Page 10 of A Flurry for a Duke

She watched as Astrid was swatting his arm, and she overheard Isaac jest with Michael. “You want her?”

Michael shook his head, and Hope thought she heard him reply, “She’s all yours.”

At that, Astrid grabbed her brother’s hat and took off into the woods. Not missing a beat, he chased after his sister.

“Astrid Alexandra, get back here right now,” he shouted playfully.

It looked as though she was getting away with it. For how long, Hope wasn’t sure. Isaac would clearly beat her in a footrace.

And at that moment, Hope wanted in on the diversion.

Mavis must have read the change in her daughter’s body, for she urged her, “Go on.”

And Hope raced past the group to catch up with the two in the woods.

They must have been quicker than she thought, as no one was in sight when she crossed into the trees. Veering sharply to the right, she skipped on until she heard a quiet murmuring.

“He loves me. He loves me not.” It was Astrid’s voice. Hope spied her wearing her brother’s hat, plucking the petals off a wild daisy.

“Drat. He loved me not. He’ll pay for that. I suppose he already has.” She giggled to herself.

“Who?” Hope couldn’t stifle the question, and Astrid whirled to face her.

“Oh, no one.” She threw the stem to the ground.

“Astrid,” Hope taunted, “do you have a beau?”

“In fact, I do not. But not for lack of trying.” She dropped her head back to absorb what little sunlight was gleaming through the branches overhead. “Men. Does not every last one of them vex us, yet we desire them all the same. Pfft! More so. The more they vex us, the more we desire them.”

Truth.

“Ah yes, I’m sure that can happen.”

“Can? Does. Will. Every time. Wait until it happens to you.”

Dash it all, Hope was pretty sure itwashappening to her.

A rustle in the trees stole their attention.

“Astrid Alexandra,” Isaac let the names roll off of his lips.

“I hate it when he uses both of my names like that. As if I’m a child,” Astrid whispered, aside to Hope. “Only older brothers, am I right?”

A smirk tangled across Hope’s lips. “You are definitely right.”

Then realizing what she had said, Astrid giggled. “You would know best.”

“What are you two giggling about?” Isaac demanded archly.

“Nothing,” they said in unison.

“Women,” he muttered, “vexatious creatures.” As he marched toward them, he snatched his hat back. Isaac glanced at the petals on the ground. “Who is it this time? The footman. It can’t be Evan anymore. He’s married.” Isaac narrowed his eyes at Astrid. She glared right back at him, a slight twinge at the corner of her mouth belied her disappointment.

“Evan?” Hope asked.

The question opened Isaac’s eyes to his slip. “It was nothing. Just a little crush.” He tried to wave it off, but the death glare in Astrid’s eyes would not permit it.

“It was not a little crush,” she mumbled. “But you’re right. It was nothing.” She stomped lightly on the petals in front of her. Her face brightened, though not quite to her eyes. “He has a lovely wife. Felicity? She’s a writer, no?”

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