Chapter 30
The People Who Witnessed a Romance
Classie moved in with such suddenness that her features were nearly pressed against Kishin’s. Only then did she find the breath to whisper her question.
“Are we to be alone?”
Watching her physical speed outpace her words, Dernick felt a sharp twitch of irritation pull at his mouth. It wasn’t just her proximity; her entire demeanor shifted into something softer and more intimate the moment she turned from him to Kishin.
Goaded by a nameless frustration, Dernick interrupted them.
“Planning to desert me already, Kishin?”
Kishin didn’t even shift his gaze away from Classie as he answered.
“His Grace is currently searching for you.”
“And you’re hiding behind my father’s authority just to shake me off?”
“The matter involves Princess Saze.”
The temperature in Kishin’s voice dropped so drastically that Classie, who had been focused entirely on him, felt a jolt of clarity return. She watched Dernick’s retreating back with a flicker of genuine worry.
“Is he all right? Sir Dernick seemed quite troubled.”
“The situation is tangled,” Kishin replied vaguely.
“Does it concern the princess?”
Classie caught herself, a bit shaken by her own slip. Princess Saze was a name that carried heavy political weight—hardly a topic for lighthearted garden parties. Since she didn’t truly care about Dernick’s affairs and didn’t want to put Kishin in an awkward position, she pivoted the conversation immediately.
“Whatever the case, what was so important that you insisted on privacy?”
Kishin seemed relieved to abandon the topic of his friend and the princess. He followed her lead with practiced ease.
“Direct communication prevents the rot of rumors. I felt it best that we speak without an audience to avoid further confusion.”
Classie gave a small, playful pout. “Most of the confusion originated from your side, if I recall.”
“I won’t attempt to argue that point.”
Despite his admission, he didn’t appear particularly remorseful.
“If anyone else treated me this way,” Classie remarked, “I’d be too furious to look at them ever again.”
“Does that mean you still wish to look at me?”
“You have a handsome face,” she teased. “I’m willing to make an exception for your looks.”
A quiet, genuine laugh escaped him.
“I’m torn between offering my gratitude to my parents for my features or to you, Miss Classie, for your mercy.”
His lightheartedness broke the tension. Classie found herself laughing along, her fleeting annoyance dissolving as she turned back toward him. Any lingering thought of Dernick’s sour expression had vanished completely.
Suddenly, Classie felt a prickle of intuition—the unmistakable sensation of being watched. She turned her head, searching for the source of the heavy gaze.
“Where has Dernick gone? Surely he hasn’t vanished on us once more.”
The Grand Duchess Siwil, the center of a laughing social circle, let the question drop as she scanned the crowd. Her admirers immediately began looking around for the young heir, but there wasn’t a trace of his cloak to be found.
The Marchioness of Gosville let out a soft sigh. “Kishin is missing as well. No doubt the two of them have wandered off together again.”
The Grand Duchess gave a dismissive wave toward the Marchioness’s skirts, scoffing gently. “Let them be. It’s a relief when they’re together. With a friend as grounded and reliable as Kishin, Dernick is far less likely to find trouble. I don’t worry when your son is looking after mine.”
The Marchioness kept her private agreement to herself. It wasn’t just motherly pride; Kishin possessed a level of composure that made him seem decades older than his peers. Even a wild spirit like Dernick seemed to settle in his presence.
However, she chose a more modest response for the sake of conversation. “Kishin is hardly steady; he’s simply dull. He’s far too reserved. Young men ought to have the energy and social grace that Dernick displays.”
The Grand Duchess merely smiled, knowing the Marchioness was being humble. As they spoke of their sons, a noblewoman standing nearby took the opportunity to contribute.
“Actually, I observed Sir Dernick earlier. He was accompanied by a stunning young woman. They looked particularly close.”
The smile on the Grand Duchess’s face vanished instantly.
The noblewoman, oblivious, turned to her companion. “Don’t you agree? She was exceptionally graceful.”
