Ines picked up a biscuit. "That book was written by Arthur Pendleton," She spoke calmly. "He is the author. Though everyone knows it is a pseudonym. No real gentleman would know so much about... midnight lessons."
Celine stared at her. "You... you know it?"
"He’s my favorite," Ines declared. "I have read all the volus. ’The Duke’s Midnight Lessons,’ ’The Earl’s Secret Garden,’ and ’The Viscount Who Laid with .’"
She leaned back, chewing her biscuit thoughtfully.
"They are quite scandalous, you know," Ines added with a grin. "Especially Chapter Nine of ’Midnight Lessons.’ The scene in the library?"
Celine’s eyes bead. She nodded vigorously.
"The table!" Celine whispered.
"The table," Ines agreed solemnly.
They shared a look of perfect understanding. It was a bond forged in ink and forbidden blushes.
"I heard he’s on hiatus now," Celine said, her embarrassnt forgotten. "I checked the bookshop on Bond Street last week. They said no new manuscripts have arrived in months."
"A tragedy," Ines sighed. "I can’t wait for the new volu he will release. I hope it involves a pirate. I have a weakness for pirates."
"I prefer Highlanders," Celine admitted. "The kilts."
"Valid," Ines nodded. She took a sip of her tea.
Bang!
The sound of a gunshot echoed from the woods.
It was sharp and loud, cutting through the peaceful afternoon air. Birds scattered from the trees, cawing in protest.
Celine jumped, nearly spilling her tea.
"Oh!" she cried.
Ines didn’t flinch. She set her cup down calmly.
"Finally," Ines spoke dryly. "One of them caught sothing. Or Rowan shot a tree out of frustration."
Celine looked toward the tree line, where the dark green of the forest t the manicured lawn.
"Is... is he a good shot?" Celine asked.
"Rowan?" Ines shrugged. "He is adequate. He is better at fencing. He likes to be up close. My husband is better than him in using a rifle."
Celine looked at the woods. She thought of the man she was supposed to marry. The man who had been so polite, so distant, and yet so intense during the ga of Pall Mall.
She turned back to Ines.
"Your Grace," Celine asked softly. "What is Duke Rowan like?"
Ines paused. She looked at the young girl.
It was a big question. What is he like?
How could she explain Rowan? He was the man who carried the weight of the family. He was the man who paid the bills and fixed the roofs. He was the man who had stopped laughing after their parents died, only to start again—slowly, painfully—in the last few years.
Ines smiled. It was a wry smile.
"I think I’m the wrong person to ask that question," Ines said.
Celine tilted her head. "Why so?"
"We are siblings," Ines replied. "I have known him since he was a boy who put frogs in my shoes. To , he is not a mysterious Duke. He is just Rowan. I won’t give you the best romantic answer. I will tell you that he snores when he has a cold, and he is grumpy before coffee."
Celine pressed on. She looked earnest.
"But I still want to know," Celine said. "Everyone tells he is the ’Golden Duke.’ They tell he is rich and powerful. But... who is he?"
Ines sighed. She set her plate down. She looked at Celine with new respect. Most debutantes didn’t care who he was; they only cared about the title.
"Very well," Ines replied.
She thought for a mont.
"He’s obsessed with punctuality," Ines began. "If you are late, he will twitch. It is a physical reaction. He believes ti is the only thing we cannot buy, so wasting it is a sin."
Celine nodded. "Punctuality. I can do that."
"He likes his space," Ines continued. "He spends hours in his study. He is not a man who needs constant chatter. He likes quiet. He likes to think. That’s when he’s working though."
Ines looked toward the woods again.
"But," she added softer, "he is caring in his own way. He doesn’t write poems. He doesn’t sing serenades. But if you are cold, he will buy you a coat. If you are hurt, he will find the best doctor in London. He shows love by doing, not by saying."
She thought of how Rowan had looked at Delaney during breakfast. How he had frequently tried to pass dishes to her side.
"He is family oriented," Ines said. "He would burn down the world to protect the people he considers his own. He is loyal to a fault."
"He is..." Ines struggled for the right word. "He is lonely, Celine. He has been the Duke for so long, he has forgotten how to be a man."
Celine absorbed this. She looked down at her hands.
"Lonely," she whispered.
Just then, a loud, clear sound rang out across the lawn.
Ding-dong. Ding-dong.
The bell rang for lunch.
Ines blinked, shaking off the serious mood.
"Lunch!" Ines spoke brightly. She stood up, shaking out her skirts. "Thank heavens. I am famished. Discussing literature always makes hungry."
She turned to Celine.
"Looks like we’ll continue this conversation later," Ines said. "I have more to tell you about Arthur Pendleton’s villains."
Celine stood up too. She smiled. "I look forward to it, Your Grace."
Celine looked toward the path that led from the woods.
"They are here," she said.
She pointed to the tree line.
Two figures were erging from the shadows of the forest.
Rowan walked in front. He was not wearing his hat. His hair was ssy, windblown in a way that was entirely improper and devastatingly handso. His cravat was loosened. He carried a rifle in one hand, swinging it casually at his side.
Behind him walked Delaney.
She looked... different.
Her shawl was gone. Her hair, usually so severely pinned, was loose around her face, the wind having pulled strands free. Her cheeks were flushed a deep, rosy pink. She was walking close to him—closer than a cousin usually walked.
They weren’t talking. They were just walking in stride, their steps matching perfectly.
Ines watched them. She saw the tension in Rowan’s shoulders. She saw the way Delaney kept touching her lips.
Ines narrowed her eyes.
They didn’t shoot anything, Ines noted. Except perhaps the rules of propriety.
"Co," Ines said to Celine, offering her arm. "Let us go and see what they hunted. Though I suspect they ca back empty-handed."
Celine took her arm. She looked at Rowan, then at Delaney.
"They look..." Celine paused.
"Guilty?" Ines suggested.
"Alive," Celine corrected. "They look alive."
Ines looked at the girl. She squeezed her arm.
"Yes," Ines said softly. "They do."
Together, the won walked toward the house to et the hunters who looked like they had done sothing they shouldn’t have.
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