Chapter 21

CHAPTER 21

“ A h, here you both are. I trust the day was productive?” the Dowager Duchess greeted Gemma and Frederick as she left the library and carefully scrutinized the two of them.

Gemma felt a glow of quiet satisfaction. The day had gone better than she could have wished. Her suggestions regarding the orphaned boys and Redding’s farm had been remarkably well received and even praised by Frederick.

Gemma was inwardly thrilled by his compliments, and she smiled to herself as they walked inside. His soft and thoughtful gaze had lingered on her for a beat longer than expected as they had crossed the threshold, making her cheeks flush with self-consciousness.

Frederick turned to his grandmother with a light in his eyes that Gemma hadn’t seen before.

“Productive is an understatement, Grandmother. Miss Bradford managed to solve a rather delicate issue in the village. Thanks to her, Redding now has the help he has been needing, and the orphaned boys have found a home.”

Vivian’s eyes shone with pride and she turned to Gemma, her smile warm and admiring. “My dear, that is remarkable. I have heard that Mrs. Winslow took in those boys, but I had no idea things had become so difficult for her.”

Gemma’s blush deepened, her head dropping slightly. “It was a small thing. I only suggested it because it made sense to try.” She looked up, her cheeks still heated. “Mr. Redding needs the help and the boys needed somewhere to go. But it truly was nothing. Anyone could have seen the solution.”

Frederick raised an eyebrow, his tone gentle but firm. “I do not think anyone would have thought of it.”

Vivian clasped her hands together, her face beaming with genuine approval. “I must agree with my grandson, Miss Bradford.”

“Well, that would be a first,” Frederick muttered under his breath.

Vivian waved her hand at him, dismissing his remark. “As I said, it is this sort of… kindness, and quick thinking that I seek in my companions, my dear. Well done, I say.”

Gemma smiled back, feeling a warmth in her chest that was almost overwhelming. It had been so long since anyone had taken note of her efforts or valued them. To receive such praise from both Frederick and the Dowager was more than she’d expected.

“Well, I certainly believe this is a cause for celebration,” Vivian declared as she clapped her hands with elation, her voice rising with delight. “My boy, you must stay for dinner. It would make the evening all the brighter.”

Frederick paused, his hesitation momentarily dimming his expression. “I have responsibilities at Blackridge, Grandmother. I had planned to return this evening.”

Vivian fixed him with a look that brooked no refusal, one eyebrow arching in gentle reprimand. “Come now, Frederick. There is no harm in taking one evening off. Besides, I have already sent word to the kitchen to prepare something special.” Her gaze softened as she spoke, and she added lightly, “you are already here, dear. Stay and enjoy yourself for once.”

Gemma held her breath. She was far too invested in his answer to move or breathe. She willed him to agree to stay.

The thought of spending a relaxing evening with him in the warmth of the manor’s dining hall made her heart soar to an altitude she couldn’t ignore.

Finally, Frederick relented, his expression relaxing as he glanced at Gemma and back to his grandmother. “Very well. If you insist, Grandmother. But I shall return to Blackridge tomorrow at first light.”

Vivian’s eyes sparkled with triumph, and she motioned for them both to follow her deeper into the library as she rang for a maid to bring some refreshments. “It is settled then! Let us sit for a drink and enjoy a few moments together before we dress for dinner.”

When the maid returned with glasses of rich, fragrant port, Vivian lifted hers in a toast, her eyes and smile both warm and appreciative. “To Gemma for her kindness, her quick thinking, and the gift she has shared with our village today.”

Frederick raised his glass, his gaze resting on Gemma with an intensity that made her feel both delighted and bashful.

“To Gemma,” he echoed.

Gemma’s smile grew, her heart swelling as she lifted her own glass. “Thank you both. It means the world to me to be here with both of you.”

They drank, and Gemma let the port’s warmth spread through her, adding to the lovely sense of contentment the day had provided. As the conversation drifted to lighter topics, Vivian’s stories took on a lively tone, her eyes sparkling as she regaled them with tales from her youth.

“Did you know, Frederick,” she began, chuckling, “your grandfather used to warn the entire neighborhood when I let loose on one of our midnight horse rides?” She winked at Gemma. “He told them to watch out for a wild lady riding like the wind.”

Frederick laughed, shaking his head. “That sounds entirely like you, Grandmother. And entirely unlike him.”

“Oh, indeed,” she replied, undaunted. “I always felt he should have loosened up a bit more. That man did not know the meaning of the word relaxation.”

The time passed quickly and Vivian glanced up at the clock with a start. “My, look at the hour,” she said, placing her empty glass aside. “Dinner will be ready soon and I have not even begun to get myself ready.” She looked over to Gemma with a kind smile. “Perhaps we should all take a moment to freshen up.”

Gemma stood, feeling a bit reluctant to leave the warm confines of the library, but excited at the prospect of the evening to come. “That sounds perfect, Your Grace.”

Frederick, who had also risen, gave his grandmother a slight nod. “Shall we meet in the dining hall in an hour?”

