“Lady Rebecca?”
She blinked quickly, knowing if her staid butler caught her crying, he might keel over from the shock. “Yes, Lars. It’s me. I’m home.”
“You look pale, Your Grace.”
“I’ve been had a touch of the auge, I’m afraid.” Wait. She pulled up. Sebastian stopped with her and pierced her with a knowing look.Your Grace?She was too late. Papa had already received the news, blast Oxford’s damn gossipmonger wife.
“B-but,” Lars stammered, “you’ve never been sick.”
“Stunning, isn’t it?” She moved inside, glancing over her shoulder to see Barret and Serena right behind them.
“Sick as a horse, she was, sir,” Serena confirmed.
Lars’ eyes went to the duke, and he bowed. “Your Grace. Welcome to Rivers.”
“Thank you, Lars.”
“What is all this racket?” Papa stormed from the formal parlour, looking quite dapper for it being after midnight. “A man can’t hardly think—Rebecca?”
She’d missed her portly father with his old-fashioned beard, reminiscent of the late nineties. He barreled out and wrapped her in an overwhelming embrace. Papa was never one for shows of affection and his action had her, once again, blinking quickly. “Hello, Papa.” She spoke against his silk waistcoat, breathing in the comforting scent of his tobacco.
Seeing him after the ordeal of the past week sent another bout of unwieldy sentiment surging through her. It didn’t last. Papa was not known for his softer sensibilities or compassion. It was times like these she was reminded of that lack of sentimentality he’d shown Miss Velinda all those years ago.
He set her away from him and turned to Sebastian. “How dare you marry my daughter without my permission.”
Rebecca flinched, and any compassion regarding her sire dispelled in the puff of his tobacco smoke.
“I thought you were honeymooning,” her father went on.
Oh, dear. He was miffed.
Papa’s gaze moved past her to Sebastian. “I received Oxford’s missive which included a reprimand from his new duchess for not announcing your nuptials.”
Oh, bother. “That’s enough, Papa,” Rebecca said on a huff. “At five and twenty, I hardly need your permission, whether the law says so or not.”
“Still,” he grumbled. “I managed to get the notice in yesterday’s papers.”
Couldn’t the floor just swallow her up?
Papa took her by the upper arms and shook her lightly. “You look pale.”
“I’ve… I’ve been ill,” she said.
“Nonsense,” her father returned with a kiss on her cheek. “You’ve never been sick a day in your life. Not even as a child.”
“It’s true, sir. We quite feared for her life at one point.”
True alarm flashed across her father’s face.
Rebecca smiled. She couldn’t help it. Her father truly loved her. “I’m quite on the mend, Papa. Don’t let Ryleigh fool you,” she said in a deliberate afront to her faux husband, wondering how she was to finagle a way out of this quandary. Even as an invisible door clanked shut and the key in the lock twisted.
Papa’s expression cleared. “Come in, come in. We must celebrate with a drink.”
She shot Serena a quick glance, who gave Rebecca an imperceptible nod and started up the stairs.
Sebastian took Rebecca’s arm, and they followed her father into the drawing room. Rebecca was hit with a bout of dizziness. Papa was entertaining. Some of his Royal Society friendsand—dear heavens—their wives.
“I’m not up for this,” she said faintly to Sebastian under her breath.
