Page 27 of An Unfamiliar Duke

He nodded. “We just turned off the main road and onto the drive that leads to the house. You shall see it shortly after we round the next bend.”

Panic seized her. Not only would the new mistress of Finley Park be arriving with the puffy eyes associated with her earlier weep-fest, but her face undoubtedly also sported lines that corresponded to the pleats on Sebastian’s vest.

“Why did you not wake me sooner?”

He eyed her uncertainly. “You were emotionally spent. I rather thought you needed the rest before facing any more hurdles.”

Her indignation deflated as quickly as it had risen. He was right. Without sleep, she would have been in no fit state to meet the entire household staff. “Forgive me. I have not yet thanked you for your kindness.” She winced. “You sacrificed your own comfort for mine for far too long.”

“It was no sacrifice,” he said. “Indeed, I have rarely been so content on a carriage ride.”

Rosalind caught the spark of something—teasing, undoubtedly—in his eyes. Warmth flooded her cheeks, and she looked away. Heaven help her. She would now be adding a flushed complexion to her list of undignified attributes when she exited the carriage. She smoothed her hands over her skirts, but the wrinkles remained.

“I fear I will make a very poor first impression arriving in such a disheveled state.”

“Rosalind.” Sebastian reached out and placed his hand over hers. She stilled, unnerved by the power of his touch. She’d experienced it, in large part, when he’d offered her comfort in his arms; she felt it again now. “When you arrived at the church this morning, you were quite the most beautiful bride I have ever seen. You are no less so now. A few tears and the crush of a carriage ride are not so powerful as all that.”

She stared at him. He appeared in earnest. “That is a very gallant thing to say, even if it cannot possibly be true.” She cocked her head to one side and eyed him suspiciously. “Exactly how many brides have you seen, Your Grace?”

He chuckled softly. “I believe chivalry dictates that I refrain from answering that question.” The carriage slowed still further, and as it crested the rise, Sebastian pointed to the window. “There it is. Your first view of Finley Park.”

Rosalind turned to look. In the hollow below, a magnificent structure stood surrounded by manicured gardens and woodland. Built of light-gray stone, the main part of the house boasted three floors, with an east and west wing of two floors each. At the front of the house, an ornate pediment surmounted a portico of columns, and a decorative trim ran along the roofline.

The late afternoon sun had painted the windows golden, and even from this distance, she identified potted shrubs lining the wide staircase on either side of the large front doors.

“Oh my!” She struggled to find the words. Her childhood memories of this place had failed her completely. “It is exceptionally beautiful.”

“I am glad you think so.”

There was something in Sebastian’s voice that reminded her of her brother, Jonas. He used the same tone, a blend of gratitude and pride, when he spoke of Langton Manor. New regret that Jonas had not been with her this morning pricked at her. He would be distraught to learn that he had missed her wedding, but it was better this way. Perhaps by the time he returned to England, she would have found her footing as the Duchess of Kelbrook.

They were nearing the square courtyard in front of the house, and as Rosalind watched, the front doors opened. An older lady dressed in a sensible blue gown exited beside a tall, thin man wearing a white wig and the dark livery of a butler.

“Mrs. Frost and Vickers,” she guessed.

“Yes. They will be most helpful in orienting you to the running of the house and will assist you in learning the names of the other members of staff.”

A steady stream of servants had followed the housekeeper and butler into the courtyard, and the men and women were now standing in two tidy lines that ran from the center of the courtyard all the way to the bottom step leading to the front door. It was a grand, somewhat overwhelming, welcome.

Rosalind placed her hand to her stomach. The ring Sebastian had placed on her finger this morning pressed against the boning in her corset. Its presence was a timely reminder of the vows she’d taken and the commitment she had made. She could do better than this. Taking a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders. She was arriving as the Duchess of Kelbrook, the mistress of Finley Park. It was time to put her fears and insecurities aside and act the part.

* * *

Sebastian clasped his hands behind his back, watching in silent bemusement as Rosalind and Mrs. Frost made their way slowly down the long queue of waiting servants. Upon their arrival at Finley Park, he had anticipated introducing his new wife to his butler and housekeeper and then offering the remaining members of staff a polite nod before entering the house. Rosalind, it appeared, had a different plan. She had already stopped to talk to every footman and maid. Not only had she inquired of their names, but she had also asked each of them a question or two. Where were they from? How long had they been in service? How many siblings did they have? One by one, he had watched their faces light up as they shared a little about themselves with the new mistress of Finley Park. His cook, Mrs. Shoup, laughed at something Rosalind said, and Sebastian stepped closer to listen.

“Oh, yes, Your Grace. You remember rightly. His Grace was thin as a rail when he were young. I reckon it were all my Chelsea buns that did the trick in the end. He couldn’t get enough of them, see.” The plump, white-haired lady leaned closer to Rosalind. “Truth be told, he still loves them, only he don’t pilfer them from the kitchen the way he used to.”

Rosalind laughed delightedly, and Sebastian found himself torn between his indignation that Mrs. Shoup’s loyalty seemed to have evaporated in the face of Rosalind’s charm and amazement at Rosalind’s natural way of relating to each and every servant. There was no sign of her unhappiness now. Indeed, the only evidence he retained of her tearful collapse in his arms was the way in which his pulse quickened at the memory of holding her close.

She moved on to talk to the two young scullery maids standing at the very end of the line. They beamed in response to her attention, and Sebastian stepped away, waiting for her to finish before escorting her into the house.

“I beg your pardon, Your Grace.” Vickers appeared at Sebastian’s elbow, his voice low so as not to interrupt Rosalind’s nearby conversation.

Sebastian turned to him. “Yes, Vickers?”

“You received a special delivery yesterday. It came in a rather large leather satchel. The courier seemed to think it was a matter of some importance, but as you were expected here today, I did not forward it to Hartford House.”

Sebastian frowned. It was too soon for anything to have arrived from Mr. Frandsen regarding the trust fund, and he could not think of any matter sufficiently urgent to warrant a courier. “Did the man give you the name of the sender?”