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She blinked and shook her head.Have I lost my heart so thoroughly that I am in danger of losing my wits? I thought I heard…
“Nora!”
She could not be hearing what she thought she was hearing. Nora turned toward the door to the house, throat tight.
It could not be Arthur’s voice calling her, calling her name. It must be some fancy brought on by her weariness and recent grief. She was imagining it, nothing more, and in a moment, the sunlight on her face would bring her back to her senses.
“Nora!”
This time she heard rapid footfalls accompanying her name as if the speaker was running swiftly through the halls of her aunt’s home. That in and of itself was madness to think—Garner would never permit such uncouth behavior in her aunt’s home.
She was still thinking that. Still trying to wake, when the door was flung open to reveal a heartbreakingly familiar figure.
Tall, lean, with honey blond hair cut short over a tanned and handsome face, with eyes that glittered grass green with flecks of amber like honey strewn across new spring growth.
His clothing was rumpled, his cravat little more than a limp rag, and his boots dusty. She had a moment to wonder why he had come calling in such apparel—or rather why she might imagine him doing so—before he darted across the short stretch of lawn that separated them.
* * *
He’d spent more than half a day in his coach, barely stopping to eat and water the horses and relieve himself—and it was worth every tension-filled minute the moment he stepped into the sunlight of that small back garden and spied Nora standing there, staring wide-eyed and disbelieving at him.
Four quick strides took him to her side. Then he was tugging her close, folding his arms about her as he attempted to simultaneously bring his heartbeat under control and drown himself in the scent of her sun-kissed hair. “Nora.”
He wanted to hold her close. He wanted to kiss her senseless. He wanted to sweep her back into his carriage and back to London. But he forced himself to remain still. Their earlier quarrel was still between them, and he understood quite well that it was of his making.
“Arthur?” Her voice was soft and uncertain as she looked up at him. “Are you…?”
“I am truly here, dear Nora.” he bent and kissed her brow. He would have liked to do more, but the distinct sound of a throat being cleared drew his attention away from her.
A matronly older woman stood some distance away, beside a startled and slightly nervous-looking child that could only be Lydia. There was a look of bemused tolerance on the older woman’s face, though the child was clutching shyly at her skirt.
“I daresay you are here, young man, but I do not believe I have made your acquaintance nor heard a suitable explanation for why you should be entering my home and accosting my niece in such a manner.” Beneath the quiet, polite tones was a core of steel that would have done his mother proud.
Arthur flushed and turned to face her more fully, though he did not relinquish his grip on Nora’s hand, which he captured as he turned. He bowed low, lower than he might have under other circumstances. “My good lady. I do beg your pardon most humbly for my rather unorthodox intrusion. My name is Arthur Russell, the Duke of Bedford.”
“Miss Evelyn Dartmouth. And what business have you with my niece? For I am quite sure I did not mention her arrival to anyone, nor do I recall seeing a card for the Duke of Bedford among my appointments today.”
Arthur dipped his head, accepting her rebuke. “I do apologize for the manner of my arrival. But as to your other question—it was most urgent that I speak with your niece as soon as I might, and so vital to me that I have followed her from London as soon as I knew her destination.”
“But why?” The soft words came not from Miss Dartmouth but from Nora herself. She drew back from him, eyes glittering with unshed tears. “I rather thought you said all that needed to be said at our last encounter, Your Grace.”
“I said many things, none of which needed to be said, and all of which were utter nonsense that ought never to have crossed my mind, much less passed my lips.” He shook his head. “I was a fool, Nora, and I beg of you, let me apologize properly and offer my explanation, poor though it is.”
“I…” Nora was interrupted by a quiet, childish voice.
“Mama?” The little girl had detached herself somewhat from the matron of the house, eyes bright and uncertain as she looked in Arthur and Nora’s direction.
Nora took a deep breath. Then she reached out a hand. “Come here, darling. There is someone I would like to introduce you to.”
The little girl came willingly enough, a slightly battered daylily in one tiny hand. Nora stroked her hand through the dark locks, then locked gazes with him. “Your Grace, I would like you to meet my daughter, Lydia.” She looked back down at the little girl. “Lydia, darling, this gentleman is the Duke of Bedford.”
“Hello.” The word was murmured in a quiet little voice as the child blinked up at him with bright blue eyes that held a mix of innocent curiosity and uncertainty.
Arthur dropped to one knee to be on the child’s level. She had her mother’s eyes, though without the wariness and hurt that clouded Nora’s. His mother had been right that she was an enchanting little darling. He felt a genuine smile tug one corner of his mouth as he solemnly extended his hand to take the small, soft one of the girl’s.
“Hello, Lydia. Your mother introduced me by my title, but my name is Arthur. Arthur Russell and I would much prefer you call me by that.”
For now.He rather hoped he could secure Nora’s agreement for Lydia to call him something else in the near future.
