Page 13 of The Beastly Duke's Christmas Bride
Exactly what I needed. More responsibility. At least she is beautiful.
Even with her beauty, however, Sebastian wasn’t entirely certain how to feel about her. The yellow dress was a perfect shade for her soft brown hair that almost looked like gold. And he hadn’t noticed before just how much amber was within her hazel eyes. They caught the light when she turned her chin up to look at him, and he nearly forgot his breath.
“Husband,” she murmured.
She didn’t seem the type to faint often. That was promising. As much as Sebastian didn’t mind a ball, he had never appreciated the way women seemed to treat him like a monster prowling about like he might gobble them up. And they were always so small.
But Isabel wasn’t. She didn’t shy from him and, while awfully thin like the waifs in Covent Garden, she was very tall. He rather liked that. It didn’t hurt his neck to look at her at all.
“Wife.” He cleared his throat, the word uncomfortable in his mouth. He had never meant to marry. There didn’t need to be more dukes. No more anything or anyone, not when family had a way of being disappointed in him and dying. “It is time for us to travel on to Eastwynd. Are you prepared?”
“Yes. If we can only retrieve the luggage still at the house,” she added with a slight hesitation. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.” Sebastian paid the vicar and thanked him before having Tony lead out. Then he offered an arm to his wife.
She stared at it for a moment before accepting it. “Thank you.”
Not knowing what to say to that, he nodded and led her out. The wind was still loud and sharp. He switched sides to protect her from the worst of it as they reached the carriage. After helping both Isabel and Amber the maid, he started to close the door.
“Aren’t you accompanying us?” Isabel asked.
Sebastian glanced around the carriage. It was comfortable and light and warm. The insides were covered in velvet trimmings with space for hot bricks to keep feet warm and space under the seats for food. He pointed them out before giving her an answer. “I don’t ride in carriages. I’ll be on my horse instead.”
“That cannot be safe,” she noted with wide eyes.
He fixed his hat. “I’ll be fine. I always am.”
After a short delay at her family’s house, they took their leave of London. The weather calmed down in time. Riding alongside the two carriages they were taking to his country seat, Sebastian began to compile his list of questions for the woman he had just given his name.
Firstly, he wanted to know what the devil she had been doing alone that evening by Covent Garden. What had she been thinking, fighting so hard for her reticule instead of her life? Did no one teach her good sense?
Next, he’d demand answers about that townhouse where hardly anyone lived and there was ice on both sides of the windows. Why he had been forced to break a chair to light a fire for warmth that night.
And then he would inquire as to why she was alone. Surely, she had parents somewhere. A mother who should have been sitting in the pews weeping cheerfully and a father to give her away. Someone who cared that she had returned home half-frozen and who cared why he had ignored the popular tradition of a wedding breakfast.
“Oy, you!”
The carriage driver waved him over. A former old drunk from the streets, Cagney had promised Sebastian years ago he’d owe him his life should he help with a crooked leg. Except the crooked leg turned out to have something that required amputation. So, missing one leg, Cagney could no longer do well in taking care of horses. But he did just fine as a wagon and carriage driver. The only rule was to not drink on the drive. As for the language, it couldn’t be helped.
“It’ll be sommat grim after this bridge,” Cagney pointed with his head. “You should be in the benches, eh? Dukes are meant to be important.”
Sebastian huffed. “Then why are there so many of us?” That made the man laugh, his thick white eyebrows hiding under his heavy hat. “Ignore me, Cagney. Just get the ladies to safety.”
It had been something of a relief that Isabel had requested her maid to come with her as her abigail. A duchess should have a lady’s maid, after all, and Amber clearly cared for her. Though young, she was courageous. She had been prepared to try fending him off with a poker the morning they met, and clung to it even after his promise of innocence.
What could the ladies be doing in the carriage? He glanced over to see the curtains pulled shut. Maybe he would add that to his list of questions. He didn’t know much of ladies in general and he feared there was much to learn.
That could wait until later.
Cagney was right. They crossed a bridge where his muscles seized, and he forced his eyes to stay open. After that, the journey was rather bleak. The gray skies didn’t help, nor did the slush on the roads. It was nearly a full day’s journey that led them to arrive at the setting of the sun.
And there it was.
When they turned on the road, he noted how the curtains on the carriage were pulled back. He glimpsed yellow before turning back to consider how his home might appear to someone new.
While the family townhouse in London was comfortable, the Eastwynd estate was a large fortress only a few acres from the ocean. It stood tall on the hill, drenched in gray snow. The winter touch only made the turrets look sharper and the shadows darker.
I never missed this place. Not in all the years of starvation and struggle in London.
