Page 34 of An Unfamiliar Duke

She had taken his hand without thought. Logically, Sebastian knew that. Unfortunately, it seemed that his heart was not the least bit logical and had taken to pounding just to prove it. The thought of having his home overrun by guests—guests he would be required to entertain—was horrifying. But if Rosalind was by his side—no, if she was at the helm—and all he needed to do was make an appearance . . . and dance with her . . . “I think that is a distinct possibility.”

Rosalind gasped. “Thank you, Sebastian!” Rising onto her toes, she leaned forward and brushed her lips against his cheek. “It will be magical.”

Sebastian nodded mutely. At this precise moment, if Rosalind were to tell him that she was magical, he would likely believe it. She released his hand and took a few steps toward the center of the large room. He took an unsteady breath. Distance helped.

“Is this where you learned to dance?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Well, if I had known that at the Marlboroughs’ ball, I never would have questioned your ability to dance the allemande,” she teased.

“Ah. The dance floor makes the dancer, does it?” Perhaps he was not completely undone after all; he could match her bantering yet.

“In this instance, I should say so.” She walked back to him and took his arm. “Although I daresay it helps that you can count.”

He grinned. “I shall hold you to that commendation when you go to total Finley Park’s rooms.”

They retraced their steps through the west wing and into the entrance hall. Vickers emerged from the servants’ entrance and bowed politely.

“That is the fastest way to the kitchen,” Sebastian said. “I do not use it as often now as I did when I was a boy, but it is always good to know such things.”

“Most assuredly.”

“The east wing begins with my study and, across from it, the large drawing room. You may prefer to use the smaller, more private parlor a little farther down the passage, but this one works well if company comes to call.”

Rosalind glanced in each room. “The furnishings are lovely.”

“My mother’s influence.” He paused, considering that reality from Rosalind’s perspective for the first time. Perhaps she would not see it so positively. “Aside from my chambers, the study, and my workshop, if you wish to make changes, to alter the furnishings or decorations so they are more to your liking, you are free to do so. You are the mistress of Finley Park now.”

“Thank you.”

He had thought his comment would please her, but instead, he sensed an emotional retreat. The light in her eyes had dimmed. Up ahead, the door to the dining room stood open, and his heart sank. “Rosalind, I assume that you read my written apology regarding my lack of appearance at dinner last night. Let me reiterate how awful I felt—I still feel—about what happened.” He met her eyes. “Having a wife is new to me. Indeed, having anyone else to think of beyond myself is new to me. That is not meant as an excuse but rather as an explanation.”

“This is all new to me too.”

“I realize that. So perhaps we can be especially patient with one another. For a little while, at least.”

She nodded. They stood in silence for a moment, and then she looked away.

“What else is down the east wing?”

He took her elbow, and they started forward again. “Next is the small parlor I mentioned to you earlier. And then my workshop.”

“The one that no one else is allowed to enter.” She was not teasing anymore. Then again, neither was he.

“Correct.”

She lifted her chin slightly. “Will you show me the parlor?”

“Of course. And afterward, if you find that you are flagging, perhaps we should visit Mrs. Shoup in the kitchen. I did hear rumor that she might be making Chelsea buns today.”

Rosalind smiled, but it did not quite reach her eyes. “I believe I should like to try them.”

* * *

The kitchen was warm and filled with the tantalizing aroma of freshly baked bread. Mrs. Shoup was standing over the stove, stirring something in a large pot. Her sensible white blouse and brown skirt were covered with a large apron, and a mobcap covered her head.

At the sound of Sebastian’s and Rosalind’s footsteps on the red tile floor, she looked up from her work. When she caught sight of Sebastian, her smile was instant. “Good day, Your Grace. I wondered how long it would take before you made your way into the kitchen. I believe you can smell Chelsea buns cooking all the way in that workshop of yours.”