Page 32 of An Unfamiliar Duke

When we arrived at Finley Park, Vickers informed me that a special courier had recently delivered a satchel from a Scottish colleague. I had intended to simply review the satchel’s contents before meeting with you for dinner. Instead, I became so absorbed in the details of my associate’s project that time ceased to exist. I had no notion that I had missed our appointed dinnertime until hunger drove me to consult my pocket watch. By then, I was inexcusably late.

Much as I desire it, I am unable to correct my behavior this evening. I can, however, commit to do all in my power to prevent it from happening again. I intend to speak with Vickers, informing him that he is to interrupt my work whenever you require my presence.

I should very much like to give you a tour of my ancestral home in the morning. In the hope that you are willing to join me, I shall come to the door of your chambers at ten o’clock.

Yours sincerely,

Sebastian

Rosalind lowered her hands, the letter coming to rest on the bed covers. Sebastian’s apology appeared genuine. And to be willing to have Vickers interrupt his work on her behalf was concession indeed. Knowing that his absence at dinner had not been because he had already tired of her was reassuring, although to be so easily forgotten was hurtful.

She lifted the pages and reread the last paragraph. Should she go with him? A small part of her wished to make Sebastian suffer a little longer for the wound he had inflicted upon her, but a far larger part longed to see all that Finley Park had to offer. And if she were truly honest with herself, she would far rather tour the house with him than with Mrs. Frost.

A soft knock sounded at the door. Startled, Rosalind glanced at the clock on the mantel. It was barely half past eight. Surely Sebastian would not wish to make up for being so late last night that he arrived an hour and a half early this morning.

“Who is it?” she called.

“Polly, Your Grace.”

Her shoulders sagged with relief. “Come in.”

The doorknob jiggled. “I believe the door is locked, Your Grace.”

Groaning at her foolishness, Rosalind peeled off the bedclothes and padded across the wooden floor. She turned the key and pulled open the door. “Forgive me, Polly. I had forgotten.”

“’Tis nothing.” Concern shone in the maid’s eyes. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No. I was simply staying warm under the covers.” Rosalind wrapped her dressing gown around herself more tightly, and Polly gave an understanding nod.

“Let me get a fire goin’ for you, and then if yer ready for it, I’ll fetch your breakfast.”

* * *

Sebastian checked his pocket watch once more. One minute before ten o’clock. It was time. Exiting his chambers, he traversed the short distance to Rosalind’s rooms and stood in the passage facing her door. Had she read his letter? And if so, how would she respond? Tamping down his anxiety, he tugged on the lace at his sleeves and lifted his chin. He would not give up. If she chose not to answer, he would keep coming back until she did.

He raised his arm and knocked. There was a moment of silence, and then he heard footsteps drawing near.

The door opened to reveal one of the housemaids. She bobbed a curtsy. “Good morning, Your Grace.”

“Good morning,” he said. “I am here to see my wife.”

The maid moved aside, and Sebastian watched from the doorway as Rosalind crossed the sitting room to join them. How had he forgotten how beautiful she was after an absence of only one night? She was dressed in a turquoise gown with a white floral bodice. Her dark hair was pinned up, ringlets touching the lace at her neckline.

“Good morning, Sebastian.”

There was little warmth in her greeting, but her eyes had lost the redness of yesterday. He hoped that meant she had slept the night without any more tears shed.

“Good morning.” He cleared his throat. “I am come to ask if I may take you on a brief tour of Finley Park?”

Her eyes met his, and he sensed her uncertainty. He did not look away.

“Yes,” she said at last. “I would like that.”

Relief flooded him. “Thank you.”

His voice was low, meant only for her. She nodded, and he knew she understood.

She joined him in the passage. “Where are we to start?”