“Oh, I remember her! The one who had that charming little stumble with her words? She was quite endearing, though I couldn’t place her family.”
As the women shared a laugh, the Grand Duchess’s mood grew palpably dark. The Marchioness of Gosville took a quiet sip of her tea, noting the shift immediately. It took a few more moments for the gossiping women to realize the atmosphere had soured, at which point they fell into a terrified silence.
The Grand Duchess was the sun of the social world; her silence was a command that hushed the entire vicinity. After a tense interval, she set her cup down and stood, pulling the Marchioness up with her.
“A walk, perhaps?”
The Marchioness understood the unspoken intent and rose without hesitation. She caught the eye of the woman who had mentioned Dernick, wordlessly asking for a direction. Following the woman’s subtle gesture, the Marchioness linked arms with the Grand Duchess and steered her toward the path Dernick had taken.
“This way, Your Grace.”
The Grand Duchess remained stony-faced as they walked. The Marchioness stayed silent, understanding the burden of having a son like Dernick. She felt a brief, private surge of gratitude that Kishin was so different—he never caused her this sort of public embarrassment.
That relief was short-lived.
“Kishin?” the Grand Duchess whispered.
The Marchioness blinked, startled out of her thoughts. The Grand Duchess nodded toward a nearby archway.
“That man by the corridor, speaking with the young lady—is that not your son?”
The Marchioness looked, and her heart nearly stopped.
Kishin Hayward, her stoic, serious son, was standing with a woman she didn’t recognize. More shocking was his expression; he was wearing a soft, tender smile she hadn’t seen since he was a small child.
She rubbed her eyes, certain it was an illusion, but the reality remained. Her son—the man who claimed he would never marry, who insisted on living for his duty, and who told her to leave the family legacy to his sister Janet—was looking at this stranger with unmistakable affection.
The Grand Duchess noted the Marchioness’s shock and felt her own mood lighten.
“It appears Sir Kishin is quite smitten,” she remarked.
“I don’t know who she is,” the Marchioness managed to say. “She wasn’t on my guest list. However, if she gained entry, she must have an invitation. I shall discover her identity shortly.”
While Classie was lost in the glow of her reconciliation with Kishin, Merran was a nervous wreck back at the house. She had spent the last several hours pacing, her eyes glued to every clock she passed.
Karen, filled with concern, had abandoned her chores to keep watch over her.
“Miss, please stop this. A messenger already arrived to say Sir Dernick wouldn’t be coming.”
“That man was suspicious,” Merran countered, her pace never slowing. “He wouldn’t name his employer or his house. He just kept repeating that the visit was canceled. I don’t trust it.”
Karen sighed. She couldn’t argue with that, but the three-hour vigil was taking its toll. Finally, Merran’s strength gave out.
“I can’t do this anymore. My legs are failing.”
“Sit, Miss. I’ll prepare some hot coffee for you.”
Merran retreated to her chambers while Karen headed for the kitchen. On her way, she crossed paths with Anna, hoping to squeeze some information out of her regarding Classie’s secret outing. Instead, she found herself trapped in fifteen minutes of Anna’s relentless, cheerful chatter.
She only escaped when the butler summoned Anna elsewhere. Karen quickly finished the tray of refreshments and headed back upstairs.
The muffled sound of a carriage approaching the estate reached her ears. Karen assumed it was Classie and hurried into the bedroom to tell Merran—only to find the girl already at the window, her brow furrowed as she stared down at the drive.
Karen set the tray down and offered a cup. “That must be Miss Classie returning.”
Merran didn’t move. She didn’t even acknowledge the coffee. Her entire focus was on the scene below.
“What is it?” Karen asked, sensing the tension.
“I’ve discovered where my aunt went.”
Outside, Classie was descending from the carriage, her hand resting in the palm of a gentleman. He was strikingly handsome, with vibrant red hair and a cool, commanding aura that felt almost magnetic.
Karen’s jaw dropped. “Is Miss Classie… on a date with that man?”
