Cassandra cared for him. Shewantedhim.
She would choose him.
He felt it in his heart. He only needed to be patient.
Wade stood on the platform of the tiny station. The hour was early, and a heavy fog had descended across the tracks. The haze obscured the wildflowers and long grass, the hills and arched stone tunnel beyond. It swirled around his boots, clung to his trousers, and dampened his luggage that was stacked upon the scarred boards.
Martin, his valet, guarded the bags. His personal beast of burden was unaccustomed to moving about at this uncivilized hour, as the Duke of Wadebridge was well-known for carousing all night, staggering home in a stupor, and falling unconscious on his bed until luncheon.
Times, it seemed, were changing.
Wade had maintained a clear, mostly-sober head these past few days. He’d kept regular hours, rising early to walk the dales. He’d spent most evenings in his room, devouring borrowed books by candlelight. Only one woman turned his head, though they had shared little more than conversation and kisses beneath the stars.
Now, the Duke of Wadebridge was up—quite literally—with the chickens. He heard them call out the morning,cock-a-doodle-dooingthroughout the village. Typically, he might curse their crowing, but Wade did not mind their noise today, for he was not the least bit sour-headed.
He and Martin stood alone on the platform as the morning train chugged into the station. Its steam whistle cut the air, frightening birds from their perches. The boards shuddered beneath his feet as the great, black behemoth approached.
The stationmaster emerged from his hut. He had greeted Wade with customary courtesy, wearing a uniform that was pressed and polished despite the early hour. When two men had purchased three tickets on the earliest train bound for Cornwall, the fellow had not blinked one sleepy eye.
But there was a curious quickness to the stationmaster’s step as he rushed to usher in the new arrival.Someonewas meeting the duke, and they were departing Longstone with as few witnesses as possible.
The line of first class carriages sat open and empty, waiting impatiently for passengers that did not exist. Later trains would be packed to bursting with travelers and tourists, but no one in their right mind moved about the country before breakfast.
Martin yawned and glanced ‘round the station. Though he said nothing, Wade could sense his valet’s concern, for the Midland Railway waited for no one—not even the most beautiful woman in Britain.
“She’ll be here, Martin.” He resisted the urge to check his pocket watch. Cassandra had five minutes to make the train before it departed.
His valet was not convinced. “Shall I stow the baggage in the meantime, Your Grace?”
“If it will give you something to do, then by all means.”
Martin moved across the platform to hand the bags to the porter. The men worked while Wade stood idle. A duke never rushed. Never hauled, lifted, or loaded. Dukes never made small talk, even when the stationmaster nervously commented on the weather.
Yet again, the threat of rain loomed over Longstone.
Wade closed his eyes. He imagined his buttercup meadow blooming in the morning sun. Yellow light filtering through golden petals. High, waving stalks reaching up from their blanket of grass.
In his mind’s eye, he walked among the wildflowers. Heartache could not reach him there. Neither could loneliness nor rejection. It was his place of happy memories, and he went there now—as he had done many times in his sorrowful life—to protect himself from the unpleasantness of reality.
“Wait!”a voice called. “Hold the train!”
Wade opened his eyes to find Cassandra Staunton racing down the path that led from the village to the small, newly-built station. He assumed it was Cassandra, though she wore a hat and veil to cover her face.
A dark cloak flapped as she ran, and she held her hems aloft, giving all the men present a flash of black boots and two stocking-clad legs. Her traveling clothes were out of fashion by a few years, but still very smart.
Miss Honoria followed in her wake. The youngest Staunton sister wrangled her own skirts, though her arms were filled by a carpetbag, hatbox, and sewing kit.
Both women hurried to the platform.
“Oh, please, Mr. Rhodes,” Cassandra called to the stationmaster, “Don’t let him leave without me!”
So much for quiet. So much for discreet. She might as well be waving a banner stating‘I am running away with the duke!’
Wade ought to have been annoyed—mortified for her sake—but he was so damned relieved. It took every bit of his inner strength not to gather her in his arms.
He caught her hand, instead. “Thank God! I thought you were going to break my heart.”
She smiled, breathless and panting beneath her veil. “We overslept.”
