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her basket was prepared, she left a note for Mr. Felix,
being just as cryptic. He could not share with Sebastian what he did not know.
She had already told her lady’s maid she would be free for the day.
    Please express my regrets to Lord Ridgley. I wish him
well.
    The note was not for Sebastian but Felix—how much clearer could
she be?
    Of course, Sebastian would demand to see her note and
hopefully he would wish her to the devil before he bounded out the door.
    She had found peace here in Cornwall.
    He was the only one who could take away her serenity.
    Hammond had multiple properties. The Cornish mansion was one
of the largest with over sixty rooms. It had not taken much to convince the new
Duke of Hammond to deed the unentailed property to her, especially after he had
seen her a month later. Her countenance had still been ravaged by the sharp
glass and the ugliness of healing. His only stipulation was that he retained
the mining rights to the tin and copper. She was happy to comply.
    Her husband’s brother was a military man who appreciated
order and honor. He had stayed only long enough to facilitate the transfer. She
hoped he married soon. What would it be like to be free of the duchy? Most
would think her mad for having such a wish, but the title meant nothing since
she planned to live her life free from the social expectations of London’s
elite.
    The multitude of rooms, however, came in handy when she
wished for some privacy. Grace walked back to her boudoir, carrying her
sustenance in a small wicker basket. She took her book, a sketch pad and
pencils, fitting them inside. She went to her sitting room and plucked up her
embroidery. She intended to be busy today. And alone.
    The room she had in mind was on the fourth floor of the
mansion, in one of the wings. There was a large dancing hall with three double
doors leading to a balcony with wrought iron railing. The view was stunning
during the spring and fall, but stark and nearly lonely during the winter.
    She walked to the end of the hall and entered into a small
retiring room with its own set of doors and a private balcony. The room was
decorated in reds and golds with several thick rococo chaise longues,
overstuffed brocaded chairs, a small escritoire and two sturdy oak tables on
each side of the room. A fireplace mantel dominated the middle of the room but
it was devoid of kindling. Hopefully the rain wouldn’t cause much of a chill.
    The room was kept in perfect order. She didn’t think anyone
knew she came here on occasion. There were days when it was pleasant to pretend
she wasn’t a duchess.
    Time passed much as she thought it might. Thoughts of
Sebastian intruded throughout the day, each punctuated by a second thought. Had
he gone yet?
    Nothing could make her see him.
    He could follow her to the farthest reaches of Africa but
she would not see him.
    He expected his women to be beautiful and perfect. She had
seen the types he preferred and they weren’t dowdy vicar’s daughters or plump
matrons. Or blemished widows. Gossip somehow always reached her when he took a
mistress, had an affair or expressed interest in the next woman he pursued.
She’d made herself believe it didn’t matter.
    Yes, she had changed. When she knew him before, she had been
just as shallow as he had been, relying on her beauty to charm and flirt.
    Her mind ruled her heart when it came to Sebastian. It was
for the best he rode away.
    She threw aside her embroidery and leaned over her knees.
The ache building in her chest had nothing to do with scars and everything to
do with lost love.
    Tears filled her eyes and spilled into her lap. The pain
built with each beat of her heart until the first sob shook her body.
    Her heart and her soul screamed that he must never leave
her. Those screams dripped from her eyes since there was no other way to
express them that didn’t involve the destruction of her carefully woven
existence.
    When the tears stopped, she reclined on the chaise