“Papa,” she whispered.
He did not let go immediately. She felt the small shake in him. Heard the muffled sniff he tried and failed to hide.
“I will not be far,” she said softly against his shoulder. “You know I will not.”
He nodded, though it took him a moment to manage it. When he finally drew back, he was smiling, even as his eyes were filled with tears.
Before she could say more, the Duke appeared at her side.
“It is time.”
Just that. And yet the words changed the whole room.
The wedding breakfast had already begun to loosen at the edges, guests gathering gloves and exchanging final wishes. It was time to go. Time to leave London and step fully into the life she had just taken.
Aaron was summoned, Lord Weston gave Emmeline one last look full of everything he could not say, and then the Duke offered her his arm.
She took it.
Outside, the carriage waited.
The morning had deepened into bright afternoon, sunlight glancing off the lacquered panels, horses stamping lightly. Aaron climbed in first with the assistance of a footman and at once pressed himself to the window.
Emmeline followed. the Duke entered after her, and across the street behind them another carriage stood ready for Miss Harrow.
The door shut.
For one suspended second, silence enclosed them.
Then the wheels began to move, and London started to slide away beyond the glass.
Chapter Eleven
“A-are we n-nearly there yet?” The small voice cut through the stagnant air of the carriage.
Emmeline turned to it almost gratefully. Aaron’s shoulders were slumped, his eyes shadowed with a heavy, hollow fatigue that made her heart ache.
The Duke sat rigid, his gloved hands flat against his knees. He did not look at them. His jaw clenched, a sharp pulse ticking beneath his beard as he watched the countryside blur past.
“No,” he said.
Aaron’s shoulders sank. “Oh.”
Emmeline looked at the boy’s lowered face, and the answer felt harsher than the single word should have allowed.
He had sat stiffly for as long as any child might reasonably be expected to endure, his new coat buttoned to his throat, wooden horse clutched in one hand. His boots were swinging just above the carriage floor in a rhythm that betrayed every ounce of restless energy trapped inside him.
She had only been Duchess of Ironford for a matter of hours, yet the title already seemed to weigh differently when she looked at him. Now, she was responsible for the child’s lowered eyes and the tremor in his little voice.
Aaron shifted again, the heel of his boot knocking softly against the panel.
The Duke’s eyes snapped to him. “Stop that.”
The boy went still at once.
“He is only bored,” she said, and though she meant to sound mild, the words came out with more edge than she intended.
The Duke’s head turned slowly. “He is perfectly capable of stillness.”
