Page 105

T he following afternoon, Griffith lingered at the edge of the lawn, watching as Lady Lilian stood near the lawn game in progress, her gaze thoughtful as she observed the players.

There was something captivating about her quiet focus, the way she seemed fully present in the moment rather than merely occupying it.

Unlike so many others in his social sphere, she did not seek attention, yet it found her effortlessly.

He faltered, recognizing the unfamiliar tug of admiration—an ache that lingered, quiet yet insistent.

The soft summer breeze lifted the golden strands of her hair, brushing them against her cheek.

He felt an unfamiliar pull toward her, an ache that defied logic or reason.

Was it her quiet confidence that unsettled him, or the way she carried her burdens with a grace he could never seem to manage himself?

Whatever the reason, he could not resist stepping forward.

Summoning his resolve, he closed the distance between them with deliberate steps.

“Would you care for a walk, Lady Lilian?” he asked, betraying none of the unease stirring within him.

Lilian turned, surprise flickering in her blue eyes before softening into something unreadable.

Griffith felt a sudden tightness in his chest as warmth curled through him.

His fingers flexed at his sides, as if resisting the urge to reach for her, to test the solidity of this moment.

Then, with a small smile, she inclined her head.

“I would like that very much, Your Grace.”

The gravel crunched beneath Griffith’s boots as he walked beside Lady Lilian, the laughter from the lawn games fading to a distant murmur.

The contrast was striking—the carefree joy of their companions against the quiet weight he carried within him.

He had never been the sort to revel in such moments, too accustomed to shouldering burdens heavier than amusement could lift.

And yet, beside Lilian, the ever-present shadow of duty felt just a little less suffocating.

He glanced sidelong at Lady Lilian, her curls gleaming in the honeyed light of the sun, and wondered how she could move through the world with such lightness when life had dealt them both such heavy blows.

Rose bushes lined the path, their petals stirring in the breeze, while hedges framed the walkway, creating a sense of quiet seclusion.

The heady scent of the blooms, mingled with the crisp aroma of freshly cut grass, perfumed the air.

Lilian walked with an effortless grace, her pale-green muslin dress swishing softly with each stride, the very picture of untroubled serenity.

Griffith walked in silence, the tranquility of the surroundings at odds with the unease threading through him.

His father’s voice echoed in his mind, firm and unyielding, a reminder that uncertainty had no place in a man of his station.

He recalled the first time he had failed to meet expectations—the quiet disappointment in his mother’s eyes when he had fumbled through his first public speech, the whispers that followed when he had let an opponent best him in a fencing match.

Those moments had lingered, embedding themselves in his mind as proof that he would never be enough, no matter how hard he tried.

As they approached the mirror-like surface of the koi pond, he paused, his gaze caught by the flashes of gold and white beneath the glassy water.

Lilian stopped beside him, her eyes questioning as she turned to face him.

“I feel as if my past weighs upon every step I take,” Griffith confessed, his voice scarcely more than a whisper.

The words felt leaden on his tongue, but there was a strange relief in speaking them aloud to someone who might understand.

He risked a glance at her, bracing himself for pity or platitudes.

Her gaze held only warmth and a gentle resolve. “Every moment holds the promise of renewal,” she said, her gaze unwavering as it met his. “The past may shape us, but it need not define us.”

Her words were like a balm to his wounded spirit, soothing in their gentleness yet unsettling in the way they forced him to confront a truth he had long avoided.

Griffith looked away, fixing his gaze on the colorful fish darting through the crystalline water.

“I apologize. I am not sure why I spoke so freely.”

Lilian seemed to sense his inner turmoil, for she laid a gentle hand on his arm, her touch featherlight yet grounding. “I understand. It is not an easy path,” she acknowledged, her voice threaded with understanding. “But you don’t have to walk it alone.”

Griffith stiffened beneath her touch, unaccustomed to such casual intimacy, but he didn’t pull away. There was something about her presence, about the guileless empathy in her gaze, that made him want to lower his defenses, to let her see the man beneath the ducal mask.

“I fear I’m not fit company these days,” he said ruefully, fingering the edges of his cuff. “The burdens of my position, the ghosts of my past… they cloud my mind and weigh upon my spirit.”

