Page 72 of The Design of Dukes
“I apologize for taking our leave so early this morning.”
“I’m sure you had your reasons for forcing me up at dawn and dragging me into the coach without so much as a biscuit or cup of tea. Sneaking out as if we were thieves. I hope, at the very least, you left a note for Cousin Winnie and one for Lady Molsin.”
“I did.” She’d written them each an apology for departing so early before crawling into her bed last night and collapsing into a puddle of tears.
“You left the ball last night.” Theo stated the obvious.
“I was tired. A headache.” More heartache, but she declined to say so.
“Another one? You seem plagued by them as of late. Perhaps you should see a physician when we return.”
“Did Blythe like your dress?” A flush crawled up her sister’s cheeks. “Goodness, Theo, don’t tell me he stole a kiss?”
“I definitely did not kiss Blythe,” she assured Romy. “Granby left the ballroom shortly after you did. He neglected to return as well.”
“Did he?” Romy looked out the window. “He was drinking a great deal of scotch. Perhaps he was foxed.”
“What happened, Romy? Between you and Granby?” She put her hand up when Romy opened her mouth. “Don’t bother to deny it. I’m not stupid, and I am your sister. Besides, he’s been making cow eyes at you since we arrived. I didn’t need my spectacles to witness it.”
Romy snorted. “Really, Theo? Cow eyes? Can you think of any gentleman less likely to moon over a lady than Granby?” It hurt to even say his name.
“Did he finally steal a kiss?” Theo peered at her. “Isn’t that what he requested from you after he beat you in bowls? Blythe assumed so.”
She bit her lip. “Blythe is mistaken.” Granby hadn’t stolen anything. She’d given him her kisses as well as her virtue. Even now, she didn’t regret allowing him to make love to her. It was what had come after that pained her so.
Romy shifted in her seat, trying not to wince at the soreness between her legs. Daisy, loyal to the very roots of her hair, had put a mix of herbs into Romy’s bath last night to ease the sting, promising the ache would fade in a day or two. Unless the gentleman was well endowed.
Bollocks.
Theo slapped the top of her book. “Are you in love with him?”
Romy remembered standing before the portrait of Emelia and taking Granby’s hand. The anger choking the low rumble of his voice when speaking of his parents. That was the moment. It was then Romy had realized she was truly in love with Granby. Not in the grass when they’d been discovered by Haven. Or when he’d stripped her bare and made love to her.
When she’d taken his hand and felt his fingers slide around hers, locking them together, Romy’s love for him had opened her heart, expanding to hold his.
A tear rolled down her cheek. “We cannot be together. It is impossible.”
“Why not?” Theo leaned across and placed a hand on Romy’s knee.
“Because regardless of what Mama thinks, love does not overcome every obstacle.” Romy’s voice raised. “I have so much love for him, Theo.” She pressed a hand against her chest. “But my love willneverbe enough.” Romy raised her hand to wipe at the dampness on her face. She had to stop weeping over David Warburton, Duke of Granby. He didn’t deserve her tears or anything else. “Sometimes your affections are for the wrong person.”
“But the way he looks at you...I just thought—”
“Desire, Theo. Nothing more. Certainly not affection. Granby likes to bed beautiful women.” Too late Romy realized what she’d said. “What I mean is—”
“Say no more.” Theo moved from her seat, settling next to Romy. “We will not speak of him if you don’t wish to.” She made clucking sounds, her arm going around Romy to pull her close. “I never knew what you saw in him anyway. Great block of ice.”
Romy leaned her head on her sister’s shoulder, feeling Granby’s hand laced with hers. Then, despite her best intentions, she burst into tears.
26
Romy’s mother pointedly looked across the table at her, putting aside the letter she had been reading.
Romy drizzled a bit more honey on her toast and smiled back at her mother who was much improved of late. Since she and Theo had returned from the house party at The Barrow, Romy had spent a great deal of time reliving bits and pieces of her relationship with Granby. The more she examined their final discussion, the more Romy was sure she’d done the right thing in deciding not to see or speak to him again.
The first few nights, in her own bed, staring at the canopy above, she’d wept. He’d broken her heart. But Romy had been raised to be a woman who didnotsob over a gentleman’s disregard, though she was certain when her mother had conveyed such sage advice, she had likely been under the assumption the man in question had merely stolen a kiss.
Romy waited for regret over their night together, but it never came. She loved Granby and probably always would, but she hoped it would fade in time, allowing her to find happiness with someone else. She planned to confess everything except Granby’s name to her adoring future husband. Any man she married would love her for who she was. Flaws and all.
