Chapter 22

Twenty-Two

V ictor released Christian at once, stepping back, the spell shattered in an instant. She let out a frustrated huff as she tried to steady herself. Of all the times, she thought, her irritation growing. Just when they were truly close, just when it felt as if they were finally stepping into the roles of husband and wife, someone had to ruin it.

Her eyes flashed as she turned toward the door, only for her frustration to double when she saw who had interrupted them.

Miss Peversly stood in the doorway, dressed in her usual stark black, her hands clasped tightly before her. Her expression was severe, her lips pressed into a thin line as though she had just swallowed something bitter. There was no apology in her demeanor, no recognition of the moment she had so thoroughly disrupted.

Victor's voice, hoarse and clearly strained, broke the thick silence that followed. "What is it, Miss Peversly?" he asked, his tone barely masking his irritation.

Christina didn't need to look at him to know that he was just as displeased by the interruption as she was. His voice was tight, his usual composure slipping ever so slightly.

Miss Peversly inclined her head stiffly, her tone as dry as ever. "Agnes is refusing to sleep, Your Grace," she said, directing her gaze toward Christina, though her words seemed to weigh heavily in the room. "She insists she needs the Duchess to read her a story before bed."

Christina sighed, the irritation that had been coursing through her now shifting to something more resigned. As much as she wanted to stay in that ballroom with Victor, as much as she longed to return to the closeness they had been building, her duty to the children came first. Always.

"Of course," Christina replied softly, her voice filled with the disappointment she tried to conceal. "I shall help Agnes fall asleep."

She turned to Victor briefly, offering him a rueful smile. His eyes, still dark with the intensity of their near kiss, held hers for a long moment. There was something unspoken between them, a shared frustration that hung in the air. He nodded, though his jaw remained tight, and Christina could tell that he, too, had not wanted the moment to end like this.

Christina straightened her shoulders, preparing herself to step back into her role as duchess and mother. As she walked toward the doorway, her hand brushing lightly against her skirts, she couldn't help but feel the weight of what had just slipped through her fingers.

As she passed Miss Peversly, however, her senses sharpened. The governess stood unnervingly still, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly as Christina approached. There was a flicker of something—something dark—hidden within her otherwise cold gaze.

Victor's jaw tightened as he watched Christina leave the ballroom, her figure disappearing through the doorway, leaving only the lingering trace of her perfume in the air.

The subtle, floral scent enveloped him, teasing his senses, and for a moment, he found himself wishing she would turn back. He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to take a calming breath. His hand drifted to the music box still playing in the corner, and he closed the lid with deliberate care, silencing the soft tune that had accompanied their near kiss.

His emotions, a mix of frustration and something he didn't care to name, simmered beneath the surface. The moment they had shared—so close to feeling as though they were truly man and wife—had been shattered. And now… the opportunity was lost.

"Your Grace."

The voice pulled him from his thoughts, and he turned to see Miss Peversly still standing in the doorway, her posture stiff, her expression as grave and unyielding as ever. He frowned slightly. What could she still want? Agnes's need for a story had already been addressed by Christina.

"Yes, Miss Peversly?" Victor asked, his voice measured as he straightened, adopting his usual stance of authority.

The governess stepped into the room, clasping her hands tightly in front of her as though she were contemplating something of great importance. Her eyes, however, flickered with a hint of something that Victor didn't quite catch. "I must confess, Your Grace, I am concerned."

Victor raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue. His patience for the woman was already wearing thin, though he concealed it well. "About?"

Miss Peversly's lips pressed into a thin line. "The duchess is indeed diligent with the children, but I fear her methods are rather… careless. Agnes has grown quite spoiled—insisting she cannot sleep without the duchess reading to her."

Victor's brows furrowed, irritation prickling at him. "The duchess is available to read to her, as you can see," he responded, though the edge in his tone was unmistakable.

Miss Peversly took a step closer, her voice lowering as if she were sharing a deep concern. "But, Your Grace, what if the duchess is not available? The children are becoming far too dependent on her. Katherine consults the duchess for even the smallest decisions—why, this morning she asked for her opinion on which day frock to wear."

Victor's irritation grew, but there was a part of him—an uncomfortable, practical part—that acknowledged Miss Peversly might have a point. His daughters shouldn't be overly reliant on Christina for every little thing. That was not the kind of structure he had envisioned for them.

Still, he disliked the accusatory tone in the governess's voice. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention," Victor said, his voice clipped. "I will consider it."

Miss Peversly curtsied deeply, her lips pressing into that same thin line. "Of course, Your Grace. I merely have the children's best interests at heart."

