Page 42 of Forever Her Bachelor

Pushing herself away, she was surprised to find the carriage had stopped in a small village. They were halfway to Gretna Green where she would be his wife in every way except one.

Love.

CHAPTER 13

Dear Kitten,

You would think that after three years I would be able to part from you, but I am not. You’re the most important person in my life besides father. I hope you shall always be.

Yours,

Chauncey (The Assistant)

The burly owner of The Horse and Buggygreeted St. Clara and Pippa outside the small inn, his eyes widening as he took in the fading signage on the carriage. The St. Clara dukedom was known in those parts, especially since the ancestral seat of Staffordshire was only two days’ ride away.

“Welcome, Your Graces,” a short, stocky man with short gray hair called out, greeting them enthusiastically. “I’m Mr. Wiggins, the owner of The Horse and Buggy.”

St. Clara’s heart gave an odd thump at Pippa being addressed as his wife. It sent a rush of pride and happiness through himthat he wasn’t expecting. Suddenly he wished they were married and that their year of wedded bliss could begin.

A year.

The reminder of the impending end date to their marriage gave St. Clara a feeling of dread and loneliness. A lightness had taken over him since he had opened his front door to find her standing there with that blasted beast of a cat. The sight of her took all his worries about Reaper and his debts away. She had answered his prayers with one single act and then crushed his dreams shortly after.

After leaving London at precisely six in the morning, they found Birmingham a welcome stop to water the horses and have a warm meal on the cold, dreary day.

The conversation in the carriage still weighed heavily on St. Clara’s mind. It was clear Pippa was hiding something of great importance from him, but he would not push her. He needed her to trust him again like she had when they were younger. The years without her in his life had been difficult, and now that she had returned, he did not want her to ever leave. St. Clara would do anything to make up for his past mistakes, even if he had no idea what they were.

He knew it was only a miracle that had returned her to him, and though he hated Summerset for what he had done to Pippa, he could not help but to be thankful that she’d sought him out.

Wiggins excitedly escorted St. Clara and Pippa into the dimly lit inn where patrons stopped their midday meal to stare openly at the newcomers.

“I’ll get you both a bowl of Birmingham soup, the most popular thing on the menu.” He rubbed his hands together, a gleam in his eye as he discussed the soup like it was a prized possession. Wiggins stopped in front of a small table in the center of the room, holding a large hand out to them.

“Thank you, Wiggins. We’ll take some tea and soup.” St. Clara draped his great coat over one of the chairs.

“You’re in luck. A fresh loaf of bread just came out the oven!” The proprietor addressed Pippa as she removed her bonnet from her head.

“That sounds wonderful, Mr. Wiggins.” Pippa smiled at him.

Wiggins’ cheeks filled with color as he ran his hand through his gray hair. Suddenly the big burly man became a shy boy.

St. Clara understood perfectly the power that one of Pippa’s smiles had on a person. He’d been twelve the first time he experienced it, and it had momentarily taken his breath away.

“I’ll get that for you right away, Your Grace.” Mr. Wiggins bustled off, treating Pippa like she was a queen.

Pippa unbuttoned her pelisse, and St. Clara couldn’t help but rush over to help her remove it, taking note of the thin material.

“That’s going to take some getting used to,” she said as if she was just realizing that marrying him made her a duchess.

Taking the empty seat across from her, he regarded her bright-eyed expression. “It’s who you are now, or who you will be. The Duchess of St. Clara.” Saying the dreaded title out loud gave St. Clara an ominous feeling. His mother had carried the title most of her life, and it had cost her everything.

Pippa’s giggle seemed out of place for his somber mood. “I couldn’t believe that at eighteen I was going to be a duchess, and now, all these years later, it’s really happening.”

The impending doom that had started in his chest grew like a wild thorn. “I’m afraid the Duchess of St. Clara title may come with a curse?—”

“Stop it.” She cut him off, her eyes filled with fire. “Your mother wasn’t cursed, Chaunc?—”

St. Clara jerked back, a sudden surge of joy taking over his melancholy. She had nearly said his name, a name he hadn’t been called in nearly a decade. A name that only she and hismother had used. His father had called himLennox, the lesser title that had been bestowed on St. Clara since his birth.