Page 83 of A Gamble with the Rakish Duke
Life. Oliver had finally embraced life.
Devil’s Draw was nothing but an impediment—a stain on morality, an obstacle to pursuing a healthier, fuller life. Her eyes continued to watch him until he dismounted and joined her. She smiled at his flushed face. He quickly smiled back.
“You look happy,” she murmured as he reached for her hand.
They walked toward a bench to sit and watch the fields.
“Look at where we are, Alexandra,” Oliver said, his eyes scanning the greenery.
She giggled at the thought of their first walk together. They were so stiff back then, but they were undoubtedly drawn to each other.
“You’re thinking of our first walk together? The one that was supposed to make you forget about your morning meetings with Prescott?” he asked wryly, reading her mind.
“You know me so well now, husband,” she teased.
He would stiffen every time she called him that. It made him feel old, he said, but he still called her ‘wife.’
“Ah. But yeah, I’m happy. We have a good harvest. The new irrigation system is working and increasing production.”
“You have made me proud, Oliver. I hope you know that you have done well,” she praised, reaching for his hands and taking them in her much smaller ones.
“You are my inspiration. I can do no wrong with that,” he said, freeing one hand and putting it over their clasped ones.
While husband and wife certainly enjoyed each other’s company, they also frequently mingled with theton. They also developed a special relationship with John Prescott.
The three had become united in music and past turmoil. Somehow, it enabled Alexandra to write more music. Her compositions, under the pseudonym J. Lewis, continued to gain acclaim. Everyone wanted not just the mystery but also the pure passion.
“His music sounds happier. I wonder if there’s a big change in his life,” a lady commented.
“Perhaps he got married!” her friend exclaimed.
The biggest rumor was that either John Prescott was J. Lewis or he knew who it was. Whenever he went out with James, eyes would turn to them, thinking that a new piece was about to be released.
At least none of them suspected anything more between the two men. For they were far too focused on the mysterious composer.
“Perhaps it’s Prescott’s friend!”
“He’s probably an agent for J. Lewis!”
Nobody batted an eye when they realized John Prescott was friends with the Duke of Westgrave and his wife. It was almost expected, as thetonstill remembered the Duchess defending J. Lewis’s choice to live a mysterious life.
“The Philharmonic requested one of your pieces, Your Grace,” John said one day as he and James visited Oliver and Alexandra. “It’s a great honor!”
“Truly?” Alexandra clasped her hands together with glee, her face brightening. “They accepted one of them?”
“They didn’t just accept it,” James clarified, grinning. “They even gave it rave reviews. You are a celebrated, albeit anonymous, composer.”
The Duke and Duchess never doubted the honesty and secrecy of the couple before them. In fact, John and James had more to lose than them. But their initially fragile bond had eventually grown stronger.
Oliver, seated beside his wife, pulled her toward him and hugged her. Pride was etched on his face. As they had become more open with each other, Alexandra could read every emotion on his face.
“You see? Now, everyone finally recognizes just how extraordinary you are,” he murmured in her ear.
Alexandra felt warm all over, but she knew the situation well enough not to give herself too much hope.
“It’s J. Lewis they are praising, a man full of mystery. They aren’t thinking of me when they listen to my music—a duchess who reads and sews in her free time. Yes, I play the pianoforte often, but they don’t imagine that when they think of me. However, I am glad that they appreciate my music.”
After some tea and lemonade, with biscuits and cake, John and James finally bid them adieu. It was the time that Alexandra was waiting for, and yet she still hesitated before speaking.