“Grief is a heavy burden to bear alone,” Lilian murmured, her eyes misting slightly. “When I lost my father, I thought the pain would crush me. But in time, I learned to carry it differently, to let it strengthen me rather than bow beneath its weight.”

Her words struck a chord deep within Griffith, resonating with his own experience of loss and the suffocating sense of responsibility that had settled upon his shoulders in the wake of his parents’ passing.

He met her gaze, seeing the echo of his own sorrow reflected back at him, but tempered by a hard-won wisdom and resilience.

“How do you do it?” he asked, his voice rough with barely suppressed emotion. “How do you move forward when the past feels like an anchor around your neck?”

She smiled sadly, her fingers tightening briefly on his arm.

“By remembering that every sunrise offers a new beginning, a chance to choose hope over despair. By cherishing the memories of those we’ve lost, but not letting them blind us to the beauty and possibility that still surrounds us.

I am a work in progress, but striving to carry on. ”

Her words hung in the air between them, a steady hand reaching through the storm, offering him something he hadn’t realized he needed—solid ground.

Griffith drew in a shuddering breath, feeling something loosen in his chest, a knot of grief and guilt that had been his constant companion for far too long.

He looked down at Lilian’s hand on his arm, marveling at the comfort and strength such a simple touch could convey. When he raised his eyes to hers once more, he saw understanding, compassion, and the glimmer of something more, something that made his heart stumble in its rhythm.

The first cool drop of rain struck Griffith’s cheek unexpectedly.

He glanced upward, watching the sky darken, the shift as unexpected as the emotions stirring within him.

Much like Lilian, the rain arrived unbidden, slipping past his carefully maintained barriers, unsettling and yet oddly welcome.

He glanced up at the sky, now swirling with ominous gray clouds, and then back at Lady Lilian.

Her eyes widened as she, too, felt the splash of raindrops, a hint of mischief dancing in their crystalline depths.

Before either of them could speak, the heavens opened, unleashing a warm summer downpour that drenched them in seconds.

Lady Lilian let out a surprised laugh, the sound bright and melodic against the steadily increasing patter of the rain.

The warmth of it struck Griffith deep in his soul.

For a fleeting moment, he envied her ability to find delight in the simplest of moments, to embrace the unexpected with such ease.

Griffith couldn’t help but smile in response, a rare moment of unguarded joy surfacing amidst the unexpected deluge.

They raced for the cover of a massive oak tree, hands linked, feet slipping slightly on the quickly muddying path.

Laughter bubbled up between them as they ducked beneath the bower of leaves and branches.

The rain song was different here, muted and rhythmic as it pattered against the dense foliage above.

He leaned back against the trunk, his chest heaving as he caught his breath.

Griffith looked over at Lilian, taking in her flushed cheeks and the way her rain-dampened curls clung to her face and neck.

She was a vision of vitality, her smile radiant despite the rivulets of water trailing down her skin.

For a breathless moment, they simply stared at each other, the space between them trembling with unspoken longing.

Griffith felt the moment press against him, his breath faltering as a strange sensation coiled deep within his chest. Was it desire?

A longing for connection? He wasn’t sure, only that the air between them seemed charged with something undeniable, something that made him want to abandon reason and yield to whatever force pulled him toward her.

His gaze dropped to her mouth, to the soft curve of her lips, and he felt himself sway forward, drawn in by a force stronger than gravity.

But before he could close the distance, before he could taste the rain on her lips and lose himself in the warmth of her, the drumming of the downpour began to gentle. The rain was slowing, the storm moving on, taking with it the reckless courage that had nearly propelled him into her arms.

Lilian blinked, awareness dawning in her eyes, as if she were waking from a dream. For a moment, something unreadable passed through her expression—regret, perhaps, or reluctant acceptance. She squeezed his hand before releasing it, her fingers trailing briefly before slipping away.

The moment was gone, but its imprint remained, a silent promise of something yet to come—something that both enticed and unsettled him in equal measure. Would he have the courage to reach for it, or would he let it slip through his fingers like rain on his skin?