she was to be anything more than just a passing moment in history which no one knew or thought of, she'd had to leave and she'd had to make such a decisive choice as the Duke of Aston.
Somehow, she knew that days with him would change her forever. She couldn't wait.
The double, red-painted doors of the whitewashed manor house opened and instead of a butler, a young man bounded out. A swirling coach coat swung about his long legs and his black hair curled mischievously about his surprisingly dusky face. Almond-shaped eyes, shockingly blue, took her in. His lips suddenly turned into a lilting smile of appreciate. "My lady! How can I be of service?"
It was impossible to deny who this had to be. He looked so very much like his father. She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting, but not this boy-man who swaggered forward as if he owned the world, but had enough of the pup about him that suggested he still had a little bit of innocence left.
Aston had said his son was, in many ways, a man and he looked it. That strange crossroads of youth to adulthood where innocence was left behind.
He sauntered forward and took her hand. Slowly, he turned it over and pressed a warm kiss to her palm.
Well, perhaps a very little bit of innocence.
"I am here to see your father. Is he here?"
"You're here to see Da?” he queried lightly.
The childish term for the Duke of Aston struck her as so strange she could hardly reply.
The young man eyed her up and down then gave a skeptical shake of his head. “You don't look his sort. Are you here on some sort of business?"
Her cheeks suddenly burned. How could she possibly tell him what she was here for? She'd known it would be awkward but it hadn’t fully hit her how entirely awkward it would be. "Aha," the young man said as if understanding without words was fully conveyed. "Are you certain? You really don't look the sort."
She cleared her throat and replied defensively, ”This hardly seems the place to discuss what sort I am."
He waggled his dark brows. "Is any place really the right place?"
“Yes,” she said. “Invite me in."
"Are you certain?” He gave her hand, which he was still holding, a sympathetic pat. “It would really be a better idea for you to just get back in your coach and head to London."
"Why?"
"You're in for a disappointment."
Gently, she retracted her fingers from his. ”I hardly think so."
"Life is disappointment, my dear lady. . . Rosamund is it?"
She blinked. He’d acted as if she were a complete surprise. ”How do you know my name?"
He let out a dramatic sigh. "What can I say, I am all-knowing. I have the powers to see beyond the veil like my Irish gypsy mother. I—"
"You are full of codswallop."
He laughed. "That, too. Come in and have a drink."
"Tea," replied her maid, Maeve, who’d been tense the whole encounter.
"A drink," countered Aston's son. "You're going to want it.”
It was such an odd thing for him to say. And how did he know her name? Presumably Aston had sent word of her imminent arrival.
It was strange to wonder what the duke might have written to his son. Young woman arrives soon. Don't badger or try to ruin. Will ruin myself. Your Da .
No. It was too absurd.
Well, she supposed if she looked at the entire situation through the eyes of what most would consider normalcy, her entire position was absurd.
Without bothering to wait for her decision, the young man turned on his polished boot and headed for the house, his coattails spinning and whipping behind him.
She glanced at her maid whose lips had pursed into a definite sign of disapproval. Clearly, this was not the sort of grandness that Maeve had been expecting.
Rosamund shrugged. She'd come this far. There really was no turning back at this stage. So, she followed across the paved stones and up the steps into the slightly dark hallway.
The young man called out, "In here!"
She turned to the cozy and marvelously casual room. A fire crackled at the end of the space giving
Somehow, she knew that days with him would change her forever. She couldn't wait.
The double, red-painted doors of the whitewashed manor house opened and instead of a butler, a young man bounded out. A swirling coach coat swung about his long legs and his black hair curled mischievously about his surprisingly dusky face. Almond-shaped eyes, shockingly blue, took her in. His lips suddenly turned into a lilting smile of appreciate. "My lady! How can I be of service?"
It was impossible to deny who this had to be. He looked so very much like his father. She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting, but not this boy-man who swaggered forward as if he owned the world, but had enough of the pup about him that suggested he still had a little bit of innocence left.
Aston had said his son was, in many ways, a man and he looked it. That strange crossroads of youth to adulthood where innocence was left behind.
He sauntered forward and took her hand. Slowly, he turned it over and pressed a warm kiss to her palm.
Well, perhaps a very little bit of innocence.
"I am here to see your father. Is he here?"
"You're here to see Da?” he queried lightly.
The childish term for the Duke of Aston struck her as so strange she could hardly reply.
The young man eyed her up and down then gave a skeptical shake of his head. “You don't look his sort. Are you here on some sort of business?"
Her cheeks suddenly burned. How could she possibly tell him what she was here for? She'd known it would be awkward but it hadn’t fully hit her how entirely awkward it would be. "Aha," the young man said as if understanding without words was fully conveyed. "Are you certain? You really don't look the sort."
She cleared her throat and replied defensively, ”This hardly seems the place to discuss what sort I am."
He waggled his dark brows. "Is any place really the right place?"
“Yes,” she said. “Invite me in."
"Are you certain?” He gave her hand, which he was still holding, a sympathetic pat. “It would really be a better idea for you to just get back in your coach and head to London."
"Why?"
"You're in for a disappointment."
Gently, she retracted her fingers from his. ”I hardly think so."
"Life is disappointment, my dear lady. . . Rosamund is it?"
She blinked. He’d acted as if she were a complete surprise. ”How do you know my name?"
He let out a dramatic sigh. "What can I say, I am all-knowing. I have the powers to see beyond the veil like my Irish gypsy mother. I—"
"You are full of codswallop."
He laughed. "That, too. Come in and have a drink."
"Tea," replied her maid, Maeve, who’d been tense the whole encounter.
"A drink," countered Aston's son. "You're going to want it.”
It was such an odd thing for him to say. And how did he know her name? Presumably Aston had sent word of her imminent arrival.
It was strange to wonder what the duke might have written to his son. Young woman arrives soon. Don't badger or try to ruin. Will ruin myself. Your Da .
No. It was too absurd.
Well, she supposed if she looked at the entire situation through the eyes of what most would consider normalcy, her entire position was absurd.
Without bothering to wait for her decision, the young man turned on his polished boot and headed for the house, his coattails spinning and whipping behind him.
She glanced at her maid whose lips had pursed into a definite sign of disapproval. Clearly, this was not the sort of grandness that Maeve had been expecting.
Rosamund shrugged. She'd come this far. There really was no turning back at this stage. So, she followed across the paved stones and up the steps into the slightly dark hallway.
The young man called out, "In here!"
She turned to the cozy and marvelously casual room. A fire crackled at the end of the space giving
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