Page 22 of A Virgin to Tempt the Duke

“I should check on Rachel,” she said.

It came out steady, which she was grateful for.

“Go,” he responded, though his voice came out lower than ever before, huskier.

She was certain he hadn’t meant it to. She collected herself and walked to the door.

“Miss Cartwell.”

She stopped, her hand pressed on the door. She did not turn around.

“The writing room,” he said. “Two doors down on the left.”

“All right. Thank you, Your Grace,” she said, and left, and pulled the door closed behind her.

She stood in the corridor for a moment.

The house was very quiet, almost mocking. Two doors down, the writing room waited with its blank paper and the account she needed to set down in her own words. All of it was to be documented: the dress laid out at the end of the bed, Jonathan’s hand on her arm, the press of cold stone against her spine.

I will do what must be done.

CHAPTER 9

The sunroom was Rachel’s favorite room in the Hall. It faced south-east, which meant it caught the morning light and held it late into the afternoon. It was furnished with a comfortable lack of formality, a room that had been used rather than displayed. There was a sofa that had been sat upon considerably in a nice shade of blue, a low table with rings on it from years of teacups, a shelf of books that had been read rather than arranged.

Rachel set down her saucer with enough force to rattle the plate the following afternoon. “The heroine faints on seven separate occasions, Anna. Seven. I counted. And not once does she do anything useful with all that swooning. It is unkind to us women, don’t you think?”

“Is she with child?”

“Yes, but that is beside the point!”

“It can be a terrible but most beautiful vocation,” Anna said softly.

“Fainting?”

“Carrying a child.”

“I had no idea you wished for one… do you, Anna?”

Anna pressed her lips together, then glanced away. “In my heart of hearts, yes. I miss my father so terribly, having lost him at such a young age… and then seeing how hard it was for my mother to carry on after that… I have always wanted the chance to rewrite my story. To have my own child in a loving family that survives, thrives and endures. I know this is a lot to just say.”

“Not at all,” Rachel said, her eyes now fixed on Anna. “I think that is a beautiful wish. And I hope it comes true.

“Enough of that,” Anna said. “Tell me more about this book.”

Rachel picked up a biscuit, examined it as though it had somehow contributed to the novel’s failings, and set it back down. “Her husband disappears for forty pages in some battle, and we are simply expected to accept this.”

“It’s likely a way to?—”

“I have opinions about the ending as well,” she said, picking up the biscuit, when the door opened.

The old butler, Mr. Simmons, did not announce anything. He simply appeared in the doorway, waited for their eyes to find him, and gave a single small nod.

“Lady Oldbarrow, my lady,” he said. “She has just arrived.”

Rachel sat up very straight.

“She…” She looked at Anna. Anna looked back at her. “Did she? I mean… was there any… did I miss something, Simmons?”