Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty-Six

“Your Grace! And you, Lady Whitaker, it seems you have managed to outdo yourself yet again,” Kenneth said smoothly as he approached, a devilish smile playing on his lips.

Lady Whitaker, caught mid-bite of a lemon tart, blinked up at him and quickly dabbed her mouth with a lace-trimmed handkerchief.

“Lord Gaverton! Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes? You are much too flattering—I have only managed to serve tea and ensure no one ends up wearing the pastries.”

“You sell yourself short,” Kenneth said, bowing slightly and offering her his most dazzling smile. “I consider your intimate garden parties the highlight of the season. I would also wager every guest here wishes he had your eye for entertainment. Though, of course, none of them could match your charm.”

Lady Whitaker tittered, her cheeks flushing pink beneath her lavender bonnet. “Oh, My Lord, you shall have me blushing like a schoolgirl. You are far too kind.”

Kenneth leaned in conspiratorially, lowering his voice. “Kindness has nothing to do with it, My Lady. I am merely stating the truth. That being said…” He glanced at the tart she held in her hand. “I was hoping to persuade you to part with one of your famous lemon tarts. I have been dreaming of them since your last gathering.”

Lady Whitaker laughed, her good humor evident as she thrust the plate toward him.

“Take one, you shameless flatterer. Though I warn you, the rosewater ones are only for the brave.”

“Only the brave? How could I resist such a challenge?” Kenneth plucked a tart from the plate with a flourish and took a bite, his expression transforming into one of mock solemnity.

“Delightful,” he declared. “Though perhaps not as delightful as the hostess.”

Lady Whitaker swatted his arm with her handkerchief, her laughter ringing out. “You are incorrigible, Lord Gaverton. But I like you for it. Now then, what brings you over here? Surely not just my tarts.”

“Not entirely,” Kenneth admitted, his tone turning just a shade more serious.

His gaze flicked briefly to Genevieve, who stood silently by, clearly trying to remain composed.

“I noticed you were keeping this lovely duchess all to yourself. Surely you do not intend to monopolize her company the entire afternoon?”

Lady Whitaker’s eyes darted between Kenneth and Genevieve, her expression sharpening with interest.

“Oh, I see how it is,” she said, her voice teasing. “Very well, Lord Gaverton. I shall leave you two to discuss the tarts, or whatever it is young people find so fascinating these days.”

She gave Genevieve a knowing look before bustling away, calling over her shoulder, “Do not let him sweet-talk you too much, Your Grace! He has got a tongue as smooth as butter.”

“Lady Whitaker!” Kenneth called after her, feigning scandalized offense. “You wound me.”

Lady Whitaker only laughed as she joined another group of guests, leaving Kenneth and Genevieve alone.

“Now that it is just the two of us. It is lovely to see you again, Your Grace,” he told Genevieve.

“Lord Gaverton,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “What are you doing here?”

“I might ask you the same thing,” he replied, his tone light but his eyes searching hers. “I thought you would be at Ravenshire.”

Her throat tightened. She hadn’t told anyone about her sudden departure from Wilhelm’s estate, least of all Kenneth.

“I needed some time away,” she said evasively.

Kenneth’s frown deepened. “Time away? From His Grace?”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Well… We both needed time away from each other.”

He studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “What happened?” he asked quietly.

Genevieve’s gaze dropped to the ground. She wanted to tell him, to unburden herself, but the words felt too heavy to speak.

“It is complicated,” she said finally.

Kenneth stepped closer, his voice gentle but firm.

“Your Grace, if something is wrong, you can tell me. You do not have to carry it alone.”

She looked up at him, her eyes brimming with unshed tears.

“He told you, didn’t he?” Genevieve’s voice was quiet, yet there was an edge to it—accusing, pained. “About what he planned to do with me. You are business partners after all.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Kenneth asked in confusion.

“That he wanted to marry me only to instill fear in his enemies. That I was only a tool in his vengeful plan.”

Kenneth frowned, his brows pulling together.

“I did not know this, Your Grace. Not explicitly. The Duke…” He paused, shaking his head as if searching for the right words. “He has always been a man with a strategy, always thinking two steps ahead of everyone else. But if I had known he meant to use you⁠—”

“You wouldn’t have stopped him,” Genevieve cut in, her voice sharper now. “You wouldn’t have thought it mattered.”

“That is not fair.” Kenneth’s tone was firm but without anger. “You know me better than that.”

“No, My Lord, I do not,” the words escaped her mouth, her tone cold.

Kenneth frowned, “Well then. I must amend that. Please tell me what he told you.”

Genevieve hesitated. This man worked with Wilhelm. Surely he was on the Duke’s side. And yet… From what she had seen, Lord Gaverton seemed like a kind man.

Finally, she took in a breath and exhaled before she spoke.

“He admitted it,” she said, her voice trembling. “He said… he said it was for my good. That using me to manipulate his enemies was necessary, that it would protect me in the end. As if that makes it better.”

Kenneth’s jaw tightened, and his eyes darkened. “He actually said that?”

She nodded, her throat bobbing as she swallowed hard. “He didn’t even try to deny it. And when I told him I could not stay—not after everything—he simply… he let me go. Like it never mattered.”

Kenneth muttered something under his breath, sharp and low, before turning his gaze back to her.

“That bloody fool,” he said, his voice taut with restrained anger.

Genevieve felt her face soften. The emotions on the Marquess’ face were genuine.

“It doesn’t matter, My Lord,” Genevieve said, her voice quieter now, laced with exhaustion. “I left. It is over. The Duke and I shall have separate lives from now on. You do not need to waste your time being angry on my behalf.”

Kenneth shook his head, his expression resolute. “It does matter. You matter. And if Ravenshire cannot see that…” He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “No. It is time I paid him a visit.”

“Don’t,” Genevieve said quickly, her voice rising. “You will be wasting your breath. He will not change.”

“Maybe not,” Kenneth said, his tone softening slightly as he looked at her, but there was an unyielding determination in his eyes. “But someone needs to remind him that happiness isn’t a game of strategy. It is not something you win by sacrificing the people who care for you. It is time that bastard went after it for himself—for you. And it is damn well time you experienced some happiness too.”

Genevieve stared at him, her lips parting as though to protest, but the words wouldn’t come.

There was something so unwavering in Kenneth’s expression that it stole the breath from her chest.

Before she could say anything, he stepped back, nodding firmly.

“It was a pleasure seeing you, Your Grace,” he said, his voice lighter now, as if trying to leave her with a semblance of calm. “I assure you, I am letting this go.”

And with that, Kenneth turned and walked away, leaving Genevieve standing alone, her heart caught somewhere between despair and the faintest flicker of hope.

As he stepped away, Marianne appeared at her side, her gaze flicking between them with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

“Are you all right, darling?” she asked.

Genevieve managed a small smile. “I think I will be, after some cake, perhaps?”

Marianne linked her arm through Genevieve’s and led her back toward the tea tables.

The pain in her heart was still there, and she hoped that Lady Whitaker’s pastries would ease it.