Chapter Eight
‡
When they’d returned to the inn and she’d changed into dry clothing and been warmed with brandied tea and a blazing fire, the duke knocked on her door. Alice answered, and Tremayne indicated the maid should stay. Rosalyn began to rise, but he waved her down. “I know you want to talk about what you saw at The Temples and what we should do about it, but we don’t have time for that right now.”
A cold shard of worry pierced the warm calm she’d settled into. “What do you mean?”
He held out two letters, and she recognized her mother’s handwriting on the first immediately. She ripped it from his hand and began to read, even as he explained. “We leave for London tonight, as soon as you’re able. We’ll travel straight through, only stopping to change horses. If we’re fortunate and make good time, we can be there in two days.”
“Michael,” she murmured. Then, “Yes. I need to go. Now.” She tried to rise, but the duke put a restraining hand on her shoulder.
“Alice, pack Miss Dashner’s things and your own. We are leaving as soon as you are ready.”
Rosalyn nodded, relieved Alice was there. Her thoughts were in turmoil. She could think of nothing but Michael.
“There’s something else,” the duke said. “The doctor Michael has been seeing is a fraud.” He handed her the other letter. “If you’ll allow me, I’ll send my man to you. He’s excellent.”
She shook her head. “I doubt we could afford—”
The duke held up a hand. “You needn’t worry about payment. I’ll take care of it.”
It was a refrain she heard often in the next hours. Once underway, she thought to ask what they should do about the dead earl. The duke told her he would take care of it. Indeed, he took care of everything, for which she was grateful. She could do little but fret about her brother. She’d never felt so helpless. The last leg of the journey was particularly trying, as she knew they were close, but she feared she wouldn’t arrive in time. And then she was home, falling into her mother’s arms.
“Michael?” she asked as her mother hugged her tightly.
“He’s fighting, darling,” her mother whispered. “We haven’t given up hope yet.”
The duke’s doctor was there, and Rosalyn was disturbed to see that he’d thrown away all of Michael’s tonics and potions and eschewed bloodletting. He ordered the boy fed nourishing broth and given fresh air and sunshine.
“You want us to take him from his bed?” Mrs. Dashner asked.
The doctor, an older man, with a thick head of white hair, nodded vigorously. “These small rooms fill with coal smoke, which is why his condition worsened when he came to Town. The boy needs fresh air and food. The countryside would be perfect. In the meantime, the steam from a bowl of hot water and mint leaves will help open his lungs.”
Rosalyn and her mother exchanged looks. They would not be able to take Michael to the countryside, but Rosalyn had long believed that the meager diet Doctor Banting had prescribed made Michael weaker, not stronger.
In the next few days, Rosalyn had little time to think of anything but nursing her brother. Stephen and Daniel carried him outside and walked him around, while Rosalyn and her mother heated water and made broth. After a few days, the duke’s doctor returned and pronounced the boy looking better already.
Rosalyn agreed. Michael was sitting up and able to stay awake longer. His breathing was still labored at times, but his cheeks had regained some color.
A knock sounded on the door, and when Stephen opened it, the duke was there. He bowed and greeted everyone, his eyes never leaving Rosalyn. She felt herself blush and had to look at the floor so no one would notice.
“Ah, Your Grace,” the doctor said. “I was just telling the family that Master Michael seems somewhat improved, but the real improvement will only come if they take him out of the city for a time. He needs fresh air.”
“And we do appreciate all you have done for us, Doctor Cavender,” Mrs. Dashner said, “but I’m afraid we don’t have the means to leave London at present.”
“I’ll take care of it,” the duke said.
Rosalyn’s head snapped up at the same time her mother said, “Pardon me?”
“I’ll take care of it. My Hampshire estate is the closest. I can send a coach and attendants first thing in the morning.”
“But we couldn’t possibly impose on you to do such a thing!” Mrs. Dashner argued.
“It is no imposition at all,” the duke said. “In fact, I insist.” He bowed again, and after the doctor took his leave, the two men departed. Rosalyn waited all of fifteen seconds, then raced after them.
“I’ll be back in a moment, Mama!”
The doctor had climbed into his gig, and the duke was striding toward his own conveyance when Rosalyn reached the street. “Your Grace! Wait!”
He turned toward her, then motioned to the footman to close the door. He approached so they stood under the awning of the printing shop below her flat. “How can I possibly thank you for your kindness, Your Grace?” she asked. “It’s too much.”
“It’s not nearly enough,” he said. “I should have offered sooner. I should have sent Cavender to your family sooner. Rosalyn.” He cleared his throat. “Miss Dashner, I know speaking now, with your brother so ill, might be impertinent, but once he is well again, might I have the pleasure of calling on you?”
She frowned. “You’re calling on me now, Your Grace.” He was acting so strangely.
He shifted. “Then might I have the privilege of courting you?”
Rosalyn’s jaw dropped. “Courting?” she said, before her throat closed in.
“You needn’t answer now. And your answer has no bearing on my earlier offer. Your family is welcome at my Hampshire estate regardless, but if you do not wish it, I will not trouble you there with my presence.”
It had taken her a moment—several moments, in fact—to understand him. She supposed it had been too long since she had been in such genteel company, and she’d forgotten some of her social graces. But she understood now. The duke wanted her. The duke… Was it possible he admired her as much as she did him?
“Are you saying you want to court me?” she asked.
“I want to marry you.”
Her jaw dropped.
“I apologize if my frankness offends you.” He stepped back.
“But you are a duke!” she spluttered.
“And you are the daughter of a gentleman.”
“Yes.” Rosalyn smiled. “I am.” She closed the distance between them.
Seeming bolstered by her smile, he took a breath. “I thought perhaps you might need some time to know me better, to come to care for me, before we discuss marriage.”
“I’d like that. But what about the manuscript? Don’t you need to make inquiries?”
He waved a hand. “That’s all settled. It is not worth my time if you are amenable to my presence in Hampshire.”
Her breath caught at the thought of seeing him in Hampshire, walking with him, talking with him, teasing him…
“I am amenable, Your Grace. Would it be forward of me to say I am eager?”
“I like it when you are forward,” he murmured.
“Then might I add that, far from finding your affection offensive, I welcome it and return it, Your Grace.”
“Dominick,” he said.
She smiled. “Dominick. I have only hoped you might feel the same.”
He smiled back, a true smile that lit his entire face. Lord, but he was impossibly handsome when he was happy. “Then I will call on you when you and your family have settled in at Hampshire.” He took her hand and kissed her knuckles.
“I’d like that, but I have one request before you take your leave.”
He arched a brow.
“I want more than a kiss on my hand, Dominick. You will think me wicked, but I haven’t forgotten the kiss we shared at the inn.”
“Nor have I.”
“Will you kiss me now?”
He looked about. “Here? On the street?”
“Exactly.”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
He took her into his arms and kissed her, and though it was brief, it was every bit as perfect as that first kiss. When they parted and he looked into her eyes, Rosalyn knew they would share many, many kisses in the years to come.