Page 34 of The Duke that I Lost

WHAT WAS NEVER PROMISED

W akefulness came slowly, like sunlight creeping through half-drawn curtains. Ambrosia sighed as she stretched, her limbs pleasantly sore. A smile curled at her lips before her eyes even opened. Last night had not been a dream. It had happened—every whisper, every kiss, every breathless surrender.

Her fingers reached across the bed instinctively, seeking warmth, connection.

But the sheets were cool.

Frowning slightly, she opened her eyes.

She was alone.

She blinked up at the ceiling, trying not to let her heart stumble. Dash had likely risen to take Mr. Dog out.

Still, the silence in the room felt… loud.

Her gaze swept the small space. No boots by the hearth. No coat tossed across the chair. No Mr. Dog snoring on the rug.

Of course. Dash must have been downstairs having tea with the Wootens, charming them with that half-French wit of his, the same way he’d charmed her.

Ambrosia sat up slowly. There was a faint ache between her legs, a tender throb that made her blush even though she was alone.

She had not expected that—the way her body had sang under his touch, the way it had responded to him like it had always been meant to.

Her marriage had taught her to expect discomfort, duty.

But Dash had shown her something else entirely.

Something she hadn’t known she was allowed to want.

Last night, he had made love to her.

No, he hadn’t said the word love. But he’d said mon c?ur . He’d held her as though she meant something. As though she mattered—not just as a woman, but as… a person .

She stood, pulled on her dress, and twisted her hair up with a few quick pins.

Her hands shook a little—not from nerves, but from anticipation.

She was eager to see him again. She imagined his smile, sleepy and crooked.

The brush of his knuckles along her jaw.

The gleam in his eyes when he teased her.

Maybe he’d pull her into his lap, kiss her forehead, pour her tea.

It could be so lovely.

It would be lovely.

As she laced her boots, Ambrosia felt a warmth blooming inside her. Was this… love?

And if it was, what did that mean?

Surely, Dash would return to London after this party in Margate. Perhaps—perhaps—he would ask her to go with him. A wild thought, but not an impossible one. Not now.

The night they’d shared had been unforgettable. Earth-shattering.

Life-changing .

Surely it had been the same for him. How could it not have been?

Then again… he was a man. He’d known exactly what to do, how to touch her. Had it meant the same to him?

She rose and smoothed her hands down the front of her gown, suddenly aware of the way her pulse fluttered. At the door, she hesitated. Her fingers curled around the latch.

A stillness rippled through her—not fear. Not exactly.

Just a pause.

A whisper in her chest.

She shook it off, even laughed softly to herself. Silly. She had no reason to worry. Not this morning.

Still, as she descended the stairs, that uneasy feeling prickled the back of her neck, replacing some of her earlier euphoria. She told herself it was nothing. The moment she saw him, he’d smile, and all would be right again.

Mr. Dog came barreling toward her as she stepped into the warm, sunlit kitchen, leaping at her legs with a happy bark.

Ambrosia bent down and scooped him up, burying her nose in his fur. He smelled of hay and morning dew.

“Good morning, Mrs. Beckman,” Mrs. Wooten called brightly from the hearth, already reaching for the teapot. “Let me pour you some tea. Such a shame Mr. Beckman had to leave so soon. And on your wedding trip, no less.”

She blinked, unsure she’d heard correctly. “Pardon?”

Mrs. Wooten turned, brow creased in mild confusion.

“That driver of yours, Mr. Daniels, he said it was something to do with a stolen horse. Very mysterious. I do hope your husband tracks the beast down—must be a valuable one for him to cut the wedding trip short. But of course, he’ll meet up with you in London. You know more about it than I do.”

Ambrosia swallowed hard, taking the teacup from Mrs. Wooten with hands that felt numb.

He… left?

“No—yes. Of course.” Her voice sounded foreign to her own ears. “He—he had to act quickly. Of course.” Guinevere . He must have heard something. “I’ll just…” She tightened her grip on Mr. Dog. “I’ll just check with Mr. Daniels about the carriage.”

She turned toward the door before her smile could falter, before the ache rising in her chest overflowed in a torrent of tears.

The air outside was cool and damp, but it did nothing to clear the fog that had landed. She walked forward, letting her feet carry her past the edge of the garden, past the hedgerow, past reason.

He must still be here.

He wouldn’t have left without saying goodbye.

“Princesse…” She heard it in her mind, so clear she could almost feel his breath on her neck. “ I would not leave you without a word. I would not leave without saying goodbye. Surely you realize this ?”

She believed that voice. She had to.

But the yard was empty. No telltale shape near the barn. No flash of an evergreen coat. No footfalls behind her.

Just birdsong and a mocking gentle breeze.

Ambrosia walked the full perimeter of the house, calling his name once, then again—just in case. She stepped into the barn. Nothing. She even walked a short way down the road, heart thudding dully with each step.

She turned back, the quiet pressing harder now.

When she entered the barn again, this time there was noise: the creak of wheels, a man’s low mutter. Her heart leapt.

Until she saw it was only Mr. Daniels, hitching the horses to the newly-repaired carriage.

“Is…” Her throat dried. “Is Mr. Beckman with you?”

