Chapter 23 Tête-à-tête
This business of disappearances occupied Oscar’s every thought — or perhaps it distracted him?
Abélie had gone to purchase those famous flowers, leaving him alone in the office. There was little left for him to do but read. He had taken a keen interest in the history of the Duchy of Wingfall — though he would need to corner the librarian to obtain far more specialised books on the subject. But where could she be?
Outside, clouds were beginning to gather. Would the rain once again blanket the city? There had not been a single day without a shower, however brief it might be.
He sighed.
In the vast, empty office, the sound echoed audibly. He grimaced. From an outside perspective, it must have looked pathetic. And yet, it perfectly reflected his mood. Between dance lessons, physical training, and the mysteries he was attempting to unravel with Abélie, he had scarcely had time to think about it — but he missed Eau-Claire terribly. The food here was not bad; on the contrary, it was filling. And the castle staff were far from as strange as the rumours had suggested, but—and he could not get used to it—everything remained so different. The omnipresent scent of cedar reminded him how deeply he loved the fragrance of lilacs. And the bleak light cast by the aggressive clouds echoed painfully against the warm southern sun.
And he still hadn't received any replies from his father. His letters must have arrived long ago. Admittedly, they hadn't discussed exchanging daily letters—that's why Oscar limited himself to one every four days—but... he was still his father. This was the first time he'd spent so much time away from home. Even though daily life there was difficult, it had been HIS daily life for a long time. But he feared his father would remain silent in the face of his attempts to communicate.
He shook his head. He had to stop thinking about it.
With a brisk motion, he rose, the chair scraping loudly against the floor.
He needed some fresh air.
Madam Brown was unavailable today, and the duchess had given her the day off. Oscar was therefore all the more surprised when he came upon Brennan, just about to knock on the door of his office.
“What can I do for you, Brennan? If you are looking for Abélie, I sent her on an errand into town.”
The stoic majordomo lowered his hand and adjusted his glasses instead.
“On the contrary, sir, it is you I was looking for.”
Oscar looked surprised; the majordomo continued.
“Madam has sent me to fetch you. You haven’t forgotten your dance lesson, have you?”
“Madam Brown is absent today,” he pointed out.
“Indeed, but the duchess wishes you to continue practising.”
Oscar hesitated, then eventually gave in — though the idea of dancing tête-à-tête with Lady Brynn displeased him far less than he let on. He followed the majordomo with long strides.
Instead of the Salon of the Dawn, where, every day for the past eight days, Madam Brown had trained him with an iron hand, the duchess now waited in the Ballroom, seated on one of the chairs, leafing through a book. Lost in thought, she glanced up when Brennan announced Oscar, then rose briskly.
“My Lord, you did not think you would escape training today.”
Oscar approached, dragging his feet — almost.
“I thought today might be a rest day, given the absence of our instructor.”
Brynn smiled, amused — as usual.
“The ball will arrive sooner than you think. Let us get to work.”
He watched as she placed her fan beside her book. Dancing in heels could not be very practical.
“Would you not prefer flatter shoes?”
She turned, raising an eyebrow, then smiled — a softer smile.
“I will dance in heels at the ball regardless. It is far more elegant.”
“Is it? It hardly looks comfortable.”
Without warning, she took his hand and placed it on her waist.
“Comfort matters little.”
He said nothing — or found nothing to say. She rested her hand on his shoulder and tilted her head slightly.
“So, shall we dance, or will you find yet another excuse to evade the task?”
At last, he gave in, tightening his hold.
“Let us dance.”
They danced in silence, in the middle of the hall. The room was huge, with a floor reflecting their dance gracefully. The atmosphere would have been very different with music, but Oscar appreciated the quiet; it allowed him to think more clearly. Against him, the duchess seemed pensive. He watched her discreetly, but even then, it was difficult to tell what she was thinking. He was decidedly taller than her by at least half a head — even more noticeable when they stood so close. And yet, whenever she lifted her emerald gaze to meet his, words failed him.
He swallowed.
Was this the effect all women had on men?
Without his noticing, she was now the one observing him.
“You are distracted.”
He shook his head, attempting to focus on the task at hand.
“No, I am here.”
She laughed.
“Liar.”
Once again, he found nothing to reply, save to concentrate more intently on their closeness.
He had never liked the waltz, and truth be told, he liked it no more now. But feeling Lady Brynn’s hand resting on his waist and watching the grace of her movements, something within him urged him to give his very best.