Page 36 of An Unfamiliar Duke

She began with the Bad Things list. 5. He refused me entry to his workshop. Her quill hovered over the page, and she was surprised to realize that she truly had nothing more to add. She turned her attention to the Good Things list. 5. He apologized. 6. His house is magnificent. 7. He promised to consider hosting a ball. 8. He invited me to redecorate. 9. He shared Chelsea buns with me in the kitchen.

Rosalind leaned back in the chair and stared at the page with a frown. Her lists were looking curiously lopsided, yet there was nothing she wished to change. She flexed her fingers. Polly had banked the fire over an hour ago, and the cold was making it difficult to write. Setting down the quill, Rosalind closed her diary and picked up the candle.

She was halfway to the bed when a rustling sound caught her attention. Fear that a mouse—or worse, a rat—was sharing her bedchamber froze her in her tracks. Raising her candle, she studied the far side of the room. Barely daring to breathe, she inched forward, watching for movement in every shadow. And then with a whoosh, an envelope shot across the floor from beneath the connecting door.

Too frightened to utter more than a petrified squeak, Rosalind placed her hand to her heart in a vain attempt to calm its racing. Another letter from Sebastian was less alarming than coming face-to-face with a rodent but hardly less surprising. Hurrying across the room, she picked up the envelope and carried it back to bed.

When the candle was returned to the bedside table and her cold feet were under the covers once more, she opened the envelope and withdrew a single sheet of paper. Leaning toward the flickering flame, she read the short note.

Dear Rosalind,

Now that you have toured the halls of Finley Park, are you ready to explore the grounds? If the weather allows, I thought an introduction to the stables might be in order, followed by a walk through the gardens.

I shall come to your chambers at 10 o’clock to see if you are amenable.

Sincerely,

Sebastian

Rosalind’s smile was instant. She slid the letter back into the envelope and set it on the bedside table. Leaning over, she blew out the candle and slipped under the bedcovers. Perhaps now sleep would come.

* * *

The next morning, the skies were overcast and the wind blustery, but when Sebastian knocked on the bedroom door at ten o’clock precisely, Rosalind was ready. At least, she thought she was. She had taken into consideration the breezy conditions and had chosen to wear her navy redingote over her cream floral gown, and she had affixed her hat to her head with her longest hatpin. But the moment Polly opened the door, Rosalind discovered that she had neglected to prepare herself in another far more important way.

Sebastian greeted her with a smile that sent a thousand butterflies dancing in her stomach. He carried his hat and gloves in one hand and was dressed in a brown coat, vest, and breeches. Gold embroidery decorated the edges of his sleeves and button closures, and wide lace showed at his cuffs and on his cravat. His hair was pulled back in a narrow brown ribbon. All in all, he was far too handsome for comfort.

“Good morning, Rosalind. Am I to assume by your dress that you are prepared to face the elements outside?”

Willing the cavorting internal butterflies to still, she returned his smile. “Langton Manor is located close to the sea, Your Grace. I believe I am more used to walking in gales than not.”

“Your experience may yet prove beneficial, but since the distance between the house and the stables is short, I daresay we can manage that far, at least.”

“Of course.” She took his arm and forced herself to think on something other than the man at her side. “Tell me about your horses.”

Sebastian began a brief overview of each of the mounts in his stables, and by the time they’d battled the gusts across the courtyard to the large building located at the rear of the main house, she felt that she knew the animals already.

One of the young grooms must have been watching for them, for he opened the large wooden door as they drew near.

“Mornin’, Your Grace.” He bowed to Sebastian and then to Rosalind. “Your Grace.”

“Good morning, Wesley,” Sebastian said. “How are the horses today?”

“I reckon they’re not too keen on the howlin’ and the rattlin’, but there’s nothin’ serious to worry ’bout.”

“Is Tempest behaving himself?”

Sebastian had already told Rosalind that Tempest was his newest, most spirited mount, and if Wesley’s expression was anything to go by, the boy was completely taken with the stallion.

“Yes, Your Grace. He’s a beaut, that one.” He shrugged. “’Course, he knows it already, so I don’t tell ’im that much.”

Sebastian laughed, and warmth filled Rosalind’s chest. When Sebastian had stood aside whilst she’d greeted the servants upon her arrival at Finley Park, she’d assumed it had been because he rarely interacted with them. That perhaps he refrained from making the introductions because he did not know their names. Mrs. Shoup had offered Rosalind her first clue that her assumption was wrong. Yesterday’s impromptu luncheon at the kitchen table was further proof. And now she was witnessing him talking and laughing with a stablehand as though they were friends.

Mrs. Frost was obviously fond of her master, and Rosalind was beginning to ascertain that those feelings were reciprocated. It was quite possible that Sebastian had allowed Mrs. Frost to introduce Rosalind to the servants so as not to usurp the housekeeper’s role as head of the female staff.

“Morning, Your Grace.” A man who appeared to be a little older than Sebastian approached from the back of the stable.

Wesley immediately reached for a nearby pitchfork and scurried into a nearby stall.