Page 40 of Her Temporary Duke (Rakes and Roses #2)

“ Y ou’ll be wantin’ to set off early,” Mr. Campbell said from across the kitchen table. “Weather’s turnin’ foul from the south, and ye won’t want yer lass takin’ another chill. Best either wait it out here—or outrun it north to Strathclyde.”

Seth nodded, glancing out of the window at a sky that was bruising quickly with dark clouds gathering on the southern horizon. Charlotte sat next to him.

My wife. She is my wife. I am a married man…

It was still amazing to him—an alien concept but one that he loved. She caught his eye and blushed, smiling. Seth smiled too, and then realized that Mrs. Campbell, still adding to the food that was already making the sturdy table groan, was watching them.

“ Och , it’s always a joy seein’ a young couple, just wed and still wearin’ the first blush o’ it,” she declared with a smile.

That had Charlotte’s blush deepening, and she buried her face in a large mug of tea.

“Do you know a place called Strathaven ?” Seth asked of the smith.

“Nae, can’t say I’ve heard o’ it—but I don’t go north o’ the Galloway Hills much. It'll take ye a day’s ride to get past them, and another to reach the Kilmarnock road. That much I do ken.”

There are two days more, at least, but the letters and proofs have been sent. Charlotte and I can relax and try to enjoy the rest of this journey. There will be hostelries along the way, and we needn’t kill any horses trying to get to our destination.

The kitchen door flung open to admit a few scattered drops of rain and a breeze carrying the chill of high places. Donald Campbell stepped through, his father’s double but half the other man’s size.

“That’s Colin McKinnon back wi’ the post coach, Da. He couldnae get through to Carlisle—weather’s made a mess of it. Landslide took the road, and it won’t be passable till it’s mended.”

Mr. Campbell waved the news aside.

“Aye, a few folk’ll be waitin’ an extra week or two for their letters. Better Colin turns back than riskin’ his neck for some English post.”

Mrs. Campbell cleared her throat loudly and then gave her husband a pointed look before glancing deliberately at Charlotte and Seth. Mr. Campbell colored slightly.

“No offence to you or yours, mind,” he added gruffly to Seth.

“None taken,” Seth chuckled.

“But that means that our letters won’t have been sent,” Charlotte murmured.

Seth had been so content in his newly discovered married life that he did not originally register exactly what news Donald Campbell had brought. Then it hit him.

The letters won’t be sent. The proofs won’t be seen by either Monkton or the Prince Regent. And we must continue north. There is no time.

His heart sank. He had told himself that he was resigned to losing his Dukedom.

All he wanted was Charlotte, and he would be content to be a farm laborer or a blacksmith’s apprentice, provided he had her.

But there had always been the hope that there would still be time.

The hope that he could have everything he wished for.

Freedom at last from his father’s control.

To maintain his Dukedom and to be married to Charlotte, his Duchess.

“Is there no other way for it to be delivered?” Charlotte was asking anxiously.

“No’ from here, lass,” Mr. Campbell rumbled. “Not if the road’s shut. Ye could take yer letters to Glasgow—might be they’ll go by ship to Bristol or London in a few days’ time—”

“We are not going to Glasgow,” Seth cut in.

She was no expert on Scottish geography, but she at the very least knew that Glasgow lay at the far end of the Clyde valley, and that they would have to pass by their intended road to reach it.

“We can take the time...” Charlotte tried before she stopped herself.

Could they take the time? As much as Charlotte tried to quell the possibility, Amelia was ill.

She had been ill for over two months even, if she lined up the events correctly, from Aunt Phyllis' throwaway comments on Amelia’s health, the letter Amelia had stored for Charlotte in the puzzlebox, the post they read at Beswick, and even the smith’s comment on Amelia’s pale and sickly complexion.

If Charlotte reached her too late, she knew that she would not be able to forgive herself. But she didn’t want Seth to lose everything for her sake. Surely that would breed resentment. The thought of his love turning to hatred for the woman who had cost him so much filled her with near equal dread.

“No. We cannot,” Seth put in more firmly, leaving little room for argument. “We must reach your sister. If she is unwell… I would sooner lose my title than delay you from reuniting with her sooner.”

“ Och , dearie me,” Mrs. Campbell said, crossing herself. “So that’s why they were in such a fluster, aye? We’ll say a prayer for yer sister, love. And if it’s that serious, ye’d best be on your way. Not a moment to waste.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Campbell, but this is a matter of urgency with a lot at stake,” Charlotte protested, “Seth, we must—”

“We must get to Strathaven as quickly as we may,” he interrupted. “Especially if there is more bad weather to come. Your happiness is far more important to me than title or estates. And reuniting with your sister for the first time in years would bring you far greater happiness.”

“But...”

“Enough,” he finished determinedly, “it is decided. We’ll leave after breakfast and turn aside once we reach the Kilmarnock road.”

Charlotte looked at him for a long moment, eyes ablaze. Seth stared back unflinchingly and unbendingly. Eventually, she nodded.

“Then we will take the papers with us and have them sent on to Glasgow at the earliest opportunity. And if… all is well, we may even take those papers back to London and deliver them by hand. You will not lose your Dukedom on my account.”

There was such resolution in her voice that Seth did not doubt that everything would happen precisely as she declared it.

He bowed his head. “Yes, Your Grace,” he grinned.

They gave no sign if the mention of Dukedoms had registered with the Campbells.

Mr. Campbell proceeded to advise as to the road they should take and the shoes with which their horses were shod.

