The Duke and the Widow (The Unlikely Betrothal #6)
1. Chapter 1
Chapter 1
Kent, England - July 1810
R osina held her husband’s hand, thinking back on the short, loving marriage they had shared thus far. It was unfathomable that illness could reduce such a strong, virile man to skin and bones. She would have given anything for some sort of miracle to bring him back to her. She pleaded to the skies every night for the last couple of months for some sign of improvement and any assistance from some other force that would make him well again.
“Do you remember our wedding breakfast?” His voice was frail compared to the confident baritone he had always possessed.
She rubbed her thumb over his hand. “Of course, my love. Some of my family is still quite scandalized, you know.” She laughed, recalling the memory of the unexplainable grass stains on the back of her dress and the twigs in her hair. They had been so ready to consummate their marriage—not that it was the first time they had been intimate—that they thought they could slip to the gardens for a quick tryst and took a bit of a tumble.
He opened his eyes and looked at her. All the love he’d had for her on that day still shone there, and she fought not to let him see her cry. He needed to preserve his strength, so he might have a chance of overcoming whatever it was that ailed him. As foolish as she was to continue to hope. The doctors didn’t know exactly what it was, but in the similar cases they had seen, the patients hadn’t survived.
“I’m lucky to have been able to love you for the time we’ve had,” he said.
They had been married for almost two years, but they had loved each other since their youth. Ryan, Marquess Preston, had been her older brother’s best friend, and she’d followed them around everywhere. The boys were only a year older than her, and she made them let her go fishing and climb trees. She had always been a force to be reckoned with, and they didn’t dare tell her no.
“I want us to go visit our spot in the woods at my father’s estate,” she said.
He coughed and smiled at her. The memory of the first time Ry had kissed her had always been one of their favorites. Rosina had been three-and-ten, while he was four-and-ten, and they were playing a game of hide-and-seek with her brother, even if admittedly they were a bit old to be doing so. They found a place in the woods where the trees formed an enclosure that they could just squeeze into. Pressed against each other, trying to quiet their ragged breathing from running through the woods, they stared into each other’s eyes, and something happened. And she saw him differently than she had before. It appeared to have been the same for him because he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss against her lips. Her heart had belonged to him ever since.
“I was so nervous,” he said. “I wasn’t certain if you might slap me.”
“When you are well, we shall go back there, and I will be the one to kiss you.”
A frown formed on his handsome face. His features were gaunt, but she still saw the man she married.
“My Rose, you must accept what is happening. I will not survive this, and I must know that you are going to be all right when I am gone.”
No longer able to control the tears, she allowed a few to escape down her cheeks. She used her free hand to brush back the sandy brown hair from his forehead. “We mustn’t give up hope, Ry.”
He patted the bed beside him, and she moved to settle in with him. He wrapped his once-muscular arm around her and she leaned against him. His body felt different, but he was still her Ry.
He married her before she even had a come out. His parents had been worried that a man of nine-and-ten needed to sow his wild oats, but he informed anyone who dared to question his love for her that his mind would never be changed. Ry convinced her father he was prepared to take up his responsibilities and provide for her. He forwent university and dove into learning about estate management at their country home, becoming every bit the marquess he was expected to be. He would be a duke one day, or he should be. Her heart splintered as she had never imagined that her beloved husband might pass before his father.
“You are going to have to go on without me soon enough, Rose,” he said, pressing his sallow cheek to the top of her head.
They had been each other’s first everything. Neither of them had even kissed another. Even when Ry was away at Eton, he remained true to her in every way. When she was six-and-ten, they began exploring each other’s bodies. They had learnt everything about obtaining their pleasure together, with nary an inch that hadn’t been touched, kissed, explored, or tasted time and time again. Their coupling had always been untamed and fiery, and then afterwards their embrace was tender and affectionate.
“I can’t,” she said, sobbing into his chest. “I can’t lose you.”
He rubbed her back, the same way he had for years, and she cried harder.
“You must, sweetheart. I want you to have a full life. You deserve love, laughter, and children. You are going to make the most amazing mother.” His voice caught on the last word, and she hugged him tighter.
“I need you, Ry,” she said, wiping her eyes and looking up at him.
He sighed. “I know, my love. If love were enough to heal me, I would live forever here with you, Rose.”
He coughed again and laid his head back on the pillow, needing frequent naps the weaker he became. She lay with him in silence, willing the sickness to leave his body. Making every promise she could think of to whoever might hear her that she would give her very soul if it would allow Ry to grow old with her.
Two months later
Rosina’s brother, John, kept his arm around her shoulders as they watched the casket being lowered into the ground. Her family and Ry’s had tried to talk her out of attending the funeral as women didn’t do so. But she sobbed and went into such hysterics that they relented and allowed her to attend.
She had been with him almost every moment for the last couple of months, and she was beside the bed, holding his hand, when he took his last breath. She owed it to him to be there. But she wasn’t certain how she would keep breathing once the dirt covered him and the only thing left of him was a headstone and the memories she carried of him in her shattered heart.
She moved as if she might step forward, and her brother tightened his hold on her shoulder. Part of her wanted to throw herself on the casket and go with him, but she knew it wasn’t what he would have wanted. He wanted her to have a life and to go on without him, but she still couldn’t fathom how she could be expected to do so.
After the funeral, they returned to the house she had shared with Ry. His brother, Rich, had become the marquess upon Ry’s passing, but he was only eight-and-ten and intended to attend Cambridge before he took up his responsibilities.
As if she hadn’t even been in the room, both families talked about her life and where she would live. They decided she could remain in the house as long as she wished since Rich wouldn’t take up residence. She stared at the wall and did her best to ignore the conversation that only further solidified that nothing about her life would ever be the same again.
When the exhaustion of the day consumed her, she trudged upstairs and, out of habit, went straight to the bedchamber she had shared with Ry. They never spent a single night apart in their home, even the times when she slept in a chair by the bed. The sheets had been freshly changed and the bed turned down, but she couldn’t bring herself to cross the threshold into the room.
She turned on her heel and went to the marchioness’ chamber. Until then, it had only served as a dressing room and a place to keep her clothing. Rosina didn’t bother to ring for her maid or to remove the black dress she wore. She kicked off her shoes and climbed into the bed, then hugged the pillow to her body.
Rosina wasn’t sure how she was expected to go on in a world where Ry wasn’t. She closed her eyes, longing for sleep, the only place where she might see him again.