Page 54 of A Duke's Overlooked Spinster
Sarah stifled a sob and came and sat down on the bed. “I love you, Henry,” she said, not caring anymore if she let him know the truth. He should know, regardless of whether that burdened him or not. “I love you. But I need you to be brave. I need to be brave. I have to go home. You will be well. And maybe...”
“Maybe you will visit me,” Henry said firmly. He looked up at her, his blue eyes as tormented as she felt. “You will visit me, won’t you? Won’t you...?”
Sarah swallowed hard. She did not know what to say. She could not explain to him that it was not possible, that she wished not to see his father again. She could not risk seeing his father again because of her own feelings, her own love. She could not explain that to a child.
“Sarah?” Henry demanded.
Sarah cleared her throat, praying that the words would come—the right words, whatever they were. At that moment, the door burst open.
“Visits will not be necessary,” the duke said in a tone that made Sarah’s blood go cold.
Chapter 25
Robert burst into the room, his heart racing, his blood pounding in his veins. He had delayed going down to breakfast so that he might dress carefully to meet with Miss Brooke. He had chosen his best velvet tailcoat in a blue color that Victoria always said enhanced his eyes. He had brushed his hair and then re-brushed it. He had tied his cravat three times. He had been about to go down when he had heard Henry’s voice raised in the next room. He had listened at the door and what he had heard sent raw emotion coursing through his veins.
He turned to face her, holding her gaze with his own.
Miss Brooke stood up from beside the bed. Her face was white, her eyes huge.
“Your Grace,” she said in a small, formal voice that constricted his heart, shutting him out in the way he feared most. “It is preferable, is it not, to avoid contact with you and your son...?”
Robert stared at her, rooted to the ground in shock. What had happened? His brain raced.
“No. No,” he said at once, his thoughts racing. He had offended her somehow. He must have. The kiss! He must have scared her. “That is not what I meant,” he added as swiftly as the thought occurred to him. “Allow me to apologise.”
“Apologise?” Miss Brooke frowned at him, seeming utterly confused.
“Yes. I, um...did not mean to, well, confuse you.”
“Confuse me?” Miss Brooke gaped at him. “You did not confuse me. It is clear that you do not wish me to visit you and your son.” Her tone ached. Robert gasped.
“No. I did not mean that. I meant that visits will not be necessary. Because...” He trailed off. He had intended to declare how he felt, but now he was not sure how she felt, and he wentred. “Because I do not want you merely to be a visitor,” he concluded shyly.
“What do you mean?” Miss Brooke gaped.
“I mean, well...I mean...I think Henry would like it to, if you, um...if you were part of our lives,” he said quickly. “Not just a visitor. Someone we see every day. Someone close to us. Someone we love,” he gabbled, trying to make himself say it.
He completed his sentence, sweat beading on his palms and his heart racing. He was almost afraid to look at her, to see the stiff, cold rejection he expected to see written on her face. He steeled himself, lifting his eyes to look at her. He gaped. The expression on her face was entirely different to anything he could have foreseen.
Her eyes were wide, her mouth forming a little “o” shape of astonishment. She stared at him, not being able to speak, for a few moments. Her hands gripped one another, the fingers lacing through each other as though she clung onto her own grasp for strength. Robert cleared his throat awkwardly, not sure how to interpret what he was seeing or what she might say next. As he did so, she took an uncertain step forward. She gazed into his eyes.
“Your Grace?” she whispered. “You mean...you mean that you...you love me?” the words were a whisper, pure amazement tightening her throat.
“Yes,” Robert said, and the word was a relief. He felt lighter, saying it. Her amazement was a little hard to interpret, but he did not care. All he wanted was to tell her, for the burden of keeping it a secret to be lightened. He had to tell her. “Yes, I love you.”
Miss Brooke gazed up at him. She smiled. A slow, sweet smile of pure joy spread across her face. His heart lit, soaring at the sight of something so beautiful.
“I can scarcely credit it,” she exclaimed, her voice imbued with deep emotion. “I love you as well. I believe I have harboured this sentiment for some time—since the Baths, or perhaps even earlier. I love you.”
She was crying, tears running slowly down her cheek. Robert reached out and touched her skin, pressing his finger against the slow track of the teardrop. He reached in his pocket.
“Here,” he said gently, passing her his handkerchief. “It’s clean. I promise.”
Miss Brooke let out a small, happy giggle of laughter. “I shouldn’t take it,” she said with a giggle. “I already have one. You gave me one at the ball.”
“I assure you; I can bear the loss of one of my handkerchiefs,” he said with a small, shaky chuckle. “I’m glad you have it.”
“As am I,” Miss Brooke said, taking the handkerchief from his fingers and using it to dab at her face.
