Chapter 24 Heart-to-Heart
The waltz was not particularly demanding. That had always been an excuse; he had simply never found it useful. But this moment — tracing arabesques in an empty ballroom, their bodies entwined with no other presence — there was something… relaxing about it.
Without Madam Brown to correct them — to correct him — he felt more at ease. His hand was lighter, his movements less rigid. Perhaps he simply disliked crowds. He sighed and continued to waltz.
The duchess lifted her gaze once more, a question hanging unspoken.
“Something troubles you. I can feel it.”
He hesitated, eyes fixed on the swirling walls of the hall.
He slowed the pace slightly and met her gaze.
“Let us say… I have never danced before a crowd, and I would not wish to embarrass you.”
He did not hold her gaze for long. She smiled again, amused, as though he had said something so trivial it could only provoke laughter. And looking at her, he believed it.
“You are rather solitary, my Lord — am I mistaken?”
The question caught him off guard, and he misstepped, sending them briefly spinning out of alignment before he recovered.
“Well… as I told you, I have not attended many banquets or social gatherings. The duchy’s finances did not allow for them. And my father never offered to take me with him to the capital.”
Embarrassment rose to his cheeks, and he hated it.
“That is curious.”
That was all she said. He did not know how to interpret it — mockery? teasing? disdain?
And yet, when he met her eyes again, he found only attentive listening.
He looked away.
The rest of the dance unfolded in a gentle silence, broken only by Lady Brynn’s occasional guidance. By the end of their practice, Oscar felt far less exhausted than after their usual sessions. Madam Brown’s steely gaze weighed on him more than he had realised — that dragon.
He stretched as the duchess picked up her book once more.
“Oh—I wished to ask you something. I have heard talk of unsavoury individuals roaming the city streets. Are these rumours true?” he asked.
Her movement froze before she reached for her fan, her back turned to him.
“The soldiers have indeed reported such things. Unsavoury individuals wandering our streets.”
“And have you attempted to apprehend them?” he asked, stepping closer.
She turned to face him, fanning herself with a casual motion.
“Of course. I was not about to let a group of ruffians roam freely among our streets. But they are not present as often as the townsfolk believe. They are nothing more than a band of pranksters wishing to sow a little chaos — nothing serious.”
He raised an eyebrow, studying her face — or what little of it he could see.
“Truly? I was under the impression they inspired genuine fear.”
“Fear, perhaps. But it is difficult to accuse them of anything truly criminal. And yet, their appearances are not new.” She exhaled; for once, real irritation crept into her voice. “Mischief-makers causing trouble, nothing more. And as much as it weighs on me, I cannot deploy our forces against mere buffoons.”
“I have noticed that few patrols watch over the city streets. Where are the troops stationed?” he asked, his curiosity deepening.
Her fan moved a little faster — or perhaps he imagined it.
“Our forces are stationed beyond Mulberry’s borders. Wingfall is a vast duchy, with few cities of comparable size. As such, the troops must remain far afield to ensure the safety of our people. And it is out of the question to reassign them at present.”
Oscar shook his head, unconvinced.
“My Lady, if I may—these ‘buffoons’, as you call them, could represent a real danger within your streets. Would it not be worth assigning at least a small unit to investigate?”
The fan snapped shut with a sharp crack — so sharp it echoed through the vast, empty hall. Oscar caught a glimpse of irritation in those beautiful green eyes now fixed upon him. Or was it concern?
He did not lower his gaze, despite the chill running down his spine.
Brynn pointed her fan at him, her brows slightly drawn.
He felt very small beside her.
“Lord Oscar, are you attempting to teach me how to govern a duchy?”
He lowered his head.
“No, Your Grace. Only—”
“Only, you believe you know better than I do.” She reopened her fan, her gaze drifting away.
She no longer looked at him.
“This situation is not new. These sudden appearances in our streets date back more than a year. The matter has been thoroughly considered.”
Silence stretched between them, carving distance in the air.
“I shall see you at dinner. I have a few… matters to attend to.”
And without another word, she crossed the room and left.
The door’s creak sealed the silence now enveloping the young lord.
Oscar remained standing there, something indescribable tightening in his chest. At last, he ran a hand through his hair, irritated.
Irritated? At the duchess — but mostly at himself.
What a fool.
Decidedly, he lacked tact, elegance, and refinement.
How could he hope to advise her when she bore responsibilities far greater than any he had ever known?
What a fool. What an absolute fool.
Alone, it was the rain that finally pulled him back to reality, and he startled.
What time was it? Barely noon. Lady Brynn had made it clear she would not be dining with him — though she had cited matters to attend to. Was that merely an excuse to conceal her irritation?
It didn't matter. He waited a few more minutes, then decided to leave for his office. He requested only a light meal from one of the servants assigned to him and shut himself away.
He sat at his desk, determined to return to his books — but the interaction refused to leave his mind.
He hoped Abélie would return quickly.