Page 29 of While the Duke Was Sleeping (England’s Sweethearts #1)
It was midmorning when Rhett packed up what little he was carrying with him to make his way into the cold air of the stable yard. A bus was due to come past, which could take him to the nearest railway station. He would then board the train to London and be out of England within a day.
First, though, he had to send a letter to his uncle to explain the crash and the precise location of the car. Frank would understand. He’d been in Rhett’s situation. He’d also lost the woman he loved to the Duke of Strafford. A different Duke of Strafford, but the very same hurt.
“I hope you enjoyed your stay, my lord.”
Rhett gave the innkeeper a tense smile. “Very much, thank you.” There had been no “my lord”ing when he’d arrived two days ago, but drinking and gambling with Ainslie and Kingston—quintessential aristocrats—had clearly clued the innkeeper in on Rhett’s background.
Outside, there were unsettled harrumphs from the stables, the creaking of wood and metal as wagons got hitched, and the chatter and clangs from the kitchens as the cook and her maids cleaned up after breakfast. The bang of pots and pans reverberated through Rhett’s skull as the aftereffects of a night drinking heavily weighed on him. He’d hoped to escape the thought of Della by drinking himself into oblivion, but the memory of her remained even through the combination of ale and gin and brandy. He’d then hoped the throbbing pain in his head and nausea in his belly would bury the ache of his heart, but it wasn’t to be.
Rhett had his hands shoved deep into his pockets. As the bus arrived, full to the brim with passengers, Rhett withdrew the fare from the loose change floating at his fingertips.
The bus came to a stop and people flowed out of it, keen to stretch their legs after having been packed tightly all morning. A handful of people remained, preferring to guard their relatively comfortable spots rather than risk losing them for ten minutes of comfort.
“Just one,” Rhett said, handing the fare to the driver.
“I’ve only got room up top.”
He could use his brother’s title now and secure a place in the bus’s warmth, protected from the cold. If the damned title was going to cost him so much, he should get something from it. But he didn’t. Instead, he nodded to the driver and climbed up the footholds to where bench seats had been installed on top.
Only one couple remained on the roof.
“Benjie?”
The lad raised a finger to his lips and cocked his head toward the girl asleep on his shoulder. She was so tightly bundled up that all Rhett could see of her were her eyes, currently shut. She had a scarf across her face and blankets piled on over her coat.
“She doesn’t like the cold,” Benjie whispered.
“Pretty terrible time to be taking the bus.”
Benjie grinned. “Seize the moment when you can. Our parents were so distracted with the duke’s wedding, they didn’t even notice us leaving.”
Mention of Peter and Della’s wedding caused Rhett’s roiling stomach to heave. “It is today, then?” They had wasted no time. Damn, he hoped there was booze at the railway station. His train left at one, which would be when the ceremony started. His brother was traditional that way.
“I’m surprised you’re not there,” Benjie continued.
Rhett shook his head. “I have pressing business elsewhere.”
“Is it true the duke is marrying a lady’s maid?”
Rhett yanked his scarf tighter. “She was Lady Cordelia’s companion. A distant family member.” That was the official line, and he’d stick to it. Della might have crushed his heart, but he wasn’t about to throw her to the wolves of the ton . Saying that she was the Duke of Thirwhestle’s kin would protect her.
“Was it a love match?”
Rhett snorted. “Hardly. They’d only been in each other’s company for a quarter hour.” Not that one needed much more time than that to realize Della was something altogether different—captivating, magnetic, spellbinding. Rhett had known almost instantly that she would be someone who shaped his existence; he just hadn’t realized it would be by fulfilling the fate he’d been running from.
“She’s done well for herself, then.”
“ Very. ” Had she even loved him? He’d thought she had at least some affection for him. It had felt like love, though neither of them had voiced it. Perhaps she’d been playing him all along. He didn’t know. He shouldn’t care.
Rhett slapped Benjie on the shoulder. “I’m glad things are working out for you, though. At least love conquered all for someone. It folded under the weight of opportunity for me.”
Benjie looked down to check that his woman was well, and tucked the blanket more tightly around her. When he faced Rhett again, he was shaking his head. “Love helps, but it conquered nothing. Julia would have married Gabriel even though she loved me and barely tolerated him.”
“You don’t find that manipulative? Calculating? Cold?”
“Not particularly.” Benjie shrugged. “Women can’t make their way in the world like we can. They need to marry well to be safe. Gabriel was the better choice. His family business has been established for years. Julia could have had a very nice life with him.”
Rhett could see the parallel that Benjie was making, even if the lad didn’t know he was making it, but theirs was a very different story. “Julia chose you.”
Benjie’s pained expression made Rhett feel like an errant schoolchild. “Because I fought to show her she could. Flowers and pretty words weren’t enough. I had to show her the plan, prove that if she chose me, she wouldn’t end up destitute. I saved up money; I found a job in London. I showed her she could rely on me. If I wasn’t able to do that, then she should have married Gabriel. Did your woman know you were a safe choice?”
Rhett shifted uncomfortably, and it was not the hard wooden bench or the frozen wind that made him do so. Did Della know that he was a safe choice? She knew he wanted to be with her, but had he given her any reason to think he could provide for her? He looked down at the coat and shoes his brother had paid for. He didn’t even have a pack with him. He was headed to Africa with the clothes he wore and last night’s winnings, where he planned to live off his charm.
She had said she wanted roots. Roots didn’t grow in tumbling rivers; they grew in steady soil. A diplomatic posting was steady soil, at least as steady as a man like him could manage. It was purposeful. It was tethered. It offered a security he’d never cared for, but that she would find value in.
But she didn’t know about Peter’s offer. He hadn’t stayed around long enough to tell her. As far as she knew, a future with Rhett looked exactly like this moment—imprudent and capricious and unstable.
Shit.