Page 63 of My Best Friend's Earl
The majority of Dorian and Caro’s marriage had been spent on the Continent serving the king during the war. After Waterloo they’d returned to the cottage they referred to as their sanctuary, rather than to London.
Sure, there had been the odd few days in Town. But it soon became clear to those in their inner circle they preferred life here. Oliver glanced around the kitchen. A pantry held a few basic shelf-stable goods. Otherwise, the area was bare. No surprise, since they’d been in London for the final part of Caro’s pregnancy.
“Dorian mentioned how challenging it can be to live such wildly different lifestyles. I admit, it was a shock to see the Duke of Holland chopping wood and baking bread, when I last visited,” he commented, breaking the silence.
“I’ve always admired the way they’ve made their own happiness, even if it isn’t conventional. This house has witnessed so much love. You can feel it,” Constance said.
She was right. Some indefinable thing made this a home, rather than a house.
The back door off the kitchen remained locked tight, and the floor was dry. Weather hadn’t seeped into the house there, either. Good.
The primary bedchamber held a large bed that immediately inspired all sorts of ideas, so Oliver quickly backed away.
The room he usually stayed in for visits was oddly bare. Frowning, Oliver went to the second guest room. That too stood empty, although the walls now showcased a mural, suggesting this would be Nathaniel’s bedchamber.
What had happened to the guest beds?
Still pondering that question, he returned to the main room, now noticeably warmer thanks to the fire crackling in the grate. “Did Caro mention she planned to make over the guest rooms?”
Constance looked over her shoulder as she hung her cloak on a peg by the door. “No. They hired a local artist to paint Nate’s room, but I don’t recall anything about the other bedroom. Why?”
“If they do abandon us here, there’s only one bed.”
Her laughter rang out, echoing off the exposed timbers of the ceiling.
Confusion prevented him from joining her. “Why is that amusing?”
Still giggling, she explained, “Stranding the couple in a cottage or inn with only one bed is a tried-and-true way to force characters together in romantic novels.” Still chuckling, she shook her head. “If there were a way for Caro to expose us to a rain shower first, I’m certain she’d have done so.”
Now he was truly baffled. “What does catching our death in the cold have to do with anything?”
Constance’s eyes sparkled. “Because we’d have to remove our clothing to get warm and dry. Obviously.”
“Of all the days for the damned rain to stay away, it had to pick today,” he grumbled good-naturedly.
As if they truly were in a play, someone knocked on the door.
“Right on cue?” he asked.
Constance stifled a laugh when they found a footman wearing the Holland livery on the step. “Pardon the interruption, your lordship. The duke and duchess have stopped for the day but send these for you and Miss Martin.”
Refusing to meet Constance’s eyes, lest he laugh and confuse the poor servant, Oliver took the folded paper and passed along a small packet wrapped in string with her name on it.
Caro isn’t feeling well, so we’ve stopped at Betsy’s home. Your servants will find comfortable lodging in the barn, with ample supplies. If you and Connie need anything, our neighbors will happily help. There should be enough food in the pantry to survive overnight.
We plan to be there by late morning tomorrow.
Love is worth seizing, my friend.
-D.
Handing the note to her, he addressed the footman. “Thank you. Will you be returning to them, or bedding down here with my staff?”
“Plenty of hours of daylight left, so I’ll make my way back and be on hand for His Grace. Unless you require my presence, of course.”
“I’m sure we’ll be fine. But thank you.”
The servant nodded. “Will there be a reply?”
