Page 113 of In Need of a Duke
“Susan?”
“Yes, Your Grace?”
Charlotte forced a smile, but it didn’t stick. The question was pressing, waiting on her lips, but she feared to give voice to it, knowing that the answer could ruin her. Still, she pressed forward. “Have you seen him, Susan?”
Susan’s eyes widened. She nodded, clutching her hands in front of her. “Yes, Your Grace. He hasn’t left.”
Charlotte nodded, looking away.
“Start with the library,” Susan suggested after a minute.
Charlotte took off in search of her husband, quickly and quietly moving through the grand house, first starting in the library.
Charlotte made her way to the library and searched, and then his office, and then finally the parlor, the music room, and his bedroom.
“Your Grace,” someone said, popping their head out of one of the guest bedrooms. “Last I knew, he was outside in the back. He’s been working on something.”
“Thank you,” Charlotte said, not hesitating. She slipped outside the grand house, searching until her eyes fell upon a roof just beyond the walled garden where her bees were. She strolled across the vast lawn, down the hill, and stepped through the garden gate, pausing for a moment at the sight of a new glass house.
In two months’ time, he had built this.
She slowly approached the glass house, her heart thumping in her ears. Then, her heart broke a little as she stopped at the threshold and found her husband asleep on the floor. Drawings were strewn around him. He had grown a beard. Plants were scattered among shelves, plants she had never seen before. And he was wearing a sling. The rain started softly falling onto the roof, a gentle pitter-patter. She stepped inside so she wouldn’t be wet.
He must have heard because his eyes popped open. And he stared at her for a moment, his glasses pushed up onto his forehead. He rubbed his eyes, as if unsure what he saw before him.
“Lottie?”
She said nothing. How was it that she had practiced a grand speech her entire ride home, only to suddenly not know what to say.
“Is that you?” He rubbed his eyes once more.
“Yes.”
“You’ve come back.”
“Yes,” she said again, and she edged closer, quickly taking in what he had built. “What have you been doing?”
A dry, despondent laugh erupted from him. “I don’t know. I finished the wall,” he said, “and I injured my shoulder, and I wanted to surprise you with a new glass house for all your plants. One that’s bigger. I’m working on a new system to heat it, so we can house any orchid you’d like here.”
“What happened to your shoulder?” She wiped her face, a smile instantly floating to her lips.
“It’s not important. Come here.” He pushed aside the drawings and books and rose to his feet, appearing as if he hadn’t changed for a few days. His pants were wrinkly. It wasn’t like him to be so disheveled. There were large, dark rings under his eyes, and still, he was the most beautiful sight she’d ever seen.
“You went to London. And I told you I would give you a divorce. And I will, I promise, I just had to finish things here first. And I foolishly was hoping that you’d change your mind if you had some time to think about it.”
She scoffed, rolling her eyes. The rain fell harder against the glass ceiling now, slashing against the roof, buffering out the sounds of outside. It felt as if he created a new safe spot, just for her.
“This is a beautiful glass house,” she said, suddenly changing the topic, and she clasped her hands behind her and slowly walked around. “Where did you acquire these plants?”
“I commissioned them, all before I left Italy. These are all rare species. They arrived a week after you left, and somehow, I have kept them alive. But I am so grateful that you’ve returned because I fear that this plant,” he said, picking up a yellowing Tiger Lily, “may not make it. You are so much better skilled at taking care of plants, as you are taking care of anything and everything else.
“Lottie, I make a mess of things. I am too impatient and stubborn and too bullheaded. And sometimes I come charging into a situation, having already made up my mind, and I’m wrong. I know I’m wrong.” He shook his head, putting his hands on his hips, looking down at the floor for a moment before peering back at her, his eyes burning with an unmatched desire. “But I know I am right about us. I know that we can make this work, that we have something very special. We are oneof the rare lucky few. We found love in that ballroom, and we had the courage to chase after it. And we became lost along the way, but we don’t have to remain so. It’s not going to be perfect. We will have to be brave, and we will make mistakes, and I invariably will mess things up again or say the wrong thing. But I’m begging you,” he said, “to give this a chance. Please, be my wife.”
Charlotte swallowed. “Yes.”
She walked slowly up to him, brushing back some hair that fell across his forehead, gazing up at him. Relief flooding over her at being back here at Stonehurst with him, relief to feel him under her fingers, so close.
“I thought I knew what I wanted,” she said softly, “but I was only lying to myself. In trying to protect myself from being hurt again, I allowed fear to guide my decisions. You left, and I went to London, true, but I read your letters. Why didn’t you send those letters?” she asked, gently striking her fist against his chest.
