Chapter 29
Lucinda walked out the front door. The Maybach was already parked outside.
Reginald stood beside the car. He'd traded his charcoal coat for a deep blue one, his tie knotted with precision. He stood tall and straight as a pine.
The moment he saw her, his eyes lit up.
Today she wore a pale blue blouse under an off-white trench coat, her hair loose over her shoulders. The morning sunlight fell across her, making her look soft and ethereal—like a freshly painted watercolor.
Reginald's gaze traveled from her face to her shoulders, down to her fingertips, then back to her face again—like he could never get enough of looking at her.
He strode forward quickly, the corner of his mouth lifting. "Morning."
Lucinda glanced at him. "Morning."
Reginald moved to open the car door for her, his hand resting naturally along the top of the frame.
Lucinda bent down and slipped inside. He closed the door, walked around to the other side, and got in. The entire time, his eyes never left her.
Dahlia stood in the entrance hall, watching the scene through the glass door.
She'd woken up two hours early today. Applied careful makeup. Put on a new pale pink dress. Curled her hair into loose waves. Sprayed perfume. Every detail polished from head to toe.
She watched Reginald open the door for Lucinda, her fingers gripping the doorframe tight.
She pushed the door open and stepped outside, a sweet smile plastered on her face, walking toward the car with light, quick steps.
"Reginald!" Her voice was syrupy. "You're picking up Lucinda? Perfect! I was hoping to visit your father as well. Could I—"
Reginald's gaze shifted from Lucinda to her.
That look was cold as winter wind—devoid of warmth, edged with impatience.
Dahlia's steps froze. Her smile stiffened.
"Not necessary."
Dahlia opened her mouth to say more, but Reginald had already looked away. He bent and slid into the car. The door shut in front of her.
The car started. Reginald sat beside Lucinda, angling his body slightly toward her. His gaze returned to her face, a faint smile playing on his lips—completely different from how he'd just looked at Dahlia.
"Did you eat breakfast?" he asked.
"I did."
"I haven't yet." His tone carried a trace of grievance, like he was waiting for her to ask something.
Lucinda didn't respond.
Reginald waited two seconds, then continued on his own. "But that's all right. Just seeing you is enough."
Lucinda turned her head to glance at him.
He was watching her, his eyes shining impossibly bright, mouth curved upward, expression utterly innocent—as if asking, "Did I say something wrong?"
She looked back out the window, but the corner of her mouth lifted slightly.
The car pulled out through the estate gates. In the rearview mirror, Dahlia still stood in the entrance hall, her figure shrinking smaller and smaller until she was just a blurry pink dot.
Her fingers clenched her skirt, knuckles bone-white. The smile had vanished from her face entirely.
The car stopped at the entrance to the nursing home.
Reginald got out and walked around to Lucinda's side, opening her door and placing his hand along the top of the frame.
Lucinda stepped out. The two of them walked inside side by side.
The corridor was quiet. Reginald walked beside her, his pace deliberately slow—matching her stride. His gaze kept drifting to her profile.
The door to the patient room was slightly ajar.
Reginald pushed it open and stepped aside to let Lucinda enter first.
Inside, Hayden was propped up against the headboard in a hospital gown, holding a ring in his hand and examining it in the light from the window.
The ring's style was ancient—a gold setting embedded with a deep blue gemstone that gleamed with a mysterious luster in the sunlight.
His expression was distant, as if looking at something from long ago.
"Dad." Reginald spoke.
Hayden looked up. The moment his gaze landed on Lucinda, his entire face brightened.
He set the ring on the bedside table and leaned forward slightly, the wrinkles on his face smoothing out. "Young lady! You came!"
His voice was hoarse, but his tone carried unmistakable joy. He waved her over. "Come, sit down. Reginald told me yesterday you were coming. I was so happy I barely slept."
Lucinda walked over and sat in the chair beside the bed.
Hayden looked her up and down, growing more pleased the longer he looked. "You saved me that day. Even then, I thought, what a beautiful girl—delicate features, refined bearing—like you stepped out of a painting."
Reginald stood nearby, listening to his father praise Lucinda. The corner of his mouth lifted as his gaze rested on her face, as if waiting for her reaction.
Lucinda's expression didn't change. She said mildly, "You're recovering well."
"That I am! Thanks to you." Hayden patted the edge of the bed. "The medicine you prescribed—after two days, I felt energy flowing through me again. The doctors all say I'm recovering faster than expected. More than twice as fast."
Lucinda nodded. Her gaze drifted inadvertently to the ring on the bedside table.
Her eyes paused.
The ring lay quietly on the wooden surface. The gold setting had darkened with age, but the craftsmanship was breathtakingly exquisite.
Surprise flickered in her eyes.
Hayden followed her gaze. He reached out, picked up the ring, and held it in his palm. His tone softened. "This? It was my wife's dowry. Passed down through her family—they said it came from the royal court, though they weren't sure which dynasty. After my wife passed, I kept it with me. When I miss her, I take it out to look at."
His fingers lightly traced the surface of the stone. His gaze grew distant.
The room fell silent for a moment.
Reginald stood by the window, looking at the ring in his father's hand. He said nothing.
Lucinda looked at the ring, then spoke suddenly. "May I see it?"
Hayden blinked, then handed it over. "Of course."
Lucinda took the ring and turned it over, her gaze settling on a hairline fracture along the inner band.
Her brow furrowed slightly.
"Here." She looked up at Hayden. "It looks like there's a break in the setting. It should be repaired."
Hayden's expression changed instantly.
The butler standing nearby also paled. He'd served Hayden for thirty years and knew exactly how precious this ring was.
It was the work of a last-century court artisan—an extinct craft. The entire setting was hand-forged from a single piece of platinum. The gemstone's cutting technique had been lost to time. Fewer than ten such rings existed in the world.
An antique of this caliber? Forget repairing it—even finding a master who could trace its origins would be nearly impossible.
And now this young woman was saying it was broken? That it needed repair?
The butler's palms were sweating. He feared this was about to go very wrong.