Page 36 of Her Temporary Duke (Rakes and Roses #2)

T hey rode to Beswick Priory on two horses loaned by Henry Nightingale. Charlotte led the way along winding lanes between rolling hills and lush meadows. Dark woods stained the hillside, and beyond rose the brooding mass of the dales.

Seth was immune to the picturesque countryside. It should have been a refreshing contrast to the smoke, smells, and stone of London, particularly for a man born and raised in the capital. But Seth couldn’t help but brood on the seemingly insurmountable obstacles they were facing.

When the quest was simply to find Amelia and obtain her agreement to publicly reject me, that seemed achievable, even if she was at the other end of England. But Scotland might as well be India. We cannot reach it and find her in time.

“We might find something at Beswick that tells us whether she left with the Viscount, and where they have gone, such as a note left for me or a forwarding address with the agent,” Charlotte spoke with optimism.

She reached across the narrow space between them to stroke Seth’s arm. He forced a smile, wanting now to appear roguish and insouciant in order to reassure Charlotte.

I do not want her to feel responsible for this. It is not her fault but my father’s. I will not allow this to come between us.

“What will be, will be,” Seth declared. “I meant every word I said.”

“You do not have to pretend with me. I know it must be eating away at you to be so close and yet so far away from your goals,” she murmured.

Seth squeezed her hand, leaning from the saddle to kiss her temple.

“I will make this well,” she sighed with determination. “If you will not write to Monkton, then I will.”

Seth said nothing and simply looked at her. There was a magnificent fierceness in her eyes that he had never seen before, not in any other woman.

“Would I be so attractive to you with nothing but the clothes I am wearing?” he asked.

Charlotte frowned, almost drawing her horse to a halt.

“Of course. What makes you ask? Do you worry that if everything goes wrong, I will no longer wish to be with you?”

He shrugged. “You seem more determined than I to ensure my Dukedom is not lost.”

She shook her head. “It simply would not be fair. The clause itself is unfair. You should be free to choose. If you were a woman being forced into marriage, I would be just as angry. I want you to be angry too!”

Seth regarded her solemnly. “I refused to fight another man to prove my word against his. Would you have had me fight Tewkesbury?”

“No, not that. Not literally.” She sighed. “We will resolve this. I promise you.”

“You cannot fix everyone’s problems, Charlotte,” Seth chuckled lowly, “your cousin Reginald believes he needs to buy himself a wife. Your cousins believe they need another’s opinion to be confident in their clothing.

You sought to aid your sister’s relationship with me.

When do you do something only for yourself? ”

Charlotte blushed. “I can be selfish at times,” she said quietly.

“Really? When?” he asked.

Her blush deepened until she shone like the sun. She looked away, and he reached across to catch her chin, lifting it and gazing into her eyes.

“I think I know what you are thinking of,” he murmured.

“You do?” she whispered.

“You think of those times when we have lain together, and I have worshipped your body, thinking only of your pleasure.”

She bit her lip. “I could think of nothing but my own selfish pleasure. I should have been thinking of you. The act of love is supposed to be mutual. Yet, I could not think of anything but what you were making me feel…”

He laughed gruffly. “That was the greatest pleasure you could grant me.”

“I cannot believe that,” she muttered, biting her lip.

“Believe it. I would not say it otherwise.”

They turned a bend in the lane and saw a building ahead and below them.

The lane wound into a gentle dell, and at its bottom was a stone building of ecclesiastical character, complete with a spire at one end.

They could see activity outside, furniture being brought out and taken inside, the movement of men loaded like packmules being conducted by a man who stood in their midst and gesticulated.

“ Beswick Priory ,” Charlotte exhaled at last.

“It looks like the move is in full sway,” Seth deduced. “Let us hope there is something left behind that shows where they’ve gone.”

The man orchestrating the others stopped as he saw Charlotte. He snatched a flat cap from his head and hurried over to her, directing glares at the other men as he did.

“Lady Nightingale, I did not expect to see you again so soon,” he said, “I assure you that His Lordship’s belongings are well on their way to joining you in Scotland. I thought you would be there already. Your furniture may arrive ahead of you.”

He looked questioningly at Seth, clearly not the male companion he expected. But then he assumed that Charlotte was Amelia, not suspecting that there were two identical Nightingales.

“Hullo again. Yes, I can see that you are all hard at work. I merely wished to see if any correspondence that His Lordship and I have not yet seen had arrived. I would despair to miss an important letter while we are on the road. Scotland is such a long way.”

“I don’t know if anything has arrived in the last week, Lady Nightingale, but if it has, it will have been put in His Lordship’s study to be posted on,” the man reassured.

“Thank you...” Charlotte stumbled, not knowing the man’s name, “...my good man,” she recovered.

He gave her a bow, and Charlotte and Seth hurried past and into the house.

“Where do you suppose the study is?” Charlotte whispered for his ears alone as they stood in a dark entry hall, paneled in black wood and with furniture of the same coloring. It looked like it had been decorated in the sixteenth century with Dutch landscapes on the walls for good measure.

“If we see a servant, we will ask. They will not ask us the obvious question because it will seem ludicrous. You are Amelia Nightingale as far as they are concerned,” Seth assured her.