Mr. Daniels didn’t glance up right away. “He hired a mount from the village. Left before sunup. Seemed in a great hurry.” He paused, then looked her full in the face. “Will you be ready to depart shortly, Mrs. Bloomington? The new wheel should hold us all the way to London.”

Mrs. Bloomington.

The name hit harder than it should have. As if it stripped the last thread of hope from her skin.

She opened her mouth, but no words came.

What if Dash returned for her? What if that was his plan all along?

Or, what if, after reaching London—or Margate, or wherever it was he thought he needed to be—he realized he came to find her?

What if this was all just some massive mistake?

The foolish, hopeful part of her whispered, If I wait… he’ll come back.

But he hadn’t made her any promises. He hadn’t told her there was a future. No declarations. No vow. Nothing but a night that had meant everything to her.

And maybe only to her.

Mr. Daniels must have noticed something change in her face, because his tone softened. “You’ll be ready, then?”

She dropped her stare to the wooden planks beneath her feet. “He left without saying goodbye.”

There was a beat of silence. Then her driver, who’d seemed so apathetic to her circumstances up until now, surprised her. “Probably for the best, if you don’t mind my saying so. Wouldn’t have looked right—arriving in London, unchaperoned, with a gentleman. People would talk.”

Of course they would.

Of course he was right.

Mr. Daniels was right. Ambrosia knew it. There was no acceptable version of this story—her picking up a strange man along her travels—that wouldn’t make its way back to Rockford Beach. Winifred and Milton would hear of it. They would whisper, judge, perhaps even pity her.

They would say she’d given herself over to the devil.

And perhaps, in a way, she had.

Knowingly.

Willingly.

With her eyes wide open.

Why did it have to hurt so much?

She wrapped her arms around her middle, as if she could hold the pieces of herself together. She had not asked for promises. She had not been foolish enough to believe there would be more.

And yet…

He could have said goodbye.

Ambrosia turned her face toward the wind, blinking against the sudden stinging in her eyes.

She would leave with Mr. Daniels. To London. To her new home.

She would lace up her boots, carry her bags, lift her chin. She would do all the things expected of a woman like her.

But she would carry last night with her.

She would carry him .

And maybe—just maybe—he was out there now, realizing what he’d left behind.

She could hope.

For now, it was all she had.

And it would have to be enough.

* * *

Ambrosia returned to the house slowly. After folding the bedding and rinsing out the washcloths they had used, she gathered her belongings and made one last inspection.

He’d left nothing of himself. The room seemed emptier now than it had when they’d arrived. Had that really been less than twenty-four hours ago?

She picked up Mr. Dog’s leading string and descended to the kitchen below. After thanking the Wootens and promising she would visit next time she was in the area, she finally crossed the garden to where Mr. Daniels stood beside the carriage, waiting impatiently.

When she lifted Mr. Dog inside, he hopped onto the seat, sniffed around, hopped down and, seemingly confused, turned to look at her. If she was not mistaken, she’d guess he was looking for a certain gentleman.

“He is gone, Mr. Dog,” Ambrosia told the dog. “It is just you and me now.”

She waved goodbye one last time, and then climbed in to sit beside the dog.

At least she had him still.

As the carriage pulled back onto the road, Ambrosia sat numbly. It was as though Dash had not existed at all, as though he’d been nothing more than a figment of her imagination.

Princesse.

Ambrosia lifted her feet to the bench and hugged her knees. It was as though the pain of his betrayal was so great that her body couldn’t process it, leaving her numb.

Lost.

Mr. Dog jumped up and licked at her chin.

“It’s going to be fine, baby,” she reassured the pup.

The words came out flat, though she knew they must be true.

She’d endured worse, hadn’t she? It wasn’t the first time she’d felt abandoned.

“Just you and me now. But we’ll be fine,” she said again, more to convince herself than anything.

As the miles passed, anger gradually crept in to fill the emptiness inside. He’d promised not to leave without saying goodbye… and then he’d done exactly that! Things had changed between the two of them, hadn’t they? When they’d made love?

True, he had stated over and over again that he couldn’t offer her a future… but…

Ambrosia blinked. But making love had changed all of that, hadn’t it?

Perhaps it hadn’t.

Not for him.

The overbearing, dishonest, dissolute, no good, cocky rogue! How dare he sneak out of her bed after everything they’d shared and then run away without even having the decency to say goodbye!

How dare he!

The hours stretched around her spiraling thoughts until Mr. Daniels pulled to a stop at a clean but sparse inn sometime before nightfall.

This time, she felt none of the temerity or anxiety she’d felt before when signing the register for a room.

She was not a timid and innocent girl. She was a woman. She’d taken a lover, even.

Lying in the strange bed that night, however, her righteous indignation fled.

He had, in truth, pushed her away on more than one occasion.

He’d not pursued her. She had disrobed in front of him.

What did she expect? She’d been so forward with him that he’d had no choice but to make love to her.

And then he’d felt compelled, for reasons she didn’t quite understand, to abandon her before they arrived in London.

He’d likely feared that she’d cling to him with pleas and tears.

And she might have.

If she’d acted like a proper lady, like a moral lady, then he would not have felt it necessary to flee.

She curled up in the strange bed, berating herself—questioning things she’d said to him. Replaying the numerous warnings he’d expressed more than once.

This was her fault. She had only herself to blame.

It would not happen again.