The carriage door swung open revealing a young footman and Mr. Carson who stood wearily before him.
“Your Grace, I will leave your luggage in the master bedroom?—”
“No. Leave it in my old chambers. Thank you, Mr. Carson.”
The elderly man bowed, gave Alexander a troubled look, and walked away.
Alexander had a feeling that the old man knew every minute detail in his life, but he appreciated his silence.
As he alighted from the carriage, his boots hit the gravel with a dull thud, and he looked around and stretched his limbs.
Wiltshire does not feel like home anymore.
Their country house only reminded him of the place where Theodora had kissed him for the last time. He struggled to name what he felt but the loss felt terribly similar to that of his parents.
“Did you bring everything on my list?” Rosalind’s voice interrupted his thoughts.
He pushed Theodora out of his mind and forced himself up the pathway towards his sister.
“I believe I did,” he said dryly.
“I do hope so. Those items are very important.”
Alexander chuckled.
He tried his best but even then, Theodora snuck into his mind. He had been in this position before where women wanted more than he could give. And lovers asked him to make them his mistresses. Or worse…to settle down and marry. And it had always been easy to say no and run away without looking back.
So, what is the difference now? Why did this hurt?
Alexander barely had time to brace himself at the top of the stairs before Rosalind threw her arms around him.
“This is a surprise.” He laughed in her hair that had the sweet scent of her surroundings.
“Do not get used to it!” she joked.
But he had to get used to her hugs and her renewed compassion. Rosalind’s joy was overwhelming, yet familiar and Alexander savored it. Her happiness felt like a soothing balm over all his past wounds.
“Rosie,” he murmured. “You look well.”
“I feel well,” she said, pulling back to beam at him. “Better than I have in years. And it is all thanks to?—”
She stopped abruptly and Alexander’s stomach tightened.
“Thanks to…?” he prompted, though he already knew.
“Thanks to Theodora,” Rosalind finished softly. “She and theCorset Chronicleshave helped me so much. I have been writing to her, but she has not replied in days. Not a single letter. It is most unlike her.”
Alexander felt the guilt eat away at him. “She has not written to you?”
“No,” Rosalind said, frowning. “Not even a brief note. Have you heard from her? Did something happen?”
He forced his expression into something neutral. “I… have not heard anything.”
Rosalind studied him curiously. “You are lying.”
Alexander stiffened. “I am not.”
“You are,” she said, crossing her arms. “When you lie, your voice becomes stiff and formal, like it did just now. Like it does when you are pretending to be a duke.”
