“Well, I suppose we should be grateful it wasn’t a lion.”
His look turned more sour. “I look like a monster.”
Rosilee did smile then. “Never say so! Though I must say, you do have a rather fearsome appearance.”
“Monsters are fearsome.”
Amusement sparked inside her. “You are not a monster, Your Grace.”
He looked unconvinced but didn’t reply further.
Traveling hours upon hours in a carriage—she’d lost count of how many—wasn’t always comfortable, and the lingering consequences of the cat had been bothersome for the duke. The man must surely be eager to reach his destination and to leave the whole ordeal behind him.
She certainly was.
Fortunately, they had arrived at the outskirts of London a while ago, so it shouldn’t be much longer. Rosilee peered out the window, her face lit with curiosity. “Is this it? Are we close to your home?”
“I don’t know,” he said, glancing out the window himself, his fingers tugging absently at his cravat. “It’s been a while since I’ve been in London, though I imagine we should be at the house soon.”
As if the universe mocked his uncertainty, the carriage rolled to a halt.
Rosilee finally let out the chuckle she’d been holding back. It must have been a long time indeed if he couldn’t readily recall. With a wry smile, and without waiting for Ben or Mr. Bishop to open the door, she pushed it open herself and jumped out, stretching out her cramped limbs.
At last.
Her gaze lifted to the house, and she stilled mid-stretch, absorbing the sight before her. “Is... is this it?”
She turned to the duke.
He stared too; his mouth slightly parted.
She couldn’t blame him. The house was almost completely obscured by a mass of vines that clung to the stone walls, their green tendrils creeping over the windows and door. The once-grand entrance was barely visible, hidden behind a curtain of ivy. The whole building had a forlorn, abandoned look, as if it had been forgotten by time.
Well, it has, hasn’t it?
The duke cleared his throat. “It’s a bit weathered, I admit.”
“It looks like a jungle,” Rosilee said slowly. “And we are going to explore.” Laughter bubbled forth. “I must say, Your Grace, I was expecting something a bit more... grand. You didn’t tell me you were such a plant enthusiast!”
The man glared at her, though with no true heat in his gaze. “This is not how I remember it,” he said defensively. “It must have... gotten out of hand.”
Rosilee raised an eyebrow, her grin widening. Her eyes darted over his mop of hair, which also seemed a bit overgrown. “Out of hand? It looks like the plants have taken over entirely. Are you sure there’s a house under there?”
The duke huffed, his attempt at dignity strained. “Of course there is. It’s just in need of... some care.”
Mr. Bishop joined them, his face devoid of emotion. “Looks like the estate has missed you,” said flatly.
The duke shot Mr. Bishop a withering look.
“Ah, well, a little pruning,” the man continued, “and it’ll be good as new. Maybe.”
Could this man truly be a servant? Rosilee had her suspicions, but she nodded along, amused. “Well, at least it has character.” A lot of character. “I can hardly wait to step inside.”
Mr. Bishop ran a hand through his hair. “If it’s anything like the outside,” he said, leading the way toward the house, “we’re in for a treat.”
As they approached, the vines rustled, and a portly woman burst out from behind them, her face flushed and her hair in disarray. She wore a faded brown dress and an apron, waving her hands frantically as she rushed toward them.
“Your Grace! Your Grace!” she cried, her voice high-pitched with excitement. “Oh, it’s really you! I thought I was dreaming when I saw you exit the carriage!”
