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Joshua met them on the drive, dressed to go out, his intention to exit Hollyfield and clear his head as soon as possible. He’d not seen Amelia this morning—he’d instructed Butler to serve her breakfast in her room. Last night, he had come dangerously, perilously close to doing something he would sorely regret, and he would not allow himself to be tempted like that again.
He exchanged the usual pleasantries with Iddesleigh and Lady Aleksander—yes, the storm was a bad one. Yes, the day looked to be a fine one. No, it was no imposition to have hosted the princess, he was only relieved he’d come across her when he did.
When she appeared on the entry landing, her gown cleaned and pressed, she looked remarkably fresh. Her hair was still braided, and she was still barefoot, her shoes having suffered the worst of the storm. Joshua had a sudden image of her in a cottage in the forest, picking wildflowers, leading a group of children from one patch to the next.
But she looked...fatigued. He wondered if her night had been as sleepless as his.
“Bon dien,” she said. “Good morning.”
“Good morning.” He offered his arm to her, but she picked up her skirts and glided down the stairs on her own. Butler followed, carrying her shoes.
“There you are, Highness!” Lady Aleksander trilled, her voice reminding Joshua of the morning birds—bright, cheerful, and too much noise at first light.
“Here I am,” she said.
“Your Grace, I must thank you for taking in our guest. We were worried to death when she didn’t return before the storm as we expected,” Lady Aleksander said.
“My fault,” Amelia said instantly. “I thought I might walk to Goosefeather Abbey.”
“Walk!” Iddesleigh said. “But that is too far!”
“Yes, my lord. Regrettably, I discovered that yesterday.” She smiled thinly.
“How lucky you are that Marley was—”
“I was very lucky indeed,” she said, interrupting Lady Aleksander before she could launch into a speech about good fortune. She glanced at Joshua. “Very lucky,” she said again. “I can’t thank you enough for rescuing me, Your Grace.”
“It was my pleasure.” His undiluted and thorough pleasure. As well as his agony. He bowed.
“You must be exhausted, darling,” Iddesleigh said. “Let’s get you home. The girls have been asking for you. They were caught in the storm, too. By design, I might add. Nothing like a good downpour to tempt a few silly girls to dance in the rain.”
One of the coachmen opened the door to the carriage. Joshua watched Amelia walk down the last few stairs and then pick her way carefully across the drive. She stepped up into the coach and Butler handed her shoes to the coachman holding the door.
Just before Amelia disappeared into the interior, she glanced back at Joshua.
She may as well have touched him with a hot fire poker—he felt her look sizzle through him.
Lady Aleksander followed her into the coach.
“Careful on the roads, Marley. Parts of it have washed away,” Iddesleigh said. “Thank you again. We are in your debt.”
“Not at all,” Joshua said.
Iddesleigh tipped his hat and entered the coach.
Joshua remained standing on the drive as the coach rolled away, bouncing and lurching through the new chuckholes created by yesterday’s storm. He remained standing there long after the coach had disappeared.
He was a terrible host. He should have invited them in. But he couldn’t bear to be in the same room with her, fearing all his feelings would be instantly understood by them all.
What he couldn’t fully grasp was what had happened to him yesterday. He didn’t understand the storm, or her wearing his clothes, or the time spent in the drawing room, talking so freely about so many things. He didn’t understand when she kissed him and he kissed her, and it didn’t really matter, did it, because either way, he was in pieces.
All night and all morning he’d felt his jaw clenching against his desire and his confusion over who and what he was.
But there was another question looming front and center in his mind. Who wasshe?How in the bloody hell had she repeated what he’d written to the headmaster? She’d said it, the very thing he’d written, that one must find compatibility before love. She’d said it nearly word for word. He could only surmise that she’d read his letter—or worse, Mr. Roberts was sharing the contents of them far and wide.
Were they laughing at him? Reading his letters and howling at his complaints and his observations? He thought he and Mr. Roberts had struck up an alliance. He’d thought Mr. Roberts was possibly his friend. He’d imagined having an ale with the man.
One way or another, he would discover how she had come to read his letter.
