Asoft evening breeze wafted amongst the guests gathered on Ash and Amelia’s terrace. The babble of voices filled the air. Sienna took a long sip of her drink, the sharp lemon bursting on her tongue.
On the far side of the terrace, as far away from her as it was possible to get without standing on the grass, was Nolan. He’d been put back together, his hair now impossibly neat and his cravat so artfully arranged it was a masterpiece of perfection. It was as if the idyllic afternoon had never happened and her heart ached at the thought. She understood now what her sister and Ash had been saying. She and Nolan complemented each other; their personalities fitted together like a jigsaw puzzle. He was not dull, just quiet, and she did not need him to tame her because he thought she was wonderful the way that she was. There was no effort, no need to be someone different. He had tried to be open with her at the end of the day and she had failed to respond to it. If she got another chance, she would not waste it again.
It was not looking like an opportunity was going to present itself easily. Nolan was deep in conversation with Ash and had not looked in her direction once. She couldn’t believe that she had once thought him dull. The expression he wore while in Society hid a man with as complex feelings as her own, someone she had enjoyed getting to know, someone with whom she could imagine laughing for a long time to come.
‘They are going to announce the winners of the scavenger hunt soon,’ said Seraphine, coming to stand to her left. ‘I should not tell you, but I voted for you and the Duke to win the French challenge.’
‘What did Nol…His Grace choose to submit in the end?’ she asked, hoping it sounded as if there were several options they had both been debating.
‘Ah,’ said Seraphine softly. ‘I did wonder if you had seen it.’ She handed Sienna a piece of paper.
The crisp white sheet contained elegant handwriting that looked to be in the shape of a poem. There were a few words she could make out but her French was not as good as it had been. She pointed a finger to one or two that she did know. ‘This is hair and this is eyes, but I am afraid I cannot understand the rest. I must confess that Nolan took control of the final task. I think…I think he wanted to get away from me in the end.’
Seraphine’s eyes sparkled with laughter. ‘Oh, my dear girl. This poem speaks from the heart. It is about a young man in the early stages of love, with all the agony of hope that state brings. It is meant to be read in French, the language of love, but I think you should hear it straight from the poet himself.’
Sienna was barely listening. Nolan was smiling at something Ash was saying and her stomach was squirming, half-desperate, half-hopeful. ‘You must tell me who wrote it so that I can look it up in English.’
Seraphine laughed softly. ‘It is a new composition. The Duke of Berferdshire wrote it himself. It is quite clear he wrote it about you.’
The world stopped.
Her heart thudded.
Nolan turned from his host, his gaze unerringly meeting hers.
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