Page 51 of The Duke’s Caught Bride

Charlie looked up at her. His brown eyes held a question he would not voice, and she recognized it because she had carried it through every ballroom and drawing room during her first three Seasons. Would she be welcome? Would anyone notice if she arrived, or care if she didn’t?

“You are faster than Freddie,” she said. “You told me so yourself.”

Charlie straightened. He smoothed the front of his jacket, a gesture so like his father that she nearly laughed, and walked toward the oak. He did not run, but his pace quickened as he crossed the lawn, and by the time he reached the other boys, Freddie had grabbed his arm and was pointing upward into the branches.

Annabelle stepped beside Alice. “He is a quiet one, isn’t he?”

Alice nodded. “He sees everything. He takes longer to trust what he sees.”

“James is the same. Dominic worries about him. I tell him that quiet children are simply paying closer attention than the rest of us.”

The two women shared a knowing smile before Dominic led Annabelle off, leaving Alice and Kenneth alone.

Kenneth rubbed the back of his neck as he looked at her. “Well, thank you. For encouraging Charles to join the boys.”

She looked up at him. “You’re welcome.”

“I…” He glanced around, then cleared his throat.

“Alice!” The voice cut through the garden hum, bright and familiar.

Alice turned. Lucy crossed the lawn at a pace that bordered on improper, her yellow dress billowing behind her, her face split by a wide grin.

Kenneth stepped back. “I should find Jonathan. He mentioned he would attend.” He nodded to Alice and moved toward a cluster of men near the refreshment tent, his broad back disappearing into the crowd.

Lucy seized both her hands. “I was beginning to think the Duke had locked you in a turret.”

Alice laughed. The sound surprised her, rusty and real, and Lucy’s grip tightened as though she could hold it in place.

“No turrets. Though the castle does have one that Freddie has claimed as his fortress.”

Lucy pulled her toward a stone bench beneath a pergola draped in climbing roses. They sat, and Lucy turned to face her, tucking one leg beneath her skirts in a fashion her mother would have found scandalous.

“Tell me everything. Is he as terrifying as they say he is?”

Alice shook her head. “He is not terrifying.”

“The Gazette described him as ‘formidable to the point of intimidation.’ Their words, not mine.” Alice frowned at that, and Lucy’s expression shifted. She studied Alice’s face, her eyes narrowing to bright slits. “You are fond of him.”

“He is my husband.”

“That is not an answer.” Lucy leaned closer. “You are very fond of him. I can see it. Your cheeks turn pink when you mention him.”

“They do not.”

“They are pink now.”

Alice pressed her palms against her face. Lucy was right. She could feel the heat beneath her fingers, traitorous blood rising to betray every word she had not spoken.

“He is not what I expected,” she said carefully. “He is stubborn, distant, and he treats his daily schedule as though abandoning it would cause the collapse of the monarchy. He eats dinner in his study. He speaks to his sons as though they are junior officers awaiting deployment.” She lowered her hands. “But he also defended me at a dinner party in front of fifteen people. He hired an investigator to find Rachel when my own father abandoned the search. He carried both boys to bed after the village fair because they fell asleep in the carriage, and he would not let the footman do it.”

Lucy said nothing. She watched Alice’s face and waited.

“I am in trouble, Lucy.”

“You are in love.”

“I did not say that.”