— "Alex, dear, you have a letter."
— "Thanks, Mother, just leave it on the table."
Lady Carlston entered her son's room, placed the envelope down, then came to Alex lying in bed and kissed his forehead.
— "How are you feeling?"
— "Better already, thank you, Mother. You have nothing to worry about, I just overworked myself."
She shook her head.
— "Shall I try speaking with your father about the races again?"
— "No, Mother, don't. I'll rest and be fine."
— "Very well. Rest, then."
Lady Carlston kissed her son's forehead once more and left the room.
The moment Alex heard the lock click, he jumped from the bed and rushed to the table. The Duke's seal.
The Young Lord hurriedly broke the letter open and fixed his eyes on its contents.
Good day, Young Lord!
I wish to inquire after your health. I hope you did not overexert yourself yesterday? If there is any way I may assist your recovery, I would be sincerely glad to be of help. Allow me also to express my gratitude for gracing my home with the sounds of music. It was truly unforgettable. Please do not find my request intrusive, but if you ever wish to visit me again — at a time convenient and peaceful for you — I will gladly ensure that you are provided the quiet and solitude so necessary for your inspiration.
With deepest respect,
Nathaniel Cunningham
Something pricked Alex's heart. The Duke's letter was so neat and full of care that the Young Lord instantly felt a pang of conscience.
"How could I speak ill of him?"
Alex immediately sat down at the writing desk, took a sheet of paper, quill, and ink, and hurriedly began writing a reply.
Good day, Your Grace! Thank you for your concern, I am feeling much better…
"No, that wasn't right". The scrap of paper flew to the floor.
Thank you kindly for your sentiments…
"Damn, what sentiments?!" Alex crumpled another letter and tossed it aside.
Please, do not trouble yourself over me…
"No, too familiar. Damn!"
Alex straightened up and looked out the window.
"Damn!" he cursed again, then grabbed his jacket and started dressing to go.
***
— "Good day, Young Lord Carlston!"
Sebastian, the Cunningham family butler, greeted Alex with a broad smile.
— "You must wish to see His Grace? Please, follow me. He is in the carpentry workshop. Would you care for some tea?"
"In the carpentry workshop?" Alex thought to himself.
—"No, no, thank you."
— "Very well, then please follow me."
Alex found himself in the Duke's garden for the first time and even paused to enjoy the view.
The garden looked like a living painting — gravel paths lined fragrant flowerbeds, where the flowers seemed arranged not by a gardener's hand but by nature itself. The air, still damp from the night rain, was rich with the scent of roses, and trimmed yews stood along the paths like sentinels. Everything breathed refined taste and quiet luxury.
"Just like the Duke himself," Alex assumed without a second thought.
— "Please, Young Lord," Sebastian indicated a small annex tucked away beyond the garden behind a hedge and lilac bushes.
— "Thank you," Alex said and moved forward.
He knocked, but there was no answer. Sounds were clearly coming from inside.
"Probably no harm in opening it a bit?"
The Young Lord barely touched the door, but it swung open too easily, wide ajar.
Alex went still as if turned to stone. He saw the Duke of Blackthorn from behind, shirtless, continuing to work on something as if unaware of the visitor.
After a moment, the Duke finally turned his head right and glanced at the door, but what he saw was unexpected.
Alex's face flushed. He was stunned and dared not speak or step aside or close the door.
To be fair, the Duke looked no less shocked. Whether from the heat or the sudden guest, his face also took on a faint blush.
Nathaniel was the first to recover: "Ah, Young Lord! I apologize, I did not expect you to catch me like this, I thought it was Sebastian… Please, come in!" He gestured to a bench. "Though, perhaps not here, it's rather dirty. If you are uncomfortable, you may wait outside, I will freshen up in a second."
Alex kept his surprised gaze fixed on the Duke.
Without waiting for a reply, Nathaniel hurriedly put on a white shirt.
— "Forgive me…" Alex finally managed, "for coming without notice and disrupting your plans."
— "Nonsense, you did not disrupt anything, I am very glad to see you."
The Duke looked sincere.
— "Apparently, you are feeling better! How glad I am!"
Alex remembered his little lie and simply nodded silently. The, he finally went into the room.
Soft daylight poured through the wide open window. The floor was covered in wood shavings, and the air smelled pleasantly of pine, wax, and burnt wood.
On a long workbench lay a chair back with delicately carved leaf patterns. The work was unfinished. In the corner stood a sharpening stone and a tiny stove; nearby was a basket of wooden planks.
This was a place of solitude and calm. The Young Lord felt as though he had not just interrupted the Duke's plans, but intruded most rudely upon his private space.
— "You… make furniture?"
— "Something like that. I understand your surprise. When I was in Prussia, I unexpectedly found this outlet for myself," the Duke laughed. "If you think it's strange, I will understand."
— "I don't think so." Alex kept his eyes on the scattered tools on the table.
— "Would you like to try? Come, I'll teach you."
Alex nodded shyly.
— "This is a chisel. It will be our main tool for now. Hold it like this," Nathaniel showed him how to place his palm and thumb, "Now carefully follow the line… Yes, here."
Wood shavings fluttered down like silk ribbons.
— "Excellent," the Duke approved. "You're already getting it. Now try to remove the excess here to give the wood a curve."
The Young Lord focused on the work: his fingers slowly guided the blade, his wrist trembled from new sensations, and his brows furrowed as if helping his body to apply the needed effort.
Alex was being dishonest with himself. This was indeed a strange occupation, but he did not dare say so aloud. The Young Lord had never stepped beyond the offered pursuits: riding, dancing, fencing, music — these formed his entire picture. The chance to try something so practical reframed the way he saw the world, like a small "Madonna of the Pinks" suddenly became a grand "Diana and Actaeon."
The Young Lord kept trying until the Duke's voice interrupted as if from nowhere:
— "You're not cutting wood — you're freeing the form already living inside it."
Alex looked up at his teacher.
— "That's what I've been told," the Duke smiled.
— "How poetic," Alex answered without thinking and continued carving.