Victor nodded curtly and turned on his heel, walking toward the door. He could feel Miss Peversly's eyes on him as he left the ballroom, but he had no interest in lingering further. His initial instinct had been to head to his study, where solitude and the comfort of his books would provide some much-needed reprieve. But as he strode through the corridor, a sudden thought occurred to him, and his direction shifted.

The children's rooms.

As he neared their chambers, the soft sound of Christina's voice drifted through the partially open door. He paused, standing just outside, not wanting to interrupt. Her voice was melodic, weaving through the familiar tale she was telling.

"And then, just as the clock struck midnight, Cinderella fled from the ball, her heart racing, leaving behind her glass slipper on the grand staircase…"

Agnes's small voice piped up, interrupting the flow of the story. "Why didn't she go back for it? She must have known she left it there."

Victor leaned against the doorway, a smile tugging at his lips. From his vantage point, he could see Christina seated on the edge of Agnes's bed, her auburn hair catching the soft candlelight. Agnes was nestled under her covers, while Amelia and Cassidy sat up in their own beds, listening intently to the story. Katherine, being older, had her own chamber.

Christina chuckled softly, her laughter a sound that seemed to light up the room. "Ah, my dear, if you are patient, you will discover why Cinderella didn't return for her slipper."

"But when ?" Agnes insisted, her small hands gripping the edge of the blanket, her wide eyes filled with curiosity.

"At the end of the story, darling," Christina replied, her tone teasing. "And if you wait just a little longer, you shall know."

Agnes huffed, folding her arms in mock impatience, but soon, laughter bubbled up from the other girls, and even Agnes couldn't resist joining in.

Victor felt an unexpected chuckle escape him, though he remained in the shadows of the doorway, unwilling to intrude on the scene. A warmth spread through his chest, and for a brief moment, the frustration he had felt earlier faded. This—this was what he had wanted for his children. A sense of closeness, of warmth, of family. And Christina… Christina had brought that into their lives in a way he hadn't thought possible.

Deciding this was not a matter that needed his intervention, he turned quietly and made his way back toward his study. There would be no need to address Miss Peversly's concerns this evening—not when the children were laughing, content, and clearly thriving.

Once in his study, Victor moved to his desk and sat down heavily. He stared at the papers scattered across the surface, but his mind was far from the ledgers and reports. Instead, his thoughts lingered on Christina, on the way she had so effortlessly integrated herself into his life, into his children's lives. As much as he tried to maintain his distance, there was no denying her influence.

The door to his study creaked open, and Victor straightened, his pulse quickening ever so slightly. For a fleeting moment, he thought— hoped —that it might be Christina returning.

But instead, it was Ashing.

Victor suppressed a sigh, though his disappointment must have been evident in his expression, for Ashing immediately raised a brow as he stepped into the room.

"Well now," Ashing began, his eyes glinting with amusement. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you look rather disappointed to see me, brother."

Victor shook his head, leaning back in his chair and attempting to appear nonchalant. "Nonsense," he said, though the ease he tried to project felt forced. "You are always a welcome guest."

Ashing, ever perceptive, didn't miss a beat. He sank into the chair opposite Victor's desk and gave him a knowing look. "Were you expecting someone else?"

Victor felt his eyes narrow ever so slightly, but he waved a hand dismissively. "What nonsense are you speaking now, Ashing?"

Ashing shrugged with a playful smirk. "Oh, I don't know… your wife, perhaps?"

Victor stiffened at the mention of Christina, though he quickly masked it with a casual wave of his hand. "You are incorrigible."

Ashing laughed, his tone light but probing. "I've only known you to be this discomposed when there's a woman involved. Tell me, Victor… are you falling in love with the duchess?"

The question hit Victor harder than he expected. His gut twisted uncomfortably, and a tight knot formed in his chest. He opened his mouth to reply, but the words didn't come easily.

"I have no heart, Ashing," he finally muttered, his voice more strained than he intended.

Ashing chuckled, but then his expression turned more serious. "You may claim that, Kilton, but I've seen the change in you. The children—they're better behaved, happier. And you… you're more involved with them. You are a better father than you've been in years, and I think we both know who to thank for that."

Victor remained silent, his mind racing, though he kept his gaze steady.

Ashing leaned forward, his voice softening. "If this is what love looks like, Victor… then for once, I think you should let yourself fall."

Victor raised a hand, cutting him off before the words could settle too deeply. "I married Christina so that my children would have the mother they need. Nothing more."

As Victor spoke the words, they felt less like a statement for Ashing and more like a reminder to himself.