Chapter 7 #2
Dominic stepped down from his coach, his boots crunching against the gravel drive as he looked up at the grand facade of his townhouse.
The afternoon sun caught on the windows and cast golden reflections across the red brick, and still—despite having lived there for several months—it didn’t feel real.
The townhouse was his. Every polished brick and slate tile bought with coin he’d earned, not inherited.
He tightened his grip on his gloves, a flicker of disbelief still clinging to him.
His father had owned estates like this. More than one.
But Dominic had never expected to possess one himself.
He had walked away from a fortune and a name to carve his own path.
His father had called him a disgrace for becoming a Bow Street Runner, for daring to work among the common rabble.
To earn a wage was, in his father’s mind, a stain on the family name.
Dominic’s jaw tensed. He hadn’t left for pride but to save his mother.
He had planned to return for her, to give her a better life.
But time had stolen the chance. Illness had come swiftly and silently.
By the time he received word, both his parents were gone.
He hadn’t even had a moment to say goodbye.
At least—not to his mother. He felt no sorrow for his father’s passing.
The man had inflicted too many wounds, both seen and unseen.
But his mother had deserved so much more.
The front door swung open as he approached, and Wright greeted him. “Good afternoon, my lord.”
Dominic removed his hat and handed it over, brushing a bit of dust from his coat sleeve. “I’d like to be alone. There’s work I must attend to.”
“Of course, my lord. But I should inform you that Lady Warwicke’s trunks have arrived, and her mare was delivered to the stables just over an hour ago.”
Dominic lifted a brow. “Is she aware of this?”
Wright inclined his head. “Yes, my lord. She returned home not long ago and went directly to the stables.”
Dominic said nothing more. He should go straight to his study since there were ledgers from his new estate that required review. But the thought of Dorothea, alone in the stables, tugged at him. He hesitated, torn between duty and desire. In the end, he sighed inwardly and changed course.
He crossed the rear gardens and arrived at the open stable doors. As he neared, he slowed as soft singing drifted from within. The melody floated on the air like something out of a memory.
He leaned silently against the doorframe as he watched Dorothea brush her mare’s coat.
Her voice was low and lovely, the same song she had sung during the darkest of nights—when pain had wracked his body and he’d teetered on the edge of death.
That song had quieted the storm in his mind when nothing else could.
Hearing it again now brought a strange ache to his chest.
She was good. Pure in a way the world rarely allowed. And that was why she could never be his. Not truly. Not forever.
He shouldn’t be here. He should slip away and bury himself in estate matters. He had come only to see—nothing more. But as he turned to go, her song faded and her voice called out, clear and direct.
“Dominic.”
He froze.
Botheration.
Slowly, he turned back to face her. “Dorothea.”
She smiled, and it was full of the one thing he dreaded seeing: hope.
“How are you?” she asked.
“I’m well,” he replied, his voice clipped, too formal. “I only came to inform you that your mare has arrived but I see you’re already aware of that.” Idiot. Could he have made a more redundant entrance?
Dorothea rested her hand on her mare’s neck. “Thank you for allowing her to be housed here.”
“They are your stables as well,” he said, though he stopped himself from adding, at least for now.
She turned and gestured to the stall at the far end. “I see your stallion returned from the Continent with you.”
That brought a smile to his lips. “He did. It took some time to arrange the transport, but I couldn’t leave him behind.”
“I’m glad. You asked about him often when you were recovering,” she said, watching him closely.
Dominic stepped farther into the stables, the scent of hay and leather surrounding him. He moved to the stall where his horse stood and reached out, running a hand along its muzzle. “He’s been with me through everything. I wouldn’t have trusted another steed in battle.”
“How long have you had him?” she asked, moving to stand beside him.
“My uncle gave him to me before I left for the Continent,” he replied. “He told me to sit tall in the saddle and ride with honor.”
“You smile when you speak of your uncle,” Dorothea observed.
“He is a good man, unlike my father. He loved his wife fiercely and never remarried after her death.”
“Where does he live?”
“Just outside London. A modest estate, nothing grand. He rarely leaves his favorite chair these days. He claims reading keeps his mind sharper than any doctor could.”
Dorothea reached into a nearby bucket and drew out a shiny red apple. She held it out, and Dominic’s stallion eagerly took it from her palm.
“I would like to meet your uncle,” she said, brushing her fingers clean on her skirts.
Dominic looked at her. “He would like you,” he replied. “Of that, I have no doubt.”
“Does he know you’re married?”
He gave a slow nod. “I imagine he read it in the newssheets. I should have written to him before it was made public.”
Dorothea tilted her head. “Perhaps we can visit him together sometime.”
