade you about in front of half theton, should he not first suffer a small pang of regret for not having wooed you properly?”
Blanche turned from the mirror with a look meant to chastise, but Fanny caught the ghost of amusement that played about her mouth before she could hide it.
“Don’t be absurd,” Blanche said. “The Duke does not need dramatics, and I do not need his regrets.”
“Hm,” Fanny murmured, glancing back at the array of trims. “And yet, you allow him to leave books on your night table without complaint.”
Blanche stilled.
For her, finding that gift had been somewhat of a surprise. It had been a small volume of poetry—Tennyson, annotated faintly in pencil on the margins.
She had found it that morning, just beneath the corner of her handkerchief, its leather spine warm from the sun. He hadn’t mentioned it, of course. Heath never did. But she had not returned it either.
Now, part of her wondered if perhaps that gift was part of the truce the Duke had proposed after their last fight.
They always talked about the books she liked to read, but she suspected that he had given her that gift with the intention of letting her get to know his tastes a little better.
Of course, she had mentioned her suspicions to her sister, which now seemed like a mistake, as Fanny kept bothering her about it.
“I’m simply being civil,” she said, recovering her thread and needle with impeccable calm. “That’s more than can be said for most marriages of convenience.”
Fanny arched a brow. “Mm, yes. And it’s certainly civil to flush whenever he enters the room.”
Blanche’s finger caught on an errant pin holding a brilliant blue fabric bolt together. She swore under her breath and abandoned the search altogether.
Fanny bit back a grin, leaned over, and selected a pale blue silk with delicate gold thread along the edge. “This one. It’s refined. And yet…” she angled it toward the light. “…provocative. Just enough to make one wonder.”
Blanche eyed her sister with long-suffering patience but said nothing as Fanny laid the fabric gently across her lap.
Fanny was tidying a line of ribbons when she launched her next volley with studied nonchalance. “You ought to tell him you appreciated the book.”
Blanche, still holding the pale blue fabric in her hands, did not lift her gaze. “He probably already knows.”