Mrs. Campbell, after sitting briefly over her tea and breakfast, was on her feet again, preparing food for the road.

Within the hour, Charlotte and Seth were mounted again, wrapped up against the rain that seeped down from the sky, reinforced by scarves and oiled cloaks provided by the Campbells.

They turned their horses north, riding out of Gretna for the beginnings of the Galloway hills. The wind whipped their backs, and the dark clouds that had climbed the Cheviots to the south chased them on their way.

Seth tried to focus on the road ahead, on Charlotte, and trying to keep her safe.

But a clock was ticking in his head. Two weeks until the marriage clause expired, he knew that Monkton would have the legal apparatus prepared the day it happened.

Each step along the road, each second spent traveling away from London, was a second longer than it would take for the evidence to reach the right hands.

He could feel his Dukedom, his birthright, slipping away from him.

Charlotte looked at him anxiously, and he reached across to take her hand.

He smiled in a way that he hoped would be reassuring.

“I have all I want in my hand,” he assured her.

“I cannot help but feel responsible,” she murmured. “Were it not for my family, you would be in London, and...”

“And no closer to proving to the satisfaction of Mr. Monkton that I did not reject the third bride on my father’s list. I have that proof because I came here with you.”

“And because of me, you are riding in the wrong direction,” she sighed hopelessly.

“As opposed to waiting at Gretna for two weeks for the road to be opened? Besides, even if there were a means of being transported instantly to London, I would not leave you alone here,” Seth said determinedly.

“You are my wife now. You should be proud. You have conquered the most infamous rake in London.”

He laughed, hoping to see it reciprocated, but Charlotte’s face was a veil of anguish.

“I cannot help but be afraid that you will come to resent me in time,” she said in a small voice.

Seth drew his horse in front of hers. Charlotte’s mount halted with a shake of its head and a flick of its ears. Seth gently took Charlotte’s chin in his hand, lifting her gaze to his.

“Charlotte Redmaine, I swear this before Almighty God and the spirit of my mother. I have all that I want. You are my wife, and whether you are simply Mrs. Redmaine or the Duchess of Bellmonte, it does not matter.

“I have always resented my father for the control he wielded over my mother. For crushing her spirit with his domineering and his affairs. And I will always resent the control he has tried to exert over me. But never you.

“If the price of a Dukedom is losing you, then it is too steep a price. I will not pay for it. I would beg for a job as the lowest apprentice to feed and clothe you, but I will never lose your hand.”

He finally glimpsed the glimmers of joy seeping through that veil of anguish, like the fresh green shoots of winter flowers breaking through the ice and snow. Her eyes brimmed with tears, and he leaned across their horses to kiss her. Then he lifted her from the saddle and deposited her before him.

“My horse is strong enough to carry two for a time,” he murmured, wrapping his cloak around them.

Charlotte nestled against his cozy chest, his arms about her waist, holding her close. Seth could have ridden to the ends of the earth like that. He breathed in her lily-flower scent, savoring the warmth of her body.

Let this journey last a thousand years as long as I can hold her close to me for each step…

They passed through deeply forested hills and over desolate moors.

At some point, the winds had shifted, and the black clouds that had threatened them drifted off to the northeast. Blue skies trickled above them, adorned by a warm sun to dry their horses and the raindrops that had gathered on their cloaks.

The brilliance of a rainbow glowed faintly in the distance.

Seth had reluctantly allowed Charlotte to return to her own horse after a brief respite on the edge of the Clyde valley.

His arms held the memory of her body for a long time, and he found himself looking forward to the first inn at which they would stop for the night. Looking forward to worshipping at the altar of Charlotte’s body once more.

Eventually, they rested for the night at a place called Abington and set off again as early the next morning as they could.

Their route took them northwest over high hills and across a plateau of heather and gorse, following a sheep trail that a local farmer had pointed out.

The route was convoluted but allowed them a direct line towards Glasgow.

They reached the Kilmarnock road by midday, turning west beneath a bright sun.

The glowering hills were far behind them, and they rode through a landscape of rolling meadows, dark woods, and dashing streams. Sheep grazed by the hundred.

Seth had suppressed the ticking clock in his head, thinking only of his wife and his new sister.

He prayed as he rode, silently in his own mind, prayed to a God he had turned his back on a long time ago.

My father believed and worshipped, though he didn’t live his life based on the principles of any church. And I rejected his God because it was his. Now, I must humble myself and pray that Amelia will be well when we find her and that my wife will be happy. I will give anything for that.

They paused in a village called Stonehouse to rest their horses and replenish their feed. Seth found the local blacksmith to have their mounts’ shoes checked and watched the man work for a time. Charlotte joined him after purchasing the supplies they needed from a local farmer’s wife.

“Do you still see yourself as a blacksmith, husband?” she asked, putting her arm through his.

Seth smiled. “It is good work. Hard but good. Every community needs one. What better profession than one that helps your neighbors while providing your own bread and butter?”

“Aye, ye’ve the frame for it, right enough,” said Mr. Campbell’s double, eyeing Seth as he checked Charlotte’s steed’s shoes. “Takes a fair bit o’ brawn, this work—and by the look o’ ye, ye’re no stranger to it.”

“It would be very satisfying, I think,” Seth nodded, “though my father would have been horrified.”

“I would be proud to be a blacksmith’s wife,” Charlotte whispered for Seth’s ears only, nuzzling up against him.

He looked at her for a long moment. “You would be content to be the wife of a blacksmith instead of a Duchess?”

“I never expected to be a Duchess, so I would not miss it.”