Page 26 of An Unfamiliar Duke

“My thanks again, Bloxley,” Sebastian said.

Lord Bloxley inclined his head. “Travel safely.”

Rosalind walked through the grand portico and down the stone stairs toward the Kelbrook carriage. A hackney drove by, and on the other side of the road, a gentleman stepped out of the shadows of a narrow doorway. He stood on the pavement, watching. Slowing her steps, Rosalind turned to look at him. Mr. Sellers acknowledged her with an inclination of his head, and then a footman moved forward to open the carriage door.

She entered the vehicle without looking back. Sebastian followed and took the seat across from her. The door closed. Moments later, the carriage lurched forward and started rolling down the street. Turning her head, Rosalind gazed sightlessly through the window and allowed her tears to fall.

* * *

Sebastian did not know what to do. Rosalind had been silently weeping for the best part of an hour. At first, he’d thought it best to offer her what little privacy could be afforded in a shared carriage by pretending that her distress had escaped his notice. But when her tears continued all the way to the outskirts of the city, he started to genuinely worry about her. How long could young ladies cry before they became ill? He had absolutely no idea.

For perhaps the fiftieth time, she dabbed her wet cheeks with her handkerchief. The small fabric square was wadded into a damp ball. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a clean, larger one.

“Rosalind.” He spoke her name tentatively. She sniffed and turned to him. He held out the handkerchief. “Take this.”

She reached for it and touched it to her puffy, red eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Is there anything more I can do?”

She shook her head, her lower lip trembling. “F . . . forgive me. I do not know where all this is coming from.”

Truth be told, neither did Sebastian. It was nothing short of a biological miracle that her body had tears yet to shed. But regardless of her love of numbers, he did not think she was currently of a mind to discuss the scientific phenomenon.

“Are you in pain?”

She shook her head again.

He waited, not sure what else to say.

She took a shuddering breath. “Over the last few weeks, I have spent hours dwelling upon our upcoming marriage. I . . . I thought I had prepared myself. But I failed to anticipate how difficult it would be to drive away from everyone and everything that is familiar to me.”

Relief that it was not him, per se, that was causing her distress quickly made way for a poignant memory. He had once been in a position similar to the one in which Rosalind found herself. Years ago. When he had entered a carriage at Finley Park with no one but his governess. Miss Shaw had been charged with delivering him to boarding school before continuing on to her new position with another family in Norfolk. He had been but eight years old at the time.

Knowing how important it was to his father that he behave in a manner befitting a future duke, Sebastian had stoically contained his emotions whilst bidding farewell to his parents and to the household staff whom he had known since birth. Only when his dog, Patch, had chased after the carriage and stood at the end of the drive, watching it disappear with doleful eyes, had Sebastian let down his guard and cried.

Miss Shaw had never been so important to him as she’d been that day. She had known exactly what to do to help. But was it what Rosalind would want? He did not know his wife nearly as well as his governess had known him, and if he offered Rosalind the type of comfort he had received, it could go terribly wrong. He eyed the seat across from him. Rosalind was sitting in the corner, huddled up against the cold window. No matter that her skirts covered a good portion of the bench, plenty of room remained.

Silently praying that he was not making a huge mistake, he rose and dropped onto the seat beside her. Startled by his unexpected move, she looked at him with wide, red-rimmed eyes.

“Rosalind,” he said gently. “As difficult as it is to leave behind those you love, you are not completely alone.” He paused. “I am with you.”

When she did not withdraw farther into her corner of the carriage, he gathered his courage and held out his arms. Muffling her sob with his handkerchief, she leaned toward him, and he wrapped her in his arms. She buried her face in his shoulder, and he pulled her close, closing his eyes as the scent of jasmine assailed his senses.

Chapter 11

The rhythm of the rolling carriage wheels against the hard-packed road changed. Gravel crunched, and the vehicle swayed. Rosalind stirred, her eyelids fluttering open. Her cheek was pressed against silk. Silk that smelled of bergamot and . . . Sebastian. She froze.

“Rosalind?” The arm wrapped around her loosened slightly.

Slowly, she raised her head, her heart pounding. He was so close she could see the flecks of green in his blue eyes.

“You are awake,” he said.

“How . . . how long have I been asleep?”

“A couple of hours, I believe.”

“A couple of hours!” She pulled back in alarm. Outside the window, rolling green meadows, stone walls, hedgerows, and trees had replaced the sooty buildings and busy streets of London. She had no clear memory of making this drive in her youth, but she knew their destination could not be much farther. “We must be getting close to Finley Park.”