Page 40 of Trapped with the Forbidden Duke
“Nonsense!” Lady Isabel scoffed. “What is an aunt for, if not to embarrass her niece in front of the ton’s most eligible, dashing bachelor?”
“I am not?—”
Lucien was cut off by an inquisitive stare from the older woman. He cleared his throat and drank his wine.
A duke he was, but he knew when not to cross a woman well-versed in the ton’s ways, an older woman who had played the game in her youth and would wonder why he did not wish to play.
“What sort of duke does not wish to share his fortune with a beautiful woman?”
Lucien’s gaze slid back to Lady Edwina before returning to Lady Isabel. “I am fine with sharing my fortune by supporting other causes.”
“Noble,” Lady Isabel muttered. “However, if you have no mother, then I shall be the voice of one for now. You must marry. I am a woman alone in a good house, not a large house, so allow me to impart some wisdom, for there are things I missed out on in life. Marry well, yes, but before marriage, there are celebrations—balls. What sort of joy can be found if those celebrations are not shared with your intended? Do not separate the two, Your Grace, or you shall be like me. I look back on those years fondly and then realize that I am indeed a foolish, old spinster whose true soulmate has always been chocolate treats.”
Lucien paused, unsure if she was entirely serious or if she was teasing him. He was not in the habit of being told what to do, and yet he did not rebuke Lady Isabel for it. Perhaps it was because he’d never had a mother to tell him similar things. Perhaps he liked her advice, even if marriage was a faraway thing, something he did not enjoy thinking of.
“And you too, Edwina. We might be considered the poorest family of the nobility, but that does not excuse your lack of a husband. If anything, I imagine it would solve a great deal of issues. I am sure with word of His Grace’s extensive generosity, you will become very sought-after, indeed.”
Lucien saw the way Lady Edwina’s eyes dropped to her plate, how she gave her aunt a forced, tight smile but said nothing. The thought of another man putting his hands on her sent a hot bolt of anger through him.
It is because of how that man spoke about her at the brothel.You know the ton and the men who hunt for unmarried ladies having had failed Seasons. That is all it is. It is not because the man who touches her will not be you.
Lucien drained his wine glass and ate his dinner to distract himself, and he pretended as though he believed his thoughts.
Edwina entered her brother’s room hours past dinner time, lingering in the doorway. He had not come down to join them,not even once, and she had been certain that she would find him gone again.
But he lay in his bed, his face slack in slumber, more relaxed than she had seen it in some time. Without rage, paranoia, or mania on his face, she could almost pretend that his addiction had not taken away the Nicholas she once knew.
Sighing, Edwina left, content that he was in deep sleep. She would not be the one to wake him, not if this rest granted him some peace.
Retiring to the parlor, she kept herself busy with thoughts of the Duke and how he had spoken throughout dinner.
It surprised her that he knew how others thought of him, and then felt foolish for being surprised. He did not have to be a gossip to know the gossip circulating about himself, to know that the ton whispered about his control and lack of generosity.
And then there was his lingering gaze on her. It had been more than she could bear. Leaving the dining room afterward had been both a respite and a terrible thing.
She craved his presence yet feared it. Feared what it did to her.
“I do not flatter you enough,” she murmured to herself, recalling his quiet declaration.
Picking up the glass of wine she had poured before she checked on Nicholas, Edwina smiled to herself as she settled into one of the settees in front of the empty, cold fireplace.
Above it was a beautiful cream wallpaper with golden accents running through it, forming a floral shape. Elegant, decorative, unassuming, yet expensive. It was part of the renovation, which she still had not wrapped her head around.
She was not even certain if her brother was aware of it, if he had bothered to take any notice during his fleeting moments of sobriety.
Edwina turned and found a book on the small table next to her. She peered at it, surprised to find the poetry book she had been reading before the Duke of Stormhold’s arrival. It had kept her mind occupied during her brother’s many disappearances.
With her aunt in bed and her brother asleep, she picked it up, finding solace in the words once again.
Soon, her thoughts swam with verses and themes, romantic poems, and words that spiraled beautifully through her. It was only when she heard a quiet scuff of boots from the doorway that she turned around.
Her smile fell when she saw it was the Duke and not her brother.
The Duke regarded her. “I assume you were not expecting me.”
“I thought you were Nicholas,” she admitted. “I hoped he would finally come down and talk to me, even for a moment.”
A flicker of annoyance crossed the Duke’s face, as it did every time he was told about or reminded of Nicholas’s behavior.
