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Kelbrook

Sebastian read through the letter once before setting his quill down and blotting the ink dry. He then addressed an envelope, enclosed his letter, and sealed it. Rising from his seat, he marched to the door.

“Vickers,” he called.

The butler appeared immediately, and Sebastian handed him the letter. “This must reach London tomorrow,” he said.

Vickers nodded. “I shall see to it immediately, Your Grace.”

Sebastian returned to his desk and dropped into the chair. It was possible that he was overreacting. Mr. Sellers’s desire to visit Rosalind truly might be motivated by nothing more than friendship. He ran his hand across his face. Instinct told him there was more to it than that, but it was hard for someone who worked with numbers and proven theories to argue a point based on nothing but a vague feeling. He needed something more. He only hoped Bloxley could provide it—and that he would do so without delay.

Chapter 21

The rain continued for a week. Rosalind used the many hours that Sebastian was shut away in his workshop to review housekeeping books, create menus, write letters, read, and work on her latest needlepoint project. They were all worthwhile pastimes, but they were also lonely endeavors. The bright spots each day were her scheduled breakfasts and dinners with Sebastian.

Their discussions during those meals ranged from whether the steam engine would ever replace horsepower to whether roast pheasant tasted better than roast duck. No matter the subject, there was always something to think on and almost always something to laugh over. When a meal ended and they separated, Rosalind found herself counting the hours until she could sit at the table with him again.

There had been a couple of times when she had so longed for his presence that she’d walked to his workshop only to turn around when she’d reached the door. Interrupting him would only slow his progress and risk frustrating him.

By the eighth day, she determined that she had remained indoors long enough. She was going to take some air even if it meant a good soaking. Telling Polly that she would require a hat and her warmest cloak upon her return, she went downstairs for breakfast.

Sebastian was already seated at the table. A half-finished roll sat on his plate, and he was sifting through the letters Vickers had placed beside him. There were no letters at her place at the table. She had received very few since arriving at Finley Park. Perhaps when she was better known in the neighborhood, more invitations would come.

“Good morning, Sebastian.”

The duke’s attention had been fixed on the letter he’d just opened, and he looked up with a start. “Rosalind.” He stood, his smile warming her even as she noted the air of weariness hanging over him. “How are you this morning?”

“I am well.” Ignoring the food on the sideboard, she studied him. “Better than you, I would say. Your reddened eyes suggest that you did not sleep much last night.”

“It shows, does it?” he said ruefully.

She moved closer. “You cannot keep up this pace much longer. You will be of no use whatsoever to your colleague if you make yourself ill.”

“I appreciate your concern.” He offered her a wan smile. “You are right, of course, but I believe the end is finally in sight.”

“You have gone through all the pages?”

“Almost. I have five left. I wanted to finish them last night, but ultimately, my stamina failed me.”

Rosalind gave him a troubled look. “What time did you go to bed?”

“That is a closely guarded secret.”

Her gaze moved from his tired face to his crooked cravat and his unusually wrinkled jacket. Unless he owned two green jackets with gold trim, it was the same one he had worn to dinner the night before.

“Sebastian, you need to sleep.”

“I know. And I will. As soon as I’ve worked through those last five pages.”

“Have you found the error yet?”

He shook his head. “No. And it’s maddening. According to the papers, the prototype should work. I’ve gone through each formula, line by line. As far as I can tell, the numbers have been computed correctly every time.”

“Then you simply send them back with a covering note to that effect,” she said.

He grinned. “Are you always this authoritative?”

“According to Jonas, I border on imperious.”