“Most couples go away for a trip, a tour of the continent or to a little retreat, while their home is being readied for its new mistress.”
“Oh, of course.” Camille had been gone for nearly a month after marrying William. Mercy, Honor, and I had remained at Highmoor, looked after by our governess and Hanna. Only not, I reflected, my chest tightening as it always did when I thought of her.
Alex licked his lips. “But as far as homes go…we’re in a bit of a unique situation…because of me. There are several houses we could choose to start out in…until the day comes for us to move back to Chauntilalie.”
He said it with such certainty, and I wondered what that must feel like, to have so much of your life planned away and assured. Camille hadn’t grown up knowing she would become duchess. She’d been born fifth of twelve. Most of her childhood must have been like mine, wondering over what was in store for her, wondering where and how she would make her place in the world.
But Alex has always known. He was the heir. He would become the duke.
He chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Though…Father has said we’d be more than welcome to stay here, at Chauntilalie, for as long as we like…”
I swallowed, wanting to protest but unsure of how Alex would react. It sounded harsh and ungrateful but I had looked forward to a future without Dauphine planning every moment of my existence, one where I wouldn’t need to fear run-ins with Marguerite and her scowls. One without Gerard ferreting out my secrets like a bloodhound on the hunt.
“But I told him no,” he continued on, a look of worry crossing his face.
“You did?”
“I want us to have the chance to be us…away from them…away from everything, for a time.”
I reached out to cup his cheek, rubbing my thumb softly over his skin. It felt like the right thing to do and I was surprised at how naturally it happened, without the slightest bit of overthinking. “I’m so glad.”
“You are?”
I smiled. “Very, very glad.”
Alex breathed out a sigh of relief. “I was so nervous you’d say you wanted to stay at Chauntilalie. It’s a lovely old house and I can’t wait to grow old here with you, but…”
“But first we need a home, for just us.”
“I agree. Just us.” His eyes were warm, his pupils dark and dilated. “Verity? Might I…Would it be all right if I…Could I hold you?”
“Hold me?” I echoed, uncertain of what he was suggesting.
He nodded, his eyes hopeful and earnest.
“How?”
Carefully, he brought his chair forward before reaching out to scoop me into his lap. I laughed, too surprised to feel uncomfortable with our closeness. He folded my skirts out of the way of the wheels. For a moment, his hand rested on my upper thigh, perched as lightly as a question. Then he embraced me, pulling my side flush against his chest. I could hear his heart beat and breathed in his scent, a combination of his soap and aftershave, something green and wholly Alexander.
“We’ll need a studio,” he mused thoughtfully. “In our house. A room with bright, big windows overlooking some water. I don’t want you ever to be far away from the waves.”
“Our house,” I repeated, a smile playing fondly on my lips. “And there will be a library for you. Low bookshelves lining all the walls. You’ll be able to reach them all.”
“I like that idea.” His voice was low and dreamy and he wrapped his arms around me, holding me close.
I liked this. I loved us.
It felt as though we were wrapped up in a sunbeam, warmed by thoughts of a future together. I was comfortable and happy and didn’t feel pressured to do anything but this.
I snuggled closer to Alex, pressing an experimental kiss to his cheek.
I didn’t stop to overthink it.
I wanted.
And I did.
And it felt…nice.
Easy.
Right.
Finally.
“This is perfect,” I whispered.
All of the vexations and slights I’d felt since the engagement slid away. It didn’t matter that his mother thought I was unsophisticated and lacking in style. It didn’t matter his grandmother thought me cursed.
Alex was the only one who mattered. The only one I trusted wholly and implicitly.
We’d be the ones writing our story.
Us, on our own.
Together.
“This is us,” he promised, kissing my forehead with a tenderness so sweet I ached for another. “For the rest of our lives.”
* * *
Later that night, the peacocks woke me once again.
A giant full moon hung low in the sky, casting an otherworldly blue glow over my bedchambers.
“Go downstairs, get the tea,” I muttered, pulling myself out from under the coverlet with a sigh.
I was too exhausted to search for my slippers, and the cold floorboards chilled my bare feet as I padded downstairs. The route had become so familiar to me, I didn’t bother with a candle. I now knew the path by heart.
All the lights in the manor were off, but moonlight poured in through the open windows, illuminating the rooms and hallways. The air was redolent and sweet with Gerard’s night-blooming jasmine fragrant on the breeze.
My conversation with Alexander was still fresh on my mind and as I wandered the long corridors, I tried imagining myself as mistress of all this wonder. What painting would I one day hang there? Would I keep those damask drapes? How would we leave our mark on this manor?
However we did it, I knew it would be done together. Generations of Laurents would speak of us in reverent, awed tones. Our love story would be the stuff of legends.
Movement drew my attention farther down the hall.
Up ahead, someone stood in the center of the arched corridor, studying a portrait on the wall.
The figure was too masculine to be Dauphine, too tall to be Gerard.
A footman, then, up far too late, just like me.
I let out a short cough, to alert him of my presence, and he turned, startled. A moonbeam cut across his face and I gasped.
There, standing unassisted, without support of any kind, was Alex.
We stared at each other for a long moment. Disbelief silenced me.
He brought one finger up to his lips, a gesture beseeching for my silence. Then he smiled, the curve of his so familiar lips now twisted and strange, and turned and walked away.
I stared at the spot he’d stood—
Alex.
Standing.
—blinking as if it would somehow bring him back, but of course it didn’t.
So I went after him.
I wasn’t familiar with this section of Chauntilalie, and as soon as I stepped into the new corridor—the walls painted in murals of wildflower fields—I knew it. Carpeted runners spanned the length of the hall, deadening my footsteps. After a month of hearing my progress in the house marked by echoes around me, it felt strange to suddenly hear nothing.
I stopped, trying to hear movement in the rooms off the hallway, but there was none.
Then, a strange silvery crunch, like glass breaking. It rang out sharply, coming from somewhere down the hallway.
Several doors were ajar and I cautiously peeked into each. A grand piano rested in one, a hulking black structure in the middle of an otherwise empty room. The next contained stacks of crates and barrels—storage for the manor.