He led her along the hallway, and they tried doors to either side, revealing a dining room, breakfast room, and sitting room.

Heading upstairs, they went through bedrooms and a music room before ascending another, smaller staircase.

At the top was a library with a small study off it.

A pile of envelopes sat atop a large desk in front of an ancient fireplace of blackened stone.

Seth took up the envelopes, flipping through them. Suddenly, his eyes lit up. “This… this is a Scottish post-mark; look, Glasgow ,” he lifted the post eagerly.

“Should we open it?” Charlotte asked.

Seth gave her a look before tearing it open and taking out the contents.

“A solicitor in Glasgow confirming the rental of a property somewhere called Chatlerehault ,” he noted. “Sounds French.”

“Any idea where that might be?”

“None whatsoever, but if the agent dealing with it is based in Glasgow, I imagine it is nearby. We might find an atlas of Great Britain in the library that will tell us.”

Seth dropped the letter, seeing nothing in it that indicated where Chatlerehault’s house was. Charlotte had picked up another.

“This one is from Scotland, too!” she exclaimed. “The return address is a hospital. The writer is Doctor Frazier McGill of the McGill Avondale Hospital. His address is somewhere called… Strathaven ! My uncle thought it was somewhere beginning with Strath , remember?”

She grew excited as she began tearing it open, and Seth felt the same surge within him. If they could only discover where Strathaven was, perhaps they could finally track Amelia down.

How far is Glasgow, I wonder? I wish I had paid more attention to my geography master at school. I think there is at least one range of hills between here and there. But Glasgow is a busy port; perhaps a ship could be had.

Charlotte unfolded the letter slowly, smoothing its creases with care. “He writes to confirm a place at the hospital for Lord Beswick’s betrothed…” Her voice faltered, just slightly. “ Amelia Nightingal e.”

She paused. Her expression appeared to mirror Seth’s own internal turmoil. Amelia was betrothed to Luke Hadley? And she was hospitalized?

Charlotte blinked once, but her face didn’t shift. She continued, voice quieter now. “And he gives directions as to how it may be found.”

He stepped forward, sensing the undercurrent. “Where?”

She didn’t look at him.

“Take the Carlisle road north along the strath of the Clyde,” she read, almost flatly. “Turn west at the Kilmarnock crossroads, then follow the Avon valley. Strathaven is five miles along the river. The hospital’s on the hill beyond it. Chatelherault lies five miles further.”

When she finally looked up, her expression was unreadable.

But something in her eyes had gone distant.

“If… if it is of the same illness that she wrote of in her letters, it could be more serious than she let on… My mother, she was around the same age when…” her words trailed off in her somber musing.

Seth studied her a moment. “Or, it might not be serious at all,” he tried to comfort her gently. “She traveled here in your stead six weeks ago, didn’t you say? It was around the time of that terrible rainfall, if I recall correctly. It could be a cold. Exhaustion, most likely.”

She gave a faint nod. “Perhaps.”

Seth didn’t press further. She was holding herself together, barely—but with Charlotte, that meant more than it did for most. Her restraint was a kind of desperation.

They stood like that for a long beat—silent, close, the weight of the news pressing between them.

At last, she folded the letter with careful fingers. “We’ll leave at first light.”

“We will,” he affirmed. Then, softer, “We’ll find her.”

Charlotte didn’t answer. But she looked at him for a long moment, as if trying to believe it. Then she put on a reassuring smile, quiet but steady, and slid her fingers into his.

They left in haste, the foreman gaping as they rode off before remembering to shout at his men again.

Upon returning to Hamilton House, they arranged to borrow Henry Nightingale’s horses for several more weeks.

The staff watched in mute surprise as the pair packed with unusual efficiency—food for the road, blankets for hedges and haylofts, clothes rolled tight and tucked into saddlebags.

Seth intended to make the ride as quickly as it could have been.

Charlotte was not flustered, but rather eager to sleep under the stars if that helped them make better time than seeking out inns.

When they set out, the sun was halfway across the afternoon half of the sky.

They went north and west, climbing hills with the view of crossing the Pennines and heading north from Carlisle into Scotland.

They followed the olden, broken-toothed ridge of an ancient rampart from east to west, the sun on their faces and the wind in their hair.

In the first few hours, conversation was scarce.

Somber. It only took a few more hours into the journey for Charlotte to warm up to the prospect of finding her sister in good health, and soon, she was racing him, whooping in delight as she urged her horse to the gallop.

Seth had laughed wildly as she pursued, drunk on the freedom of travel.

The first night ended with them sheltering in a shepherd’s hut in the Cumbrian hills.

Seth built a fire, and they made a nest of their blankets amongst dry hay.

Seth held Charlotte, listening as her breathing became deep and even.

Sleep did not come for him immediately. In his mind, another day was crossed off.

One day fewer. The fatal moment comes closer. But I do not care. I have what I need. Do I?

The knowledge that there was still time for action gave him doubt. The urge to ride on through the night was intense.

But the moment fast approaches. The point of no return is where all will be decided. Only then will I know for sure.