Page 61 of Wedded to the Deviant Duke

“They are, indeed,” Charlotte hid her grimace far better than Thalia expected, lifting her hands so the ladies could get a better look. “I have one here for you, in fact. For my upcoming Seasonal event—do let me know if you can attend.”

“Oh, but of course!” Lady Worsley looked practically giddy, barely able to keep her composure as she accepted the invitation wholeheartedly. “I’ll ensure my schedule is cleared—perhaps I can entice you to join me on a stroll while we await the exhibit? There’s a fascinating display of watercolors just around the corner, and I’d be most honored to ensure your invitations reach the right hands.” She paused, eyeing Thalia with a nervous smile. “You are most welcome to join as well, Miss—ah, Lady Thalia.”

Charlotte looked ready to scoff and admonish the woman, but Thalia simply shook her head. “I’m afraid my place is by the duke’s side today, Lady Worsley. But thank you for the invitation regardless; we’ll have to try and get together soon.”

With a curt nod, Lady Worsley soon slipped back into the crowd with Charlotte in tow, her entourage following close behind. A small snort came from Gabriel, and Thalia glanced up to give him a slight scowl.

“Be nice.”

“She took my sister hostage,” Gabriel commented lightly. “I shall be as unpleasant as I’d like. Besides, I have not yet forgotten her insulting behavior at the park’s opening.”

“She hardly had a choice, treating me as she did,” Thalia insisted. “Society is quite cruel to women who act outside the norm.”

Her comment gave him pause, and instead of an audible response, Gabriel simply indicated his head forward. Thalia allowed him to direct her across the lawn, the pair quietly observing a number of art pieces slowly being covered by elegant white tents.

It really would have been enjoyable, taking in the artwork beneath a nice, sunny sky. Still, the day was pleasant enough to tolerate, and Thalia found herself keenly interested in a number of oil-based portraits.

“Do you think you’d ever put your work on display?” Gabriel asked.

“Hardly,” Thalia replied, lingering at a particular piece depicting a mother and her newborn child amidst a garden of wildflowers and tangling vines.

“You’re certainly talented enough,” Gabriel insisted.

Thalia sighed lightly, glancing up to face Gabriel once more. “Talent means very little without connections, I’m afraid. I have very few left as is, unless Giles has ruined those as well.” She knew what he wanted to say—that she had him as a connection, that he could and would do anything to ensure she was happy—but Gabriel Harding remained silent, observing the piece for himself.

“It’s quite lovely, isn’t it?”

Thalia blinked, realizing the question had been directed her way. She turned to a rather eccentric-looking gentleman beside her, far beyond her in years and sporting impressively thick facial hair that he kept combed and neatly waxed.

Curls of sandy-gray hair looked considerably lighter in what little sunlight poked through the clouds, and his large spectacles enhanced the golden-brown flecks amongst olive-tinged eyes.

“The painting, you mean?”

He nodded, stroking a curling part of his moustache with a grin. “Reminds me of the day my child was born. Her mother—bless her soul—was always the type to indulge in nature. I do my best to allow my daughter the freedom to explore her interests, though some may call me quite foolish for doing so.”

Thalia blinked again, a sense of familiarity gripping her completely. “I don’t mean to sound intrusive, but your daughter wouldn’t happen to be named Madeline, would she?”

The older man smiled brightly. “Why, yes, she is! You know her?”

“My—ah, suitor’s sister—knows her quite well,” Thalia explained. “Charlotte Harding, of Stonewell Manor.”

He adjusted his spectacles, eyes widening as he stared at Gabriel. “Oh, gracious me—that is you, isn’t it, Gabriel?”

“Hello, Mr. Beaumont,” Gabriel replied, a touch of warmth added to his tone. “I was hoping we’d cross each other’s paths today.”

“Where there is art, a Beaumont is never far behind!” Mr. Beaumont’s laughter wheezed, and Thalia wondered if she should perhaps offer him a drink. “So, who is this lovely lady who so eagerly stands beside you, Your Grace?”

“Thalia Sutton, once of the Oslay Hall,” Gabriel introduced.

Thalia offered a polite curtsy, watching as Mr. Beaumont’s face fell into something more somber. “Ah, yes…I heard about that business not long after arriving in London. Terribly sorry about your father, Miss Sutton, and for that cousin of yours.”

“Th-That’s quite alright,” Thalia said hastily. “Giles…is doing his best as the new marquess. He hardly had the time to train for the position.”

“Well, one hardly needs training to be a decent person,” Mr. Beaumont scoffed. “There’s plenty of rumors swirling around him to convince me of his lack of moral compass. But, I hardly wish to take up too much time with such dour conversation; Gabriel, send me a letter and we’ll have dinner! Of course, you are invited as well, Miss Sutton,” he added with a smile. “Any friend of my daughter is a friend of mine.”

Thalia offered another curtsy as Gabriel bowed, the pair watching Mr. Beaumont slowly make his way back towards the front. After a moment, she gave Gabriel a hard glare, scrutinizing his face for any tell he may give away.

“You hoped to cross paths with him, hmm?”

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