Page 25 of While the Duke Was Sleeping (England’s Sweethearts #1)

“He’s awake? Their asinine Christmas tree plan worked?” Cordelia paused her pacing and stared at Adelaide, mouth hung open.

Adelaide shrugged. “The duke is awake.” And everything has shifted.

“So, what did he say? Does he blame me for his accident? Is he going to have me arrested?” She gripped Adelaide’s hands. “He has, at least, called off the engagement, yes?”

Adelaide winced. “Actually, I didn’t quite get an opportunity to talk to him.”

“So, I’m still engaged.” Cordelia’s lips thinned, her expression darkening.

“Technically.”

“But he thinks you are me.”

“Yes.”

“Even though I want no bar of him, and you’re in love with Lord Everett Montgomery.”

The mention of Rhett felt like a gut punch. “Yes and yes.”

Cordelia pulled at her hair, leaving Adelaide surprised her mistress chose to sink her fingers into her coiffure instead of wrapping them around Adelaide’s throat. “This is the type of debacle they write about in trashy novels, Adelaide, not real life.”

That’s so fucking true.

“The duke proposed to me in person, in this very room. How can he possibly think that you are me?”

Both women’s glances traveled to the armchair that had knocked the duke cold. “It seems the duke is experiencing minor amnesia. Either that, or the knock has caused some… deficits. You and I do share some similarities. Perhaps that added to his confusion.”

Cordelia huffed. “I suppose it is too much to ask that his deficits extend to completely forgetting the past week.”

She knew what Cordelia was thinking. Could they just up and leave with no one the wiser? How much Adelaide wished they could. “He will see his journals soon, and his intentions were written clearly in there. I imagine he’ll write to your father soon.”

“My father?” Cordelia sunk down to the floor, her head in her hands. “I’m done for.”

Adelaide sat cross-legged in front of her mistress. She put a hand on Cordelia’s knee. “Your father can be counted on to keep this entire mess secret. He will not tolerate a scandal.”

“No he will not. That’s why we ran in the first place, wasn’t it?” Cordelia swiped at her eyes. “He’ll say I’ve failed him again.”

“Or pleased him,” Adelaide suggested. “What better way to make the ton forget your engagement to one duke than betrothal to another?”

Cordelia looked up, face streaked but jaw set. “Only if I were to go through with the wedding, which I can’t. Which I won’t.” She patted her lap, and the straggly cat that was partly responsible for the current situation paced over to her and snuggled into her.

Adelaide sighed. “Would it be the worst thing in the world to marry the duke? You would be protected. You would be well cared for. You would be out of that goddamned house and away from your parents. You would be joining a family who love each other, who would move heaven and earth for each other. The girls are sweet. The duke seems… distant but otherwise unobjectionable, and Rhett is…” Her breath hitched in her throat. “He is a good man and would ensure your comfort and well-being.”

“From the continent?” Cordelia gave Adelaide a pointed stare. “Because he is not likely to remain in England. He’s a known traveler. He will settle down for no one.”

“He might.” If Rhett could forgive her for lying. But was she enough to convince him to stay in one place? He planned on returning to the continent at the first opportunity. He lived a vagabond lifestyle and loved it. That wasn’t the life she wanted. She wanted walls, damn it. She wanted roots and heavy furniture, and to breakfast every day at the same table. But now, she also wanted Rhett. She wanted to look across that table at him every day. The dream home she’d been picturing for years was feeling empty, and it didn’t even exist yet.

But she did want a home. Rhett wanted the world.

Rhett pounded on Della’s front door. There had only been so much of his sisters’ wedding planning he could take when that wedding was to be between the woman he loved and his brother. After two hours of torment, he’d saddled a horse and ridden hard, praying that the biting air and thundering hoofbeats that resonated through his chest could distract him from the hopelessness that was all-consuming.

Uncle Frank was convinced that, whatever her feelings might be for Rhett, Della would choose Peter. Rhett wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen her so distressed, if she hadn’t failed to set Peter straight, if she hadn’t disappeared completely.

The ride to her cottage didn’t help. Passing through the estate he’d finally accepted responsibility for was now a cutting reminder that he was responsible for nothing. His entire world had been turned upside down by Peter’s accident, and then when it had finally seemed to settle, it was turned upside down again, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever stop falling this time.

He pounded on the cottage door. She would see him, damn it. He couldn’t wait until tomorrow to find out where she stood in all of this. She’d been in shock when Peter woke. He couldn’t blame her for leaving. He’d also wanted to escape as far and as fast as he could. Perhaps she, too, was feeling like a tumbling weed. Either that, or Peter’s awakening had made life simpler for her.

“Della!” He pounded again.

Her maid opened the door with a put-upon expression. “Ad— Cordelia is bathing.” She went to slam the door shut, but he put a hand out to stop it.