Together.
The word echoed in Dominic’s mind, far louder than it should have. It was an innocent suggestion—harmless, even. Together implied continuity, future, belonging. But there was no future for them. Not like that. Once the annulment was granted, they would go their separate ways.
And that was for the best. For both of them.
Dominic cleared his throat. “I have work I must attend to,” he said, his tone curt.
“Yes, of course,” she replied, but as the words left her mouth, she turned her head and sneezed into her handkerchief.
Instantly, his guarded expression shifted to one of concern. “Are you unwell? Shall I send for the doctor?”
She waved a hand lightly in the air. “It’s only a cold,” she said with a reassuring smile. “Doctor Langley gave me some laudanum to help me sleep, but truly, I feel well enough.”
Still, Dominic frowned. “Perhaps you should go and rest. It’s best not to let it worsen.”
“I suppose you’re right,” she said, though her tone suggested she hadn’t wanted to admit it.
They exited the stables side by side, the crunch of gravel beneath their boots and the scent of fresh hay still lingering in the air.
“How is Tristan’s mother faring?” Dominic asked, breaking the silence.
That was the right question. Dorothea’s entire expression brightened, her posture straightening as warmth touched her features. “Very well, actually. When we visited earlier, she was awake and lucid. Doctor Langley seemed genuinely optimistic about her recovery.”
“Did he say what her illness was?” Dominic asked, though he had a suspicion.
Dorothea’s smile dimmed, her gaze turning somber. “She stopped eating so that Tristan wouldn’t have to go without.”
Dominic winced, guilt and admiration warring within him. “That is tragic. But also noble, in its own way.”
“You were wise to take her to the hospital when you did,” Dorothea said.
He waved the praise away with a flick of his hand. “It was simply the right thing to do.”
Dorothea’s gaze lingered on him. “Tabitha wanted me to thank you for caring for Tristan so well.”
Dominic clasped his hands behind his back. “No thanks is necessary. I only did what my conscience dictated.”
“I think it was admirable,” Dorothea said with conviction.
He stiffened at that. Praise made him uncomfortable. “You would have done the same,” he said sharply. “There’s nothing exceptional about it.”
He saw her start to respond, her lips parting slightly, but he cut her off before she could speak. “I’d prefer we speak of something else.”
A moment of silence passed before she replied, “As you wish.”
He decided to ask a safe question. “How are you settling in?”
That brought back her smile, bright and genuine. “Very well. Everyone has been so kind to me. Your staff is warm and helpful, and my bedchamber is the most luxurious room I’ve ever stayed in. The sheets feel like silk, and I can see the gardens from the window.”
“I am happy to hear that.”
Dorothea clasped her hands in front of her. Her gaze dipped for a moment, and she drew in a quiet breath before biting her lower lip. Color rose to her cheeks as she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I was hoping… you might come visit me at night,” she said, the words tumbling out in a rush. Her blush deepened, giving away the vulnerability she usually kept hidden behind her graceful composure.
Dominic felt his heart twist.
He hadn’t wanted to have this conversation.
Not yet. The thought of disappointing her made his chest tighten, but keeping her in the dark any longer would only make it worse.
Perhaps now was the time to tell her the truth—that he intended to petition for an annulment.
He opened his mouth, preparing to speak, but the words caught in his throat.
Just then, the sound of rapid footsteps broke the moment. Tristan came barreling across the gravel path, his face lit with pure joy. Clutched in his hands was a brightly colored kite, the long tail trailing behind like a banner of triumph.
“Look what I got!” he cried, grinning from ear to ear.
Dorothea’s expression instantly softened as she turned towards him. “It’s a kite,” she replied.
“Do you want to fly it with me?” Tristan asked eagerly, bouncing on the balls of his feet as though the excitement couldn’t be contained in his small frame.
She laughed. “I would love to.” Then, turning towards Dominic with hopeful eyes, she inquired, “Would you care to join us?”
“I have work I must see to,” he said firmly.
A flicker of disappointment came into Dorothea’s eyes as she murmured, “I understand.”
Tristan reached up and grabbed Dorothea’s hand with enthusiasm. “Come on! Let’s go fly the kite!”
Dorothea cast one final glance over her shoulder, her eyes meeting Dominic’s for a moment—a silent question lingering there. Then, with Tristan tugging at her hand and excitement in his step, she let herself be drawn away.
Dominic remained where he stood, his boots planted firmly on the gravel path as he watched them disappear through the break in the hedge that led to the open field beyond the gardens.
It didn’t surprise him how good Dorothea was to Tristan. That was who she was. Kind. Caring. And a far better person than him.