aisy slept far longer than she ordinarily would have. When she woke, the day was bright and bold, shining through her window dressing in a pointed reminder that she ought not to have lazed about as long as she had. Part of her expected Sebastian to be lying next to her in bed, but that same part was destined for disappointment, for the side of the bed he ordinarily occupied was empty.
She rolled onto her side, swiping a leg and an arm over the place where he should have been. It was cold, which meant Sebastian had been gone for some time. Had she expected him to linger? Had she expected him to reciprocate after her embarrassing declaration yesterday?
The mere thought of what had occurred was enough to make her slap the back of her hand to her forehead. Sebastian had… good heavens, she couldn’t even form words in the privacy of her own thoughts for what he’d done to her. During the midst of dinner. On the table. With the servants likely aware of just what he’d been about.
And what had she done? Not only had she reveled in it, but she’d brought the entire, deliciously wicked interlude upon herself by not wearing drawers. She still hadn’t enough undergarments. It was silly, and she felt utterly ridiculous, but when she’d sent for her wardrobe from her father’s home, not all of her undergarments had arrived. As it was, she was frightfully short on drawers. She did need to acquire more, and last night had been ample proof of that.
Then again, if eschewing drawers meant that her husband would treat her to such decadent lovemaking, she might be tempted to leave them off every night. She could grow accustomed to such treatment.
The wanton thought made her cheeks go hot.
That was it. Time to rise and see to her day.
She wished she hadn’t embarrassed herself by telling Sebastian she loved him. In a weak moment, the words had escaped her, one big rush, before she’d been capable of tamping them down. There had been no calling them back.
Lord have mercy. They’d been married a fortnight. What had she been thinking? Daisy threw back the bedclothes and forced herself from bed, into the chill morning air. Of course, she knew what she’d been thinking. Here was a man who was capable of great kindness and gentleness, who kissed and touched her as if she were precious to him, who laughed with her, who took the time to know her.
He paid attention to the smallest detail where she was concerned. Before him, the only other man she’d ever been close to in the same sense had been Padraig, her betrothed, and that had not ended well. Padraig too had been kind and gentle. He’d made her dream of a world in which she didn’t live beneath her father’s thumb.
Then had come the day when her father had decided that her marriage to Padraig was no longer beneficial to him. Daisy crept across the carpet to the bell pull, yanking to summon her lady’s maid as she shivered into the morning air. Why was she thinking of it now, when her happiness with Sebastian filled her heart to near bursting?
It was silly, really, but for some odd reason she recalled the day her father had told her she would not be marrying Padraig McGuire. Her father had called both her and Padraig into his office, and he had given Padraig an ultimatum: marry my daughter or run my empire. Of course, Padraig had chosen the latter. Who wouldn’t have? Her father owned half of New York City and enough factories to start his own country. Any man would have chosen the empire.
Those old hurts had healed, as a bruise, with time. Now, she was fiercely glad to have discovered the sort of man Padraig was before binding herself to him. No, Padraig’s choice didn’t bother her any longer, even if her ribs recalled every moment of what had happened after that awkward interview when her heart had been broken. For her defiance, she had received her father’s wrath. Broken ribs, as it turned out, were a great deal more painful and infinitely more difficult to recover from.
But recover, she had. She didn’t regret her past, for all of it—the good, the bad, the painful, the sad—had fashioned her into the woman she’d become. Her past had made her strong, had shown her that in spite of everything, there was still good in the world. There was still a dashing rake who had rescued her, who laughed with her, who knew she didn’t like strawberries, who made love to her with such tenderness that the mere thought sent an ache straight through her.
Her door opened to reveal Abigail’s familiar form bustling into the chamber, and Daisy was once again glad that she had been able to retain her lady’s maid. Her father had dismissed her from her post without reference following Daisy’s elopement, and she’d found her way to the duke’s residence where Daisy had instantly hired her.
“Good morning to you, Your Grace,” Abigail greeted.
“It is a fine day, isn’t it?” Daisy returned her smile in spite of the turmoil of her emotions. There was no sense in dwelling on the past or worrying about the future. Both existed, an unavoidable axis of her life.
Abigail held up a folded sheet of paper that bore a seal. “His Grace directed this to be delivered to you.”
How odd, Daisy thought as she accepted the note. A brief, naïve hope flitted through her that it was a declaration of his love. She opened it to scan its contents. A love letter, it most assuredly was not.
Dearest Daisy,
A matter most private and urgent has necessitated my immediate departure from London. I shall return as soon as possible.
Yours, regretfully,
Sebastian
She read the note six times before her shocked mind finally began to absorb the words it contained. Her eyes kept returning to two in particular: immediate departure. Departure. Immediate. They played in her mind like a taunting song, sending a cold, hard knot of dread into her stomach.
She swayed, catching her balance on the footboard of her bed.
Sebastian was… gone?
“His Grace has left?” she asked her lady’s maid, feeling disoriented, as if she’d woken from a long sleep and couldn’t make sense of where she was.
“Earlier this morning, Your Grace,” Abigail confirmed with a cheerful smile, as though Daisy’s heart wasn’t breaking right then and there in her chest.
She had told him she loved him, and the next morning, he had left her with nothing more than a two-sentence note. He hadn’t even woken her before he’d gone, had disappeared from her bed in the predawn light and ridden out of her life with no explanation. A private and urgent matter. What did that even mean? Where had he gone, and when in heaven’s name would he return?
“Your Grace?”
Abigail’s voice reached her as though from the opposite end of a long hallway. Daisy blinked. The note fell from her fingers, sailing to the floor. Tears stung her eyes, and a queasy sensation stole over her.
“Your Grace? Is something amiss?” Abigail asked again. “You’ve gone pale.”
Sebastian had left her.
He was gone.
And she was going to be ill.
She raced across the chamber, just barely making it to the chamber pot before casting up her accounts.