Vivian offered an impish grin and nodded approvingly. “Indeed. And Frederick, do try to look as dashing as I know you can.”

Frederick rolled his eyes in playful exasperation. “I shall do my best for you, Grandmother.”

As they left the library, Frederick’s gaze briefly lingered on Gemma.

It was enough, however, to set her pulse racing all over again.

Gemma ran her hands over the skirt of her gown, taking in her reflection with a mix of trepidation and quiet pride.

The dress was a rich, deep blue that brought out the color of her eyes, and the delicate lace edging at the neckline framed her neck and shoulders in an unexpectedly flattering way. The Dowager had insisted on the alterations last week, and though Gemma had been reluctant to let the seamstress do too much, she had to admit the result was striking.

She dabbed a touch of rouge on her cheeks, something she almost never did, and now, seeing the slight flush it added, hoped it was enough to conceal her own nervousness.

Finally ready, she breathed deeply, exhaled and made her way down the corridor. She had taken longer than she had originally planned, repeatedly fussing over her hair and gown, and expected to find both Vivian and Frederick waiting for her to make an appearance. When she opened the door her eyes widened in surprise. Frederick was alone and stood by the hearth with a glass of whisky captured between the tips of his fingers.

He looked up as she entered, and the room seemed to settle. Frederick was dressed in the same dark attire he’d worn to the ball. A sharp black, finely tailored coat and a pristine white shirt underneath. His hair was combed back, though a few unruly strands fell forward, and his gaze held a warm affection for which she hadn’t quite been prepared.

“Good evening,” she managed, hoping that she was not imagining the tenderness in his expression as he looked at her.

“Good evening, Miss Bradford.” His voice was steady and welcoming and she felt a spark of pleasure at the sound. “You look… lovely.”

Gemma’s cheeks warmed and she took a moment to collect herself, offering him a small smile in the process. “Thank you. It was Her Grace’s choice. She has quite an eye for choosing the right color.”

“Seems my grandmother has an eye for many things,” he replied, his eyes glancing up to meet hers with a focused energy that made her breath catch in her throat. “Though it seems she is not present at the moment.”

Gemma tilted her head in surprise, glancing around the room. “Oh—she is not? I had assumed she would be here with us.”

Frederick shook his head, gesturing for her to join him. “She does enjoy making dramatic entrances, but I suspect we may have come down too early.”

Gemma nodded and made her way over to the armchair opposite him.

When Frederick offered her a glass of whiskey, she accepted it with a grateful nod, taking a sip to calm her nerves. The whiskey was warm, smoother than she expected, and it lent her a touch of courage.

She glanced at Frederick, only to find him already watching her.

“Was your first day of introductions to the tenants as taxing as you feared?” she asked, trying to sound casual despite vibrating on the inside.

Frederick let out a short chuckle that was surprisingly warm. “Taxing, perhaps, but mostly humbling. Many of them remember my father, and the comparisons… well, they do not always feel fair.”

Gemma gave him an understanding smile. “I believe that the tenants we met with were rather impressed, Your Grace. You listened to them and you let them know that their troubles and opinions mattered. That is not something every Duke would do.”

Frederick swirled his whiskey thoughtfully. “Perhaps not every Duke has such a resourceful companion,” he replied.

Gemma felt her cheeks grow warm again and took another sip of whiskey, feeling a pleasant glow starting to settle over her.

She hoped the slight tremble of her hand wasn’t noticeable. “You give me far too much credit. I was only trying to help where I could.”

“Perhaps,” he mused, his gaze steady on her. “But your innate kindness is not something you can or should downplay.”

They fell silent, sipping their drinks, and Gemma found herself taking a larger gulp to calm her nerves than she had intended. The electricity she had felt when they were together last had returned. She wondered if he also felt it, or if she was simply imagining it in her own racing thoughts.

After a few more moments the door opened and the butler stepped in, offering a slight bow. “My apologies, Your Grace, Miss Bradford. The Dowager Duchess is not feeling well and has requested a tray in her rooms. She bids you both enjoy dinner without her.”

“Of course she did,” Frederick muttered with a shake of his head, and then he nodded. “Thank you, Jennings. Please tell her we hope she feels better soon.”

As the butler closed the door, Frederick turned to Gemma, offering his arm. “Shall we, then?”

She smiled, sliding her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Thank you. I suppose it would be silly to let a wonderful meal go to waste.”

The warmth of his sinewy forearm beneath her hand and the quiet strength of his presence sent an electric thrill throughout her body. She was both anxious and exhilarated, and realized with a sudden jolt that she wanted him to be as affected by this moment as she was.

They entered the dining room together, and Frederick pulled her chair out for her. She sank into it.

“Thank you,” she murmured, her pulse quickening as he took the seat beside her rather than across, a subtle choice that made the space between them feel pleasantly close.

Frederick poured them each a fresh glass of wine. Just as she took her first sip he leaned forward, his voice low and casual.

