Page 13 of Wedded to the Sinful Duke

Hector raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Tired? You have turned down a lady’s company, you are distracted, and you have been uncharacteristically quiet. That’s more than just fatigue. I don’t think I have ever seen you like this.”

Jonathan leaned back, looking out of the window, his mind racing. Suddenly, he remembered something that might help. “There was a song,” he said slowly, almost to himself. “A song I heard recently. I can’t get it out of my head.”

“A song?” Hector frowned. “A song has you so besides yourself?”

“Maybe,” Jonathan shrugged. “If I could figure out where I know it from, I might stop thinking about it.” He hated lying to his friend, but he could not tell him that there was a woman he could not get out of his mind. That would be breaking his own rules.

Hector sighed. “Fine. Do you remember the melody?”

Jonathan nodded with a smile. “I feel like that is all I remember now.”

“Tell me,” Hector urged, “so we can get this all behind us and you get back to your usual self. This is beyond concerning, Jonathan.”

“I know,” Jonathan chuckled. “Now, I remember some of the words but not everything. I think it went something like this:Dream of fields of emerald green, where troubles fade, and hearts are seen. And the melody was like this…” He continued to hum what he remembered, hoping it might trigger Hector’s encyclopedic knowledge.

Hector listened carefully, his brows furrowing in concentration. After a moment, he nodded. “I cannot say with complete certainty, but I think it is an Irish lullaby.”

Jonathan’s heart skipped a beat. “Irish? Are you sure?”

Hector frowned. “I just said I cannot be sure. Are you listening?”

“Oh, yes,” Jonathan chuckled.

“Where did you hear it?” Hector inquired.

Jonathan hesitated, knowing that he could not reveal the true nature of his encounter with the mysterious siren. “Oh, it’s just something I overheard at the garden party. It stuck with me for some reason.”

After all, it was not a complete lie. In a way, it was the truth.

Hector regarded him with a skeptical eye but didn’t press further. “If it’s Irish, it narrows things down slightly. There aren’t many in our circles who would know such a song. You might have to start asking around discreetly.”

Jonathan nodded, a plan beginning to form in his mind. “Thank you, Hector. You have given me a starting point.”

Hector smiled faintly. “I still don’t understand why it is so important.”

“It’s not,” Jonathan urged. “It just… puzzles me.”

That was also true. More true than Jonathan himself was willing to admit.

CHAPTER 7

An entire week had passed, and Ciara still could not get the mysterious stranger out of her mind, although she tried her best. That morning, she was in the drawing room, pretending to read. The truth was, she was genuinely trying to focus, but it was all a futile endeavor.

Suddenly, Uncle Brendan bustled into the drawing room, waving an invitation in the air with a broad smile. “Ciara, my dear,” he exclaimed, his voice filled with enthusiasm, “I just remembered that we’ve been invited to Lady Harrington’s ball! It is sure to be a splendid affair.”

He handed her the invitation which she accepted with little interest. The ornate invitation arrived weeks prior on fine parchment, adorned with delicate script and gilded edges, promising an evening of elegance and opulence. Yet, it didn’t beckon to her at all. As she inspected the invitation, a troubled expression appeared on her face. She twirled a lock of hair around her finger, hesitating before responding. “Uncle Brendan… would it be all right if I do not attend this one?”

He paused, his jovial demeanor softening as he noticed Ciara’s unease. He moved to sit beside her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Why ever not, my dear?”

Ciara glanced down at her hands, unsure of how to express her thoughts. “I… I am just not accustomed to these social events. They make me nervous. I just don’t fit in.”

Uncle Brendan shook his head. “The point is not to fit in, my dear. Not at all.”

“No?” she asked, amused. “Then, what is the point?”

He thought about it for a moment then he smiled. “The point is to find someone who equally doesn’t fit in.”

She had to laugh at his awkwardly worded statement although it was rather endearing. She wondered if the mysterious stranger was such a man. She hastily banished the thought. He fit in all too well with his devilish good looks and ease of charm. He was the perfect epitome of the ton, and she… well, she was not. That was all there was to it.

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