Page 34 of Not his Marchioness (Daughters of the Ton #2)

“Iwish to thank you,” Charlotte said, midway through the quadrille. “For your help with the school.”

“Now you wish to thank me? You were decidedly displeased when I first spoke to Lord Woodhaven.”

“I was,” she admitted, feeling the old resentment stir within her. “But I see now that you did me a kindness. You opened the door. I walked through it, yet it might never have opened had it not been for you.”

Rhys smiled. “Then I am glad we are in agreement, at least in this regard. Have you spoken to Lady Woodhaven this evening?”

“I have,” she replied. “She will raise the funds. Once that is done, she will purchase the property, and we will begin making repairs, turning it into what we desire. Meanwhile, I will work with a friend of Lady Sherwood—one well-versed in different methods of instruction—who will aid me in finding good teachers. We hope to open the school next year.”

“That is wonderful,” he said.

His smile touched her heart, for she knew it was genuine. How pleasant it felt to converse without pretense, as though they were an ordinary couple.

Perhaps they were. Perhaps they were becoming so.

She had dreaded speaking with him all evening—dreaded it all the more after Lord Emery had planted his poisonous seeds in her mind.

She could not deny they lingered still, whispering, attempting to take root.

But she knew Emery for what he was: a vicious man, a liar, one who would do anything to destroy her happiness.

And yet, was it not true that even a lie might conceal some seed of truth? Had she not already doubted Rhys?

Even so, in this moment, as they danced, she could not picture him returning to the rookeries, to his old life.

Not the man she had kissed so passionately the night before.

Not the man now twirling her beneath the watchful eyes of the entire ton, though all had already been convinced they were a perfectly contented couple.

And yet, when she had tried to speak of their future, he had postponed it.

Why? Was it because he sought merely to enjoy one last evening with her before they parted ways? Or was it because he wished to discuss their future—perhaps even their future happiness—away from prying eyes?

Perhaps that was it.

“I thought of donating books,” he said suddenly, drawing her out of her reverie.

“Books?” she echoed.

“Yes. You will need them for the school, will you not? I have an entire library at our country estate that remains unused. We might go there, look through the books, and bring back whatever you require. There is little point in letting them collect dust.”

“You wish to go to the country estate?”

“Yes.” He nodded. “We might depart on Friday, after Parliament closes, and return on Monday. There is a vote on grain measures in which I must participate—if I do not fall asleep first.”

“Very well,” she agreed. “We shall go.”

He wanted to take her to the country estate. That must mean something. Perhaps the kiss meant more to him than she had dared to hope.

“Pray, is that not your sister?” he asked suddenly.

She turned, and indeed, there was Evelyn, along with Nathaniel.

“I did not know Nathaniel had returned to England,” she gasped. “I must greet them!”

“But the dance is not yet finished,” Rhys reminded her.

She hesitated, torn. She longed to run to her sister, whom she had not seen since the garden party. Nathaniel, too, had been away for a month.

“Let us step off the dance floor,” Rhys said.

“You wish to be rebellious?” she teased.

“Do you not?”

And so, while the other couples continued dancing, he offered his arm. She accepted it at once, and together they dashed off the dance floor, amid whispers and pointing fingers.

“Once again, we are what everybody is talking about,” she said.

He chuckled. “It seems to be our fate.”

Once clear of the dancers, Charlotte flew into her sister’s arms. “Evelyn! I did not know you were coming.”

She then turned to her brother-in-law.

Were they in private, she would have embraced him as well, but such a display was not proper, rebellious mood or no. Instead, she curtsied—he was a duke, after all—and gave his hand a light squeeze.

She adored Nathaniel. He had stood firm against their father, and if not for his sudden departure to Portugal to oversee his estates, perhaps the past two months might have unfolded differently. Though truthfully, she was no longer certain she wished for it. Not after everything.

Looking back at Rhys, she said, “Allow me to introduce you to my brother-in-law, Nathaniel, the Duke of Wells.” She clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh heavens, I ought to have introduced you the other way round!”

“I think that is quite all right, Lady Charlotte,” Nathaniel said with a wink.

“A jest between me and my wife,” Rhys explained.

Those last two words made her skin tingle with warmth. He had spoken them as though he meant them.

“I see,” Nathaniel replied. “Well, I am glad to hear there are private jests between you. Such things bode well for any couple, do they not, Lady Evelyn?”

“Indeed, they do,” Evelyn affirmed. “Mr. Sinclair.”

The sisters giggled.

