She gave a soft laugh, raising a hand to gesture towards the row of carriages ahead of them. “Then I daresay you’ve miscalculated. We are anything but alone.”
Dominic leaned back against the cushions. “We are alone… enough.”
She laughed again. “Well then, shall we pass the time by discussing the weather?”
He feigned a shudder. “No, thank you. I’d prefer to discuss anything else.”
She regarded him for a long moment before asking, “May I ask you something more serious?”
“You may always ask me anything,” he said, his tone suddenly sincere.
She hesitated, then asked quietly, “Do you miss it? Being a soldier?”
The amusement drained from his features, leaving behind something far more solemn. For a moment, he didn’t respond, and she wondered if she’d overstepped. But then he spoke, his voice tentative at first.
“There are parts I miss,” he admitted. “The camaraderie. The clarity. The rush of releasing a rocket and watching it soar towards its target. For a moment, everything made sense—every choice, every breath.”
He paused, his gaze turning distant. “But if I sit in silence too long, I can still hear the echo of it all. The sharp crack of musket fire. The roar of the cannons. And worse still—the screams of the wounded. The dying.”
A lump formed in Dorothea’s throat. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, unsure what words could possibly ease the pain of such memories.
“I fought. I survived. But it’s not a chapter I like to revisit,” he said quietly. “Though… I’ll always carry pride in serving with my unit. Being chosen for the Second Rocket Troop was an honor I never expected.”
Dorothea’s brows knit with regret. “I should never have brought it up.”
“It is all right,” Dominic assured her. “Truly, you can ask me anything. I mean that. You may not always like what I say, but I will never lie to you.”
That courage—the openness in his voice—made her braver in return. “Then let me ask one more thing,” she said, steadying her breath. “Do you regret marrying me?”
His silence was immediate, but it didn’t feel cold—just weighty. Thoughtful.
“At first, yes,” he said finally, his voice quiet but certain. “I regretted the circumstances. The rushed decisions. The way it all unfolded.”
Her heart clenched.
“But not you,” he added firmly. “Never you. And everything since then has changed. I am glad—truly glad—that I married you.”
Dorothea turned her face towards the wind, letting the breeze carry away the sting of his initial confession. But his final words—those stayed. Warming her from within like sunlight breaking through clouds.
“I’m relieved to hear that,” she murmured.
Dominic shifted slightly in his seat, close enough that his shoulder brushed gently against hers. The contact was unintentional—or at least, it seemed so—but it sent a ripple through her nonetheless.
“Why is it that you seem so surprised by my response?” he asked, eyes searching hers. “You know that I care about you.”
Dorothea looked away. “I know you care,” she replied. “But that’s not the same as staying. Do you still intend to go through with the annulment?”
Dominic winced—just slightly, but enough to answer her question before he opened his mouth. “I haven’t decided yet,” he admitted, his voice rough with conflict. “It’s… complicated.”
“Thenuncomplicate it,” she said, turning towards him, her tone firm.
His brow furrowed. “It’s not that simple, Thea. Whatever happens, I’ll ensure you’re well cared for. You’ll have your own household. Your own independence. You won’t want for anything.”
Dorothea pressed her lips together, hard.Why couldn’t he see?She didn’t want a house of her own. She didn’t want security or solitude or financial assurance. She wantedhim.
He sighed. “I know that’s not the answer you were hoping for, but it’s the truth.”
She arched an eyebrow. “You want the truth?”
