Hunters

XIII. Friendship

XIII. Friendship

Every window in the palace was open. Summer, much to Lecia’s dismay, had really only just begun. It was incredibly hot, though the marble floors and high ceilings helped to keep the place somewhat cool. The air was heavy with heat and hyacinth. Lecia had never been more grateful for the weightlessness of Mr. Worth’s dresses.

Lisette had arrived last night and Lecia had promised a tour of the grounds when the sun came up. It wasn’t yet midday and she already resented her survival in the rising temperature. The thought of walking itself was impossible to bear. She’d have offered to explore on horseback, but her friend wasn’t overly fond of the creatures.

Upon her entry to the saloon, Lecia was surprised to find her husband with Lisette and Catherine. He was nearly in a state of undress, wearing only a casual shirt tucked into his trousers. Clearly he was as affected by the heat as she, but that certainly didn’t make her any less distressed by his lack of formality.

“You are uncharacteristically unkempt, holubchyk,” she said as she approached them. Vaughan was standing, in the midst of recounting a story, as Catherine and Lisette sat and watched, the latter’s smile wide and her eyes glittering.

The three turned their heads, mid grins, as she advanced toward them. Lisette hopped up without thought and rushed at her childhood friend, embracing her tightly. Overcome with sentiment, Lecia hugged her back, beaming despite herself. My, shethought, I have become quite broody without Lisette around. Truthfully, she had. Despite the regard she had for her husband, their relationship had always been quite profound, full of eloquent exchanges and weighty purpose. With Lisette hanging on her now, Lecia could see just how lacking in lightness her life had been; the vibrant juvenile had always brought balance to the Duchess’ pensive nature.

“I’ve missed you so,” Lisette cooed, pulling away and quickly finding her seat again. There was color in her cheeks: she knew she had behaved poorly in front of the others.

“And I you,” Lecia sighed, the burden of summer no longer felt so dense. She gave Catherine a smile and a bow of her head and the old woman returned the same. Then, with a raise of one brow, Lecia turned to her husband. “I hope you’ve only been telling them good things,” she said.

“Oh,” he pretended to pout. “As if there’s anything bad to say about you.” He stepped toward his wife and placed a nimble kiss on the crown of her head. It was so easy to do since he was impossibly tall.

Catherine hid her smirk behind the knitting she’d been working on; Lisette’s expression hadn’t changed at all.

“Now, what did you call me? Huh-looba-what?” he asked. Lecia took a seat across from her friend and then met her husband’s grey gaze. In just his white shirt, it seemed that his eyes were so much more noticeable. Or maybe it was the season, or the clarity of friendship.

“Holubchyk,” Lecia repeated. “It’s what my mama called my papa.”

“Hmm,” he pondered it. “Holubchyk…I like it.”

“Is that Russian?” Catherine asked, setting her knitting in her lap. Everyone looked to Lecia for an answer.

“Ukrainian,” she corrected.

“I see,” the Marchioness respired. “And what does that mean?”

Lecia blushed thinking of it. Why had she gone and said that word? At the very least she could have waited to use it in private, for heaven’s sake.

“Um,” she cleared her throat. “Little dove,” she murmured. Through hooded eyes she peered up at Vaughan. He was watching her, smiling all the while.