“How is she?”

The maid scowled and crossed her arms. “She is fine, I suppose.”

“Truly? She doesn’t seem the least bit, I don’t know, conflicted?”

The maid screwed up her nose in confusion. “I can’t say I pay all that much attention to how she seems. It’s been a long day, you know.”

Rhett sagged against the doorframe. “I know. Trust me, I know. Can you please tell her I’m here?”

The maid shook her head. “I will do no such thing. It is late, and you are who you are. It would be highly inappropriate.”

Rhett crossed his arms. “You’re quite impertinent.”

The woman turned bright red, and if looks could kill, he’d be skinned and on her plate in a heartbeat.

He heard Della before he saw her. “It’s fine ,” she said. She appeared in the doorway, her skin still flushed from bathing, her hair pulled into a rough bun, tendrils at the neck curling from the damp. She gave him a haggard smile.

The maid narrowed her eyes. “He’s not coming inside this house.”

“We will remain on the porch,” Della promised, pulling on her thick coat and nudging past the dragon in her path. She shut the door behind her.

“Your lady’s maid is bossier than I’m used to.”

Della shook her head. “Forgive her. She has had a difficult couple of weeks.” There was a tremor to her voice, and she held herself apart from him. It was only a few inches more than she usually did, but it felt like a chasm. Her body was as stiff as her words were shaky.

Her nails were digging into her palms, and he felt the urge to tease her fingers apart, thread them through his, and provide the relief she needed.

“Della.” It was supposed to comfort her, but the word came out thin and desperate. He couldn’t shake the dread that had settled over him the moment Peter woke.

She sank to the paved doorstep. “I’m so tired. I know I should… but I just can’t. Not tonight.”

He sat down beside her. “It has been quite a day.”

“Tomorrow promises to be no easier.” She sounded exhausted, and resigned, and sad.

He put an arm around her, drawing her close, trying to convince her in that one movement to choose him. “It could be all right,” he said. “Peter might be put out knowing that he has to take part in next year’s season if he wants a wife, but he wouldn’t be heartbroken. He doesn’t remember you.”

“It’s not that,” Della said, and his stomach churned.

He interrupted her before she could say anything that might actually break his heart. “The girls will be just fine. They adore you. They won’t care which brother you marry.”

She stiffened, and he realized it was the first time he’d mentioned marriage. It was the first time he’d even spoken as though their future extended beyond their current situation. But she had to understand that was his intention, didn’t she? When they’d kissed…

Her shoulders hitched, and her words came out strangled. “Rhett, things are going to change between us in the morning, and I don’t know if you’ll ever forgive me for it.”

There it was: the confirmation he was dreading. Uncle Frank was right; she was going to choose the title. He hadn’t realized just how well his heart had healed until it fractured into a thousand pieces once again. He swallowed to force back the lump that had formed in his throat. His eyes burned hot, but he kept the tears at bay. Just.

“You don’t need to explain.” He tried to keep the bitterness from his voice. He understood what she was trying to say. He’d understood it his entire life. He was the spare. The back-up plan. The option that was only an option when the duke wasn’t there.

She took his hand and looked up at him. A single tear tracked down her cheek. “This friendship, this connection, whatever you want to call it—it has meant the world to me. I had no idea how lovely it would be to let another person close. You showed me a side of myself I didn’t know existed.”

Hope grasped at her words. “Then don’t let tomorrow change anything. You don’t have to marry Peter because it’s convenient for him or because he can offer you a title. You and I could explore every corner of this world together.”

Della swallowed and dabbed at the corner of her eye with her sleeve. “It’s not as simple as you think.”

To him, it was very simple. She had a choice to make—him or Peter—and it shouldn’t be so hard, not after what they’d shared.

“All I wanted was a home,” she whispered. She gripped his hand. “No matter what happens tomorrow, I want you to promise me something.”

He couldn’t get words past the lump in his throat, so he nodded.

“Promise me you’ll remember you’re a good man who cares about people, who listens, and who can put himself in other people’s shoes. You’ve a quick mind and big heart, and you’re worthy of respect. Don’t accept anything less.”

He knocked his fist against the step, hoping physical pain would detract from his agony. “This sounds like you’re saying goodbye.”

Della swiped her eyes. “I guess I am.” She took his face in her hands and kissed him, slowly. Her lips were soft; her fingers left prickling trails where they grazed him. When he inhaled, there was lemon, and he knew that scent was ruined for him now. His heart thudded, but his body remained frozen—refusing to move if moving meant the end.

“Goodbye, Rhett.” She stood and rubbed the heel of her hand across her cheekbones.

He sat there in silence as she waited for a response, sobbed, and ran inside. The door slammed. As he stood, the thousand fractured pieces of his heart scattered like dust, impossible to pick up. “Goodbye, Della.”