Page 53 of His Auctioned Duchess
Before she could reply, a voice carried down the corridor. “Lord Fernsby.”
Richard had arrived.
He descended the staircase with that unhurried grace that made every movement seem deliberate. His dark coat fit him impeccably, his expression courteous yet controlled. The faintest trace of a smile touched his lips as he extended his hand.
“Your Grace,” Nicholas greeted, bowing with measured respect. “I must thank you for your hospitality—and for taking such good care of my daughter.”
Richard’s smile tightened almost imperceptibly. “It is I who should thank her—for tolerating me.”
A ripple of polite laughter followed. Evan nodded approval, John, who had just joined them, bit back a grin, andNicholas clapped a hand on the Duke’s shoulder with paternal satisfaction.
Caroline watched the exchange, feeling oddly displaced. Once, she would have relished her father’s praise, but now it landed heavy as lead. The match that filled him with pride only deepened her confusion.
Richard caught her eye briefly. His look was unreadable—a flicker of understanding, perhaps apology—but it vanished the instant Nicholas turned to speak again.
“You’ve built quite an estate,” her father said, surveying the portraits that lined the walls. “Solid. Commanding. Just as a duke’s home should be.”
Richard inclined his head. “It is an inheritance of duty, not of pride.”
Nicholas chuckled. “A wise distinction. Though I daresay pride has its place—so long as one knows how to wield it.”
Caroline’s stomach tightened. Her father’s voice carried that familiar note of authority, the one that had once dictated her every decision, from the ribbons in her hair to the men she was allowed to entertain. Now it bound her again, only gilded with title and promise.
When they moved into the drawing room, servants arrived with tea and cakes, conversation flowing easily. John charmedthe housemaids, Evan praised the Duke’s stables, and Nicholas spoke of lineage, politics, and duty.
Through it all, Caroline smiled, answered when addressed, and kept her thoughts tightly leashed.
Later, when the company dispersed to refresh for dinner, she slipped into the garden. The air was cool and damp, the scent of rain mingling with the sweetness of roses. For the first time that day, she could breathe.
She found John beneath the old elm near the fountain, tossing crumbs to the birds. He looked up when she approached, grinning as always. “Escaping already?”
“Temporarily.” She sank onto the bench beside him. “If I stay inside much longer, Father will begin measuring curtains for my nursery.”
John laughed. “You exaggerate.”
“Do I?” she asked quietly.
His laughter faded. “You’re unhappy.”
“I’m… uncertain.”
He studied her face, his usual levity softening. “About the Duke?”
“Yes. And about myself.” She drew her shawl tighter. “I do not know if what I feel is affection or simply fascination. He is… impossible. And yet I can’t seem to look away.”
John’s grin returned, though gentler now. “That sounds suspiciously like you might be falling for him.”
“Don’t say it,” she groaned.
He nudged her shoulder. “You’ve always run from cages, Caro. Perhaps this one isn’t as closed as you think.”
She looked toward the hall, where lights glowed through the windows and Richard’s silhouette moved behind one curtain. “It feels closed enough.”
John followed her gaze, his voice dropping. “He watches you, you know. As though you’re already his.”
Her heart gave a painful twist. “And what if I don’t want to be anyone’s?”
He smiled faintly. “Then make him earn it. You’ve always been good at making men chase.”
