Page 57 of Manufacturing a Duchess

Well, she wouldn’t. She realized such an action would likely place her on the outside of respectable society, or, at least, of Society. She felt a shiver of fear at that in the pit of her stomach, but she shook it off. No time for that now. But she could not back away from what looked to be the loss of Alec. This loss now showed her in no uncertain terms that it would hurt and hurt deeply. And the loss of Marjorie. That, too, was a wrench. Yet when push came to shove, the shove showed her clearly the road she had chosen and was determined to follow.

Aurora pulled herself back up into a sitting position on the stream’s bank, dashing away the rivulets of stream water running down her face from her hair. If it was only stream water. She admitted she had begun crying again, though they were softer tears now. She could hear bird calls amongst the trees, and the familiar sound soothed her.

Today is just today. A line from Homer came to mind, echoing what she was feeling:

“without was he,

Set sad ashore, where ’twas his use to view

Th’ unquiet sea, sigh’d, wept, and empty drew

His heart of comfort.”

She certainly felt empty. The very idea of bravery did not enter into the equation. She would much rather climb the stairs to her room, crawl into her bed, and never come out again. Oh, how tempting that was. But the moment of clarity brought with it a strong push to keep moving. And keep moving forward. She had to find a way to keep moving forward.

This is who you are. This is where you are. That was what the voice in her head told Aurora. Because her father was dying, her mother was heartbroken, and she had to sort out all the details with her father to ensure his dreams and all he had worked for did not die with him. She realized—again, the unexpected and even shocking clarity from that mountaintop in her mind—that her wealth would shield her somewhat from charges of eccentricity, but anything further? That would have to wait for tomorrow. She had reached her limit. Sufficient unto the day. Yes, sufficient unto the day.

I can do this—one step. Just one step.

Once more, Aurora got to her feet and pointed herself toward home. She entered through an exterior cellar door at the back of the house and took a set of rear stairs to her room to avoid as many people as possible. Safely back inside, she looked with longing at her bed but instead filled the basin with water and proceeded to splash her face again, removed her factory-visit clothes, and got herself ready for the new life she was about to build for herself. Starting now.

Just one step. I need to keep moving.

Forty-Seven

Alec Raeburn, Duke of Selkirk, stood outside the door of Mr. Hardcastle’s office. His heart was beating so hard, he wondered how the sound didn’t echo off the walls, and his jacket felt tight. He ran a finger around the carefully tied neckcloth which he had instructed Archibald to make as simple as possible. Which now felt too tight. And hot. He felt hot. He exhaled slowly and deeply, then raised his hand to knock on the office door.

Knowing Mr. Hardcastle’s ill health, Alec did not expect to hear a strong response through the door, so the muffled reply was enough for him to turn the handle and step inside to make his formal farewells.

His host’s office was a small room, clearly intended for his personal use. Alec saw again the humble nature of the man he had come to admire. This was no grand showroom but rather a space slightly bigger than a cupboard, with no windows but only a small fireplace directly facing the door with a tiny mantel, on which sat a utilitarian clock set to strike the hours and not much else. A well-worn desk, piled high with ledgers and files willy-nilly upended onto its surface, was on his right. A small stool was shoved into the far-right corner, out of the way but on casters so it could easily be wheeled about. To the left of the door was a cabinet, slightly ajar, from which he could see additional ledgers and papers peeking out.

There was no need for a fire today, and silence reigned apart from the ticking of the clock and the breathing of the person seated at that desk. The room was peaceful and welcoming. Alec felt his shoulders come down a peg.

Instead of the balding head he expected to see bent over the papers, however, he was greeted by a plaited crown.

Aurora turned and looked at Alec in surprise. He, in turn, took a sharp step back, and crashed into the door, which he had not realized he had pulled closed behind him, so as to keep what he assumed would be a difficult discussion private.

“What are you doing here?” exclaimed Aurora.

“I might ask you the same question!” he shot back. “I came to bid farewell to your father, to thank him for his hospitality and the trouble he has taken over my suit.” He stood even straighter than he had been standing since he entered, and his body became rigid. The sight of her was doing something uncomfortable to his breathing. Her eyes, he could see now, were puffy and reddened. He wanted to take the steps (how many was it—two? Three?) and kiss those reddened eyelids, and then her lips, until he couldn’t tell where she ended and he started. But pride pulled him up short, pride and the rawness of his discovery at the manufactory. “I have not forgotten how to behave like a gentleman and a man of my position and breeding. Regardless of your behavior. And nothing will induce me to do so.”

Aurora’s lips pressed together, and she took a sharp breath. Her head lifted and she gave him a look filled with hurt and pride. No apology. No plea for forgiveness. “Well, your farewell has been registered. I shall pass it along to my father when he is well enough again.”

“Obliged,” responded Alec, practically clicking his heels together, followed by a slight bow. How cold she was. There was business and then there was business. He now knew his marriage could not be a business; his daughter could not be sacrificed on that altar. Furthermore, the woman who would mother his daughter could not take it on as simply a business interest. Marjorie was the daughter of a duke, and she would be raised as one.

He did not realize he had remained standing there, unmoving, until she spoke again. “Your duty has been performed, sir. I hope you have a pleasant journey back to London.”

“We are not returning to London,” rejoined Alec. “I am taking Marjorie back home. I have had enough of London for the present. I shall need to consider other options for our current situation.”

“I see. Well, then a pleasant journey back to your home.” Her words were a clear dismissal. He watched her deliberately turn her back to him.

Alec wanted to turn and leave. A conversation with Aurora, of all people, at this moment, felt beyond his ability. It was, frankly, unsupportable. But his feet would not move. In his mind’s eye, he saw himself turning, lifting the latch, walking out, and shutting the door behind him forever. But he could not move.

The room stayed silent, save for the ticking of the clock on top of the tiny chimney in one corner and two sets of breaths. He could feel the pressure in the room building, but it was Aurora who released it when she whirled around in her chair to face him.

“What, Alec? What?”

He felt the words dragged out of him, as if he had lost command of his tongue. “Your father, about the manufactory. I just realized…I explained my inexperience to him, and he told me there were solutions. Or a solution. He meant you, didn’t he?” He sucked in his breath. Yes, it was all becoming clearer now. “You were what he had in mind. He meant you would be on hand to manage. That was the plan.”