Page 34 of To Have & To Hold

Emilia slipped into her chambers, leaning against the closed door with a sigh. After their tour of the house, Charlotte had insisted on taking a walk in the garden for some fresh air. The sun shone just brightly enough to burn away some of the February chill, but Emilia had decided to forgo the excursion and retire to her room until afternoon tea.

She enjoyed Charlotte’s company immensely—despite her unchecked commentary and disregard for most of society’s rules, she was naturally one of the most poised and elegant young women Emilia had ever met. Watching the effortless way Charlotte bore her station only made Emilia realize how difficult it was to breathe under the weight of her own title.

She was a duchess.

The thought still seemed too ridiculous to be true. She opened her eyes, her gaze unintentionally falling on the doorthat led to Nathaniel’s room. Her heart twisted as she remembered the painful way he had looked at her when she entered his study that morning.

She had meant the tray as a simple gesture of goodwill—but even though he had told her he would never turn her away, that did not necessarily mean that he wanted her close.

Emilia pushed off the wooden door and crossed the room to the window that overlooked the gardens. Charlotte was nowhere to be seen, but Emilia let her eyes wander over the empty courtyard. No flowers had yet begun to bloom, but the hedges that lined the walkways were thick and green from the wet winter.

Ever since she was a child, Emilia found herself desperately searching for the first signs of new life after months of cold, bleak winter. Whether it was a leaf on a tree or a single blade of green grass, her heart longed for the reminder that no matter how cold and dark the season, spring always came.

Emilia’s head ached with the pressure of tears she refused to let herself cry. She turned from the window with the intention of lying down to rest, when her eye caught on a piece of postage sitting on top of her writing desk. Her maid must have delivered a letter while she was with Charlotte.

She stepped closer, and her heart sank at the familiar script. She sighed as she ripped open the wax seal.

Lord and Lady Moorfield present their compliments to

Her Grace, the Duchess of Kenswick, and request the honour of her company, together with His Grace, at their residence in Hanover Square on Thursday evening, the twenty-third of February, at seven o’clock for dinner and an evening of entertainment.

The ink on her marriage license was barely dry, and her uncle was already using the connection to the duke for his own social gain—a marriage he had been so vehemently against just a few short days ago.

She looked at the carefully penned script. She had spent hours repeatedly writing the same message as she assisted her aunt with the invitations for their lavish dinner party. She had never imagined she would ever be on the receiving end of one.

She knew if she took this to Nathaniel, he would be more than happy to send their regrets—he did not seem to hold any particular affection for her aunt or uncle. But an unfamiliar feeling of courage surged inside Emilia at the thought of penning the reply in her own hand. She sat down at her desk, pulling out a piece of stationery.

The Duke and Duchess of Kenswick express their gratitude for the kind invitation extended by Lord and Lady Moorfield.

It is with most sincere regrets that they decline the honour of their company at the forthcoming gathering.

With every good wish,

The Duchess of Kenswick

Emilia smiled as she finished her signature and reached for the bell pull. She paused, her hand mid air as she studied the note in front of her. She lowered her hand, folding the paper and slipping into the drawer of her desk.

There was no urgency to respond today. She would have her maid post the letter in a few days. There were few things Lord and Lady Moorfield valued more than control, and Emilia suspected they would find waiting for her reply just as trying as therejection itself.

Chapter Twelve

He had fallen asleep in his study again, but Nathaniel still found himself awake before dawn as he did most mornings.

When he had awoken at his desk, well past midnight, he had tried to settle into his bed, tossing and turning, until the pink rays of light edged their way through the closed curtains and began to taunt him.

There was too much to be done and too few hours of sunlight in which to accomplish it. The only problem was, the rest of London seemed to value their sleep more than productivity, and there was only so much a man could accomplish on his own, even if that man was the Duke of Kenswick.

Nathaniel pulled himself from his bed, passing by the bell pull, and making his way to his dressing room. There was no need to bother his valet when he didn’t need to dress to be presentable—he was not planning on seeing anyone at this hour.

He shed his jacket and waistcoat from the evening before, careful not to wrinkle the fabric even more. He knew that his early morning outings already created more work for his staff, and he had no desire to force them to spend additional hours pressing out the creases in his clothes because he couldn’t manage to make it to his bed and undress for the day like every other member of civil society.

He changed into a clean pair of pants—the oldest pair he could find—and slipped on a fresh shirt, not bothering to tuck it in or secure ties at his chest.

He slipped silently out the door and down the hall, boots held securely in his hands. The halls in Kenswick House were layered with thick, luxurious carpet that absorbed even the heaviest footsteps, but he could not risk Charlotte hearing him leave at such an early hour or he would never be able to keep her contained.

He tiptoed silently down the stairs and made his way towards the back of the house to the entrance of the servants’ stairs. Nathaniel hated to think of this as sneaking out. Sneaking out was reckless. He was being careful—taking precautions. One of those precautions was making sure no onewho lived on the same row of Grosvenor Square saw him walking out his front door at dawn, half-dressed and sleep-deprived.

There were very few people who knew of his unusual routine. There were, of course, a few select loyal members of his staff, Oliver—whom Nathaniel had yet to successfully keep a secret from—and the owner of the boathouse that Nathaniel paid dearly for his discretion.