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As they walked, the two of them chatted about art and literature, delighting in shared opinions on authors and painters alike. Gemma was grateful that Vivian took her opinions seriously and even debated her on the finer points of some pieces, never patronizing or judging her point of view, even when it differed from her own. It was refreshing to be treated as an intellectual equal, and she found herself talking more freely, laughing and enjoying their rich conversation.

They passed by a row of vibrant blooms. Roses in varying shades of blush, cream and ruby red lined the walkway their deep, sweet fragrance permeating the air. Gemma stopped to admire them and brushed her fingers reverently along one delicate petal.

“They are exquisite, are they not?” she murmured, almost to herself.

“Yes,” Vivian replied softly. “It is one of the many things I have grown to love about Blackridge. Its beauty is not limited to the grandeur of the house. The land itself is a marvel.”

Gemma nodded, her gaze still on the roses. “I can see that. There is something about the countryside that feels… liberating. It is real, soothing and unpretentious. You can lose yourself in it.”

Vivian’s voice softened, her tone wistful. “Indeed. It has given me so much peace over the years. When one grows older, there is a different beauty one appreciates; a beauty in simplicity, in nature.” She placed a gentle hand on Gemma’s arm, her smile tender. “It is one of the reasons I am glad to have you here, mydear. You remind me of myself at your age, eager for the world, yet still finding your place in it.”

“I am so grateful you have allowed me to be a part of it all,” she said softly, sincerity filling her voice. “I never imagined finding this; such warmth, such kindness, after so long.”

Vivian’s eyes softened and she reached out to take Gemma’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “It is my pleasure, Gemma. You deserve this and so much more.”

As they walked, a soft breeze rustled through the hedges, carrying with it the faint sounds of life on the estate—voices, laughter, and the distant whinny of horses from the stable yard. Gemma was so immersed in the tranquility of the moment that she almost didn’t hear the approaching footsteps.

The chamberlain’s voice broke into their quiet. “Pardon me, Your Grace,” he said, bowing. “The Duke has arrived.”

A thrill of nerves shot through Gemma and her heart skipped a beat at the announcement. She met Vivian’s gaze, trying to keep her expression composed, though she could feel the rising flush in her cheeks.

“Ah, perfect timing,” Vivian replied, casting a quick, amused glance at Gemma. “Please inform His Grace that we shall be with him shortly.”

The chamberlain nodded and disappeared along the path back to the house. Gemma watched him go, her pulse quickening despite herself. She straightened her dress, brushing off invisible flecks of dust as if it might somehow steady her.

Vivian tilted her head, watching her with a knowing smile. “Nervous, are we?”

Gemma laughed, though it was breathless. “I… I suppose I am. It is just…” She paused, casting her gaze to the house in the distance. “He always seems to unsettle me in ways I cannot quite explain.”

Vivian’s eyes sparkled. “The best ones often do, my dear.” She gestured toward the path with a nod. “Shall we go and welcome him?”

Gemma took a deep breath and nodded. Together, they made their way back to the house, her steps steady yet quickening with each passing moment.

The thought of seeing Frederick again—of facing him after their last encounter—sent a warm thrill coursing through her.

She knew she had to keep her composure, to be practical, calm and reserved. Yet, as they drew nearer, she could feel her restless heart betraying her, its beats thumping so loudly in her chest that she feared the Dowager would hear it.

Vivian seemed to sense Gemma’s inner turmoil and gave her one last reassuring smile before they reached the grand entryway.

“Remember, Gemma. Confidence,” she murmured softly. “Let him see the woman you are.”

Gemma met her gaze, the older woman’s encouragement lending her strength. “Thank you, Your Grace. I will keep that at the forefront of my mind.”

As they crossed the threshold, Gemma felt both exhilaration and nerves, all of them heightened by the anticipation that had been simmering within her since the ball. She hadn’t known what to expect from him then, and she knew even less now.

But, ready or not, she was determined to face the Duke, to meet his eyes and find out what lay beneath his composed exterior, even if it left her breathless all over again.

CHAPTER 20

“Frederick, dear, it is so lovely of you to come,” Vivian said, a heartfelt smile spreading across her face as her gaze jumped from the Duke to Gemma and back again. “I am quite pleased to see you two here together. I thought some tea might be just the thing to start the day off right.”

Frederick had been on edge for days now, the cause of which he could trace directly back to the ball and, more specifically, to Gemma. Every time he thought of her—the way she had danced with Andrew, how her lips had parted as they’d argued in the quiet of the library—he became overcome by a fierce, possessive longing that bordered on insanity.

When his grandmother’s invitation had arrived, claiming she needed help with ‘estate matters,’ he’d barely paused before accepting. He knew full well that she didn’t actually need his assistance; she’d been managing her own affairs for decades, long before he’d inherited his title.

No, this was another scheme of hers, likely involving one particular dark-haired woman who haunted his thoughts. His grandmother, he suspected, was meddling once again.

And now, here he was, sitting in her parlor, his body tense with anticipation. His mind replayed fragments of his last encounter with Gemma. Her breathless anger, the way she’d stared at him with such confusion, and a challenge in her gaze that had only spurred him further. He wondered if he’d taken things too far, too fast.