Miss Winslow was next.
“Your Grace,” she said, curtsying to Eliza. “Congratulations on your marriage.”
“Miss Winslow,” Eliza said quickly. “I want to apologize. For keeping my identity secret. I know it must have seemed…”
“You’ve been nothing but helpful to me,” Miss Winslow interrupted gently. “With the boys, with everything. Whateveryour reasons for hiding, I’m certain they were good ones. No hard feelings, truly.”
Relief flooded through Eliza. “Thank you. That means more than you know.”
And then, inevitably, her parents approached.
“Your Grace!” Lady Ramersby’s voice was honey sweet as she addressed Morgan. “What a beautiful ceremony. So elegant, so tasteful. We couldn’t be more delighted!”
“Indeed,” Lord Ramersby added, bowing obsequiously. “We’re honored to welcome you into our family, Your Grace.”
Morgan’s smile was polite but cold. “Thank you.”
Lady Ramersby turned to Eliza, pulling her into a perfunctory embrace. Up close, her mother’s voice dropped to a hiss.
“Behave yourself. Don’t cause any more scandals. You’ve already embarrassed us enough.”
Her father’s hug was equally brief, equally venomous. “Remember who you are. And don’t make us regret this arrangement.”
Eliza pulled back, her expression carefully blank. “Goodbye, Mother. Father.”
Morgan stepped closer to Eliza, his hand settling protectively on the small of her back. “Lord Ramersby, I trust everything is arranged for your departure from London?”
“Yes, yes,” her father muttered, clearly uncomfortable. “We leave tomorrow for the country estate.”
“Excellent. Safe travels.”
With final, stiff bows, they retreated.
“Come,” Morgan said quietly to Eliza. “The carriage is waiting, wife.”
Eliza leaned back against the plush velvet seats, watching London roll past the windows. The city where she’d grown up. The city she’d fled. The city she was now leaving behind, at least for a while.
“We’re going to Kirkhammer Hall,” Morgan said, breaking the silence. “I thought… the country would be more peaceful. For our honeymoon.”
Honeymoon. The word sent a flutter through Eliza’s stomach.
“That sounds lovely,” she managed.
Morgan was watching her, his expression thoughtful.
“I know we need to talk,” she said quickly. “About everything. About what happens now. I just…” She swallowed hard. “Can we wait until we get to Kirkhammer? I don’t think I can… I can’t process anything else right now.”
His expression softened. “Of course. Rest. We have a long journey ahead. And the rest of our lives for that matter,” he smiled.
Eliza nodded, grateful beyond words. She turned back to the window, watching as London gave way to countryside, the buildings growing smaller and farther apart.
She was married. To a duke. To Morgan. The man who’d saved her. The man who’d kissed her. The man who was now her husband.
And she had absolutely no idea what came next.
Chapter Twenty
“Eliza.”