Charlotte grinned, understanding the pet names they used for one another. Rhys, however, stood a little stiffly, as though he had been purchased and forgotten.

“A similar jest,” Nathaniel explained. “When we first met, we found each other quite vexing. Thus, I would call her ‘Lady Evelyn’ in jest, and she would call me ‘Mr. Sinclair,’ for that was my name before I so unexpectedly inherited the dukedom.”

“I see,” Rhys said. “So we both found ourselves in positions we had not foreseen.”

“Yes.” Nathaniel nodded. “I heard of your tragic family history. I can relate, to some extent, though the former Duke and I were not close.”

“I am uncertain whether the former Marquess and I were close, either. One might imagine so, given we were brothers, but perhaps not. Though I suppose he never truly bore the title, merely the claim to it.”

The joyful mood dimmed somewhat, but Evelyn, ever quick-witted, salvaged the moment.

“Did you know they are serving Negus?”

Charlotte squealed, for she loved nothing more than a steaming glass of Negus on a cold night.

“Yes,” Evelyn continued. “They are just now setting it out. I daresay, if we slip in quickly, we may secure the first glasses.”

“The first glasses are always the best!” Charlotte exclaimed, seizing her sister’s hand.

They were already on their way when she glanced back.

“Will you come?” she asked.

Rhys nodded, though he looked a little taken aback.

“I did not know you were fond of Negus,” he said.

“I adore it. It is one of the finest pleasures of winter—along with the snow, hot chocolate, and music.”

“And the food,” he added. “And skating.”

“And masquerade balls.” She beamed. “Though perhaps not dressed as Apollo and Athena again. My feet still ache from the weight of the drapery.”

“My neck suffered equally from that ridiculous golden crown. I declare, when we host a masquerade ball at our country estate, the theme shall be winter wonderland. No one will be forced into uncomfortable costumes. Everyone may come as snowflakes or snow spirits.”

“Or ice princesses,” she quipped, surprised at how naturally their conversation turned to shared plans for the future.

The kiss had meant something to him.

They entered the refreshments room, and before long, all four were carrying steaming glasses of Negus.

“Shall we retire to the terrace?” Nathaniel suggested. “That way, we will not be overrun by the crowd.”

They settled on the stone benches at the Woodhavens’ terrace. Charlotte sat between Evelyn and Rhys, and Nathaniel sat on Evelyn’s other side.

Fresh snow had fallen while they had been indoors, covering the city once more. The streets had been unsightly earlier, churned into filthy slush, but now they were hidden, transformed into a wonderland again.

“We should go to Scotland to visit my mother,” Nathaniel said to Evelyn. “The snow there is most crisp.”

“The same is true at our country estate,” Rhys spoke up. “There is nothing better than walking or riding through a snow-covered forest.”

“Yes,” Nathaniel agreed. “I used to love dashing through the drifts, striking the branches with my hand to shake down the snow.”

“I used to do the same,” Rhys admitted. “It was one of the few activities my father, brother, and I enjoyed together. We would return home utterly soaked, as though we had fallen into a lake, for all the snow had melted on us. My mother always declared it a dreadful nuisance.”

“As did mine.” Nathaniel laughed. “Though she was well accustomed to my mischief. I suppose it was always in my blood.”

“I must contradict you, dear husband,” Evelyn piped up. “If mischief were in your blood, you would still be causing trouble. And you have not, at least not to my knowledge, in quite some time.”

“If I were, you would know, my love,” Nathaniel replied, giving her hand a squeeze.

Charlotte watched them, remembering how Nathaniel had once been considered quite the rake. He had never expected to become a duke; he had been merely the nephew of the former Duke, who had a son. It had been most tragic when both had died, raising Nathaniel unexpectedly to the title.

Tragic then, but fortunate now—for Evelyn, for their family. And if Nathaniel could change, then so could Rhys.

Nathaniel had not set foot in a disreputable club since marrying her sister. Why should not Rhys, who had been reputed—even as a rake—for his compassion and kindness? Even the princes had sought his company, not for his fortune or his handsome face, but for his heart.

As her sister and Nathaniel fell into quiet conversation, Charlotte turned to Rhys.

“It is a lovely evening,” she said.

“Indeed,” he replied.

To her astonishment, he laid his hand over hers, curling his fingers around it. Without thinking, she let her head fall to his shoulder.

As they sat gazing out at the winter wonderland, she let her doubts melt away like snow upon warm skin, and dared to believe that something, at last, had changed.