“So, tell me, how did you come to be so adept at solving problems like these? I cannot imagine convent life provided much opportunity for managing farms or orphaned children.”

Gemma laughed softly, surprised by the gentle teasing in his tone. “Oh, you would be surprised. The convent seemed to believe that keeping me busy with hard labor would eventually tame me into submission, so I was quite often assigned to tasks in the field or tending to livestock. Eventually, I learned to enjoy it.”

Frederick’s eyebrows raised slightly and a shine of admiration entered his eyes. “I would not have expected you’d develop such a skill to that extend from convent training.”

She shrugged, taking a modest sip of her wine. “I suppose I have learned to make the best of situations. That, and the fact that the sheep were often far better conversationalists than the nuns.”

Frederick laughed—a rich, genuine sound that made Gemma’s heart flutter.

“I cannot argue with that,” he said.

Their first course arrived, and as they picked at their meals, Gemma glanced up at Frederick, watching the way he placed each morsel into his mouth and how his tongue brushed over his lips after each bite. Her mind wandered back to how that same tongue had felt on her skin as it coursed over the hollows of her neck and shoulder.

“Is something the matter?” Frederick asked, snapping her out of her brief fantasy.

“No, no. I am fine,” she mumbled, and decided to cover up her staring by asking a question, “So… have you ever left Blackridge, Your Grace?”

Frederick arched an eyebrow at Gemma to let her know he had indeed noticed her gawking at him, then leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting to the candles on the table as though they brought back memories from distant lands.

“I was young when I left Blackridge,” he began, his voice quieter than before, as though he was speaking less to her and more to himself. “Barely twenty, eager to see something beyond these familiar lands. I traveled to Edinburgh first, then farther north, into the Highlands of Scotland. It is wild country up there, rugged and unyielding.” He gave a slight, wry smile. “Beautiful, but not easy to live in.”

Gemma watched him, fascinated by the way his face softened with the memory.

“What drew you to Scotland?” she asked.

He considered her question, his fingers brushing the stem of his wineglass thoughtfully.

“I suppose it was the mystery of it. It seemed untouched, unconquered. And the people there, well…” he chuckled, “they are as fierce as the land. I spent months there, listening to old tales from villagers as I explored their towns. I even climbed the hills to ruins of castles no one has cared for in centuries. At the time I thought I might find some kind of calling in it all.”

“And… did you?” Gemma asked, genuinely curious.

Frederick shook his head as a measure of self-deprecation occupied his thoughts. “No. But it taught me something important, all the same. Home is less about a place than about a sense of belonging.”

Have I ever belonged anywhere?

Gemma gulped as the thought popped into her head.

No, now is not the time to ponder that .

He took a sip of wine before continuing. “After Scotland I turned south towards France and then traveled across the continent. Paris was… well, everything they say of it. Every corner seemed steeped in art and extravagance. But even there I found myself feeling strangely restless. I was the same in Italy. The cities were vibrant and the people were intriguing, but they did not belong to me. It was like passing through someone else’s life.”

Gemma tilted her head, her gaze never leaving his distant one. “Is that why you came back?”

He met her eyes with a serious gleam in his own. “Yes. For all its faults, Blackridge is my home. There is a stubborn pride to this land, a weight of history that belongs to me and my family. For better or worse, I am bound to it. There is something to be said for cultivating one’s own ground, rather than merely passing through the fields of others.”

She smiled at his words, seeing a part of him that went deeper than the walls he so carefully kept around himself. “It sounds like Blackridge holds more than just history for you. You are as much a part of it, as it is of you.”

Frederick’s mouth curved in a faint, reluctant smile. “Perhaps. It is strange how a place can tie itself to you. The longer I was away, the more I found myself thinking of it. The hills, the fields, even the storms that batter the old stones of Blackridge.” He paused, “Blackridge is flawed, as am I. But it is mine to care for and, I hope, to pass down one day.”

She was enraptured by his words and his voice, which was infused with a nostalgic warmth.

“You have seen so much of the world,” she mused, cutting into her food but not really tasting it. “Still, I assume you never wished to leave Blackridge for good, is that correct?”

Frederick shook his head, a serious gleam in his eyes. “No, I have not, and I never will.”

Gemma nodded, their eyes meeting across the table. “I believe I understand. It is a beautiful thing to help people, to find a way to pass a treasure to the generations that will follow. I felt that way in the village today, talking with the people who lived there and had invested so much of themselves in their land and their families. It is heartwarming to see that even a small gesture could mean so much.”

The second course was brought in, though neither of them seemed to pay much attention to it. They continued talking, debating the merits of books they both loved, discussing the few paintings in the room and laughing over tales about Vivian’s mischievous youth.

It was well into the meal before Gemma realized she’d barely touched her food, but the warmth in her chest—whether from the wine or from Frederick’s attention—made her feel fuller than any meal could. As he recounted a tale about a raucous masquerade ball in Venice, she laughed so freely it almost startled her.

It was, she realized, the happiest she’d been in a very long time.