Chapter 265

Chapter 265

Those summers spent at More’s estate, where she and Lucius had gone from friends to lovers, held some of Deatrice’s most cherished memories. So when she heard how Elwood had abandoned Lucius, she had been deeply shocked.

After all, hadn’t she also abandoned him once as a lover? Who was she to feel outraged? And yet, the rupture in their friendship felt to Deatrice like the final end of that precious summer.

Even after their marriage, Lucius had never once brought up More, nor had he mentioned the other friends who had betrayed him. So to hear him casually suggest inviting Charlie More over now was startling.

Deatrice forced herself to reply playfully.

“If Shally More and I had truly been close, I wouldn’t have ended up becoming your lover.”

“Really?” Lucius asked, surprised.

“I only became your lover because I was so lonely at More’s house. Didn’t you know?”

At that, he burst into laughter. “What an amusing story. I know full well you came to that house on purpose to see me.”

Her cheeks flushed slightly, not expecting him to be so blunt. She tilted her chin in defiance, trying to deny it.

“You must be mistaken. You came after I was already there. I went to that house first.”

“Of course, my love. It’s always me who surrenders in the end.”

Lucius’s indulgent smile seemed to suggest he would let it go, but her curiosity was already piqued.

“No, really, tell me. Did you know I’d be there?”

“…Maybe,” he answered evasively.

“Lucius,” she insisted.

With her stern tone, he finally sighed and spoke. “Didn’t you send me a signal during the last ball?”

“A signal?”

Deatrice sounded confused. Lucius nodded, though he seemed to realize that she wouldn’t remember such a subtle signal from years ago. After a pause, he asked, “Have you finished eating?”

Deatrice glanced down at her plate, then nodded. Lucius signaled for her to rise, and when she did, he took two wine glasses and escorted her as if they were attending a ball.

“Imagine this: it’s the dead of winter, and we’re at Max Lowell’s engagement party. Lights everywhere, the hall is packed with people, and the music… it’s Gallet’s Serenade.”

“Number seven?”

“No, number three, second movement.”

Despite knowing she preferred number seven, he had deliberately chosen number three, second movement. Perhaps this wasn’t just a random memory but a deliberate recreation of that night. Following his lead, Deatrice closed her eyes and tried to envision everything as he described.

When she opened her eyes again, Lucius was smiling deeply, spinning her around as if they were truly dancing. Pulling her close briefly, then letting her go, he maintained his grip on the two glasses of wine, bowed, and introduced himself.

“The man who just danced with you—why, that was Max Lowell’s cousin, Don Lowell.”

“Don Lowell? You’re saying I danced with him?”

She squinted, clearly skeptical. Don Lowell was practically a forgotten noble, bankrupt from gambling debts and abandoned by his wife. Lucius nodded with a calm assurance.

“Indeed. I was so astounded I kept a mental tally of all your dance partners that night, so don’t doubt my memory.”

Though his tone was playful, Deatrice could tell he meant it. But she didn’t quite understand.

If he’d been watching her so closely, why hadn’t he asked her to dance himself?

Compared to Don Lowell, Lucius was by far the more distinguished man. If she had danced with Don, then surely, had Lucius asked, she would have danced with him as many times as he wanted.

Lucius must have known all this. Yet instead of asking her to dance, he spent his time memorizing the names of the men she danced with. Why?

Whether he noticed her curiosity or read something in her expression, Lucius gave her an answer with a faint smile.

“Sometimes, you looked for me.”

He smiled in a way that brought back memories from years ago.

“I thought about asking you to dance—more than once. The idea was always there. But sometimes, I was afraid of wanting more. Other times, I didn’t want to be just another face passing through your life. And then… there were moments when, after the dance ended, you’d scan the room, searching for me. I could tell.”

The memory surfaced for her then.

She couldn’t say for certain if it had been Don Lowell, but she remembered ending a dance with someone who smelled faintly of alcohol. Afterward, her eyes had wandered, searching for a man with neat blond hair and striking features. At the time, the duke had been a new face in society, and as a debutante, Deatrice had been under constant pressure to meet expectations.

It wasn’t just pressure; it was an unspoken demand to prove her worth. Somewhere between her obligation to please and her budding resistance to it, Deatrice had found brief moments of relief with Lucius. Those moments felt like freedom.

He had kissed her hand that night and said, “That was the first time you came to me.”

The memory of her following him past the terrace came rushing back.

Most men would have stepped away to avoid scandal, especially when alone with a woman in a secluded space. But Lucius hadn’t acted surprised. Instead, he had greeted her presence as if it were natural.

“Wait here,” he’d said. “I saw one of the marquess’s private bottles earlier. You’ll appreciate it.”

He had led her to the greenhouse, leaving briefly before returning with two glasses of wine. Like that night, the garden now smelled of crisp, fresh greenery. Deatrice let him guide her to a seat, accepting the glass he offered her.

“Drink it all,” he said with a slight grin. “One go.”

“Drink it all, Dee.”

Lucius’s voice was calm yet teasing.

Deatrice stared at the crimson wine in her glass, her thoughts drifting back to the past. Back then, it hadn’t been wine but a deep, golden rum, thick and still, without even a hint of carbonation.