Their second stop had interrupted her somber thoughts, and while the grooms and coachmen changed the team of horses again, the four women had a chance to eat a warm, filling dinner in preparation for the longest leg of the trip. The food, combined with the already long day, had put Alex right to sleep when she returned to the carriage and cuddled under the traveling blanket until these, the last few minutes of the journey.

Alex inhaled deeply, breathing in the crisp air. To think, just a day earlier she’d been begging her mother not to force her to travel to Essex. Now she couldn’t wait to be at the country house.

She would be lying to herself if she claimed that her eagerness to arrive was merely about protecting her friends. As she looked out the window into the blackness, she was keenly aware of the fact that she was staring blindly in the direction of Sewell Hall, the familial seat of the Blackmoor line. She knew that if Blackmoor wasn’t in the billiard room at Stafford Manor with her brothers, unaware of her approach, he was at the hall, just a quarter of a mile away.

As time had passed since their confrontation in his study, she had grown less and less angry with Blackmoor. Instead, she found herself filled with sorrow at what their relationship—always comfortable and friendly—had lost. There had been a time when their tempers would not have flared, when hurtful words would never have been spoken, when he wouldn’t have dreamed of asking her to leave his presence. That time had clearly passed, and she was devastated by that fact.

Perhaps Blackmoor had been right; perhaps the kiss had been a mistake. It had most assuredly made her life harder, because now she couldn’t imagine her world without him. He’d been her fourth brother from the start, but now he was a great deal more. Yes, he was a friend, but she couldn’t deny how thoroughly she was attracted to him—how much she ached for his approval, his affection, his love.

Love?

She started in the silence, surprised by the notion. It had always been such a laughable, ephemeral word—a concept she’d never understood and in which she’d never really been interested. It had been partner to The One…perhaps right for Vivi but never for Alex. But now, as she considered her feelings for Blackmoor—feelings that could only be defined as love—she could almost see herself embracing both of these notions.

There was only one thing to do. She had to find him, as soon as possible, and show him that everything they had, everything they’d said, was worth their taking the significant risks that faced them. She had to convince him that what she knew about his uncle and his father was true…that he was wrong not to believe her…that she would never hurt him without cause. She knew it was a risk, one that almost certainly would take her down a path that led to one of two things: either the happiness of sharing her life with the boy she was coming to realize she’d been destined for since the beginning; or the misery of living without him. It was a risk she had no choice but to take.

As she shored up her courage, telling herself she could manage this encounter and that she could overcome her disappointment if he were to dismiss her, the carriage entered the last, long curve on the manor drive. She could see the enormous stone house rising up in the darkness, and she was comforted by the fact that it had been the seat of the Stafford line for generations. If she were going to do such a nerve-wracking thing as confront the man she loved, there was no place in the world she’d rather do it than here.

She shook her mother awake, then reached across the seat and poked both Ella and Vivi, rousing them from their slumber. The three woke with the frustration of those who find sleep despite discomfort as she said, “We’re here!” with a cheerfulness she didn’t entirely feel.

The carriage rolled to a stop as Vivi yawned broadly and muttered, “Oh, excellent bed! How quickly can I find you?”

“I shall race you to it,” Ella grumbled, drawing a smile from the duchess.

The door to the carriage opened and Alex clambered down with the help of a footman. As Vivi and Ella piled out behind her, she looked up at the manor house, smiling to herself at the welcoming light that was flickering in the windows of the rooms that had been prepared for their arrival this evening. The yellow light spilled into the night in a way that she had loved since she was a child, filling the darkness that was so much a part of country evenings.

Alex took a deep breath, taking in the “crisp Stafford air”—as her father would call it—remembering her mother’s comment the day before. She did love the country. There was something about the way the stars shone ever so much more brightly here, about the way time slowed down, about the way it smelled on a cool May night. Everything seemed simpler here. Better.

The large oak door to the house opened, and Alex looked up to see her father, silhouetted by the bright lights of the entryway. He looked nothing like a duke—without an overcoat or a waistcoat, without a cravat. His shirt was tucked into his buckskin breeches, but his sleeves were rolled up on his bronzed arms, and Alex chuckled to think of what London’s aristocracy would think to see him, one of the most powerful men in England, wandering about dressed like a “savage.”

A flash of white appeared as he grinned down at the group on the drive. He called back into the house, “My word! It appears someone’s left a group of orphans at the door!”

The four women laughed at his silly jest as he came bounding down the steps, taking Alex into his arms for a warm hug and a kiss on the forehead, and welcoming Vivi and Ella in turn. He then turned to help the duchess down from the carriage. When her feet touched the ground, she looked up at her husband and said, “Rather too old to be an orphan, I think.”