The Contract Duchess, a Regency Romance: Key To My Heart Book 1

Chapter 8 - Derrick

As the carriage door latched behind him, Derrick rapped on the roof to signal the driver to leave. The resulting jolt pressed him into the cushions of the forward facing bench, but he paid the awkward moment no mind. Their rapid departure served to confirm that the driver understood the importance of an expeditious journey to the Hollins home. Thankfully, Derrick's gift remained clutched in his left hand no worse for the jostling, so he tucked it into the corner of the seat and set about checking his appearance for the fourth or fourteenth time that day.

He tugged his cravat and waistcoat to ensure the knot of one and the buttons of the other created a clean line down his chest, all the while wondering at the desertion of his confidence. In their youth, he and Angie cared little for what the other wore, beyond noting a skinned knee through a tear in the fabric after a tree climbing race or rolling up pantaloon legs to go splashing in mud puddles. A vision of her pale drawn face framed in black that morning replaced the memory of their carefree antics, and his stomach knotted tight. He hoped some trace of that hoyden remained, despite her weakened state. Without the promise of their former camaraderie - loveless as it must be - his future stretched before him, two paths diverging in the desert with little to distinguish either one: a paper marriage to a dull invalid, or a solitary existence sustained by just enough coin to prevent a descent into complete poverty.

He flinched away from his morose thoughts when the vehicle rolled to a halt outside a moderate-sized house with arched white cornices above the door and windows. Preferring action to anxiety, he snatched up the tea cup from its resting spot and leaped out into the afternoon sunshine and up the three steps to the entry door.

The ill-tuned chiming of a clock inside the house filled him with an odd satisfaction as he mounted the steps. A lord must always be punctual, his father's voice echoed in his mind. The door swung inward just as his hand clasped its twin behind his back after planting four rapid raps on its smooth paint. Its retreat revealed a household maid, her smile polite and not a hair or thread out of place in her appearance.

"Good day, sir. How may I help you?" she asked primly.

"Good afternoon, I am Lord Williams. I am here to see Miss Hollins; I believe she is expecting me." He blurted out his response, resisting the urge to duck his head in chagrin as the maid's smile deepened, crinkling her cheeks and the corners of her eyes.

"Please come in, sir. Right this way." The maid stepped aside to allow him entrance, closing the door behind him before leading the way around a corner to the open door of the receiving parlor. He straightened his shoulders and strode confidently into the room, halting abruptly a few steps past the threshold.

This morning, every crease and hollow curve of Angela's face had stood out, giving an impression of illness and frailty he could attempt to discount as an effect of the lamps in the office. In the even illumination of her own parlor, unshielded by a veil and free of the shadows cast by her tall brothers, the damage of the past decade startled him.

Where he remembered round pink cheeks, smooth skin, and cherry lips always lifted at the corners, he now observed too-prominent cheekbones, premature lines across her brow, and a blush-colored bow stretched into a thin line above her delicate chin. Yet amid the alterations, his old friend possessed a beauty that dried his mouth and set his heart racing. A rush of conflicting emotions swept through him, locking him in place while he stared blankly at her. Before he could compose himself enough to voice an appropriate greeting, Angie interrupted his chaotic thoughts.

"Good afternoon, Your Grace. I am most grateful for your offer to join me for tea. However, your discomfort is clearly writ on your countenance, and I understand if you do not wish to linger in my presence." The sadness laced through her low voice so thickly he half-expected to see it floating in the air between them. "Perhaps it might be best if we sort out this dreadful bind by correspondence. I have missed you, dear friend, but I would not cause you further distress for my own selfish desires."