Chapter 38

On the way to Huntington Grange, Dominic didn't sleep overnight in an inn, as his family had done. He drove himself in his

curricle, changing horses every ten miles throughout the night. Luckily it didn't rain, and the miles spun by under his wheels

as he followed the road by the light of the moon.

He thought hard the whole way about the word fool and what it had meant to him as a boy—and to Torie as a girl and then as a woman.

He also thought about her extraordinary achievements.

And his own.

Since that long-ago relative insulted Queen Elizabeth, his ancestors had taken no part in guiding the country from which they

benefited so much. His father didn't even take up his seat in the House of Lords. The most important bill of Dominic's career

appeared doomed for the moment, but he had championed other bills that protected the nation's justice system and its finances.

Neither he nor his wife were fools, far from it. And yet the word fool had played a heartbreaking role in both their lives.

The moon paled quickly as his horses plodded up the final hill leading to Huntington Grange. At the top, he looked down onto

a building that appeared to have been built in a haphazard way around a medieval castle, which made the shiny red steam engine

even more conspicuous.

The groom seated beside him made an odd sound. "The door," he said urgently. "The door is open, and I don't see anyone up and about."

Dominic's heart stopped in his chest. Could the house have been attacked?

His children. His wife.

He drew in the horses only after reaching rusted gates; thereafter he slowed, because his light curricle was in danger of

flipping over as he steered around pits in the road and drove over two shining steel tracks, perfectly maintained.

As he neared the engine in front of the house, Dominic caught sight of his wife.

"You're smiling," the groom blurted out. And hastily, "Forgive me for the impertinence, my lord!"

Dominic jumped down, thinking that he should bury the memory of his father mocking his dimples, along with the memory of everything

else that benighted man had ever said.

He walked around the locomotive into a courtyard littered with paints and easels. His wife was standing before an easel, wearing

a pinafore over her nightgown, hair in a messy plait.

He strode toward her, feeling an acute, sharp longing that would be with him for life.

"Hello, Dom," Torie said quietly, putting her paintbrush into a jar.

"We have to—" he said.

"We must—" Torie began at the same moment.

They both stopped.

"My father often excoriated me for being a fool," Dom said. "That is not an excuse for what I said to you. But I hope it is

an explanation. I am more used to my father's unkind language than the opposite."

Her response was... a growl. She looked infuriated and understanding at once. He was already in love with her, but he tumbled even deeper, because she was still angry with him, but she was also livid at his father. Somehow, magically, he caught both those emotions in her eyes at once.

Dominic stepped forward and brought her hands to his mouth, the fragrance of turpentine making him irrationally happy. "I

promised myself that I will not only try to do better; I will do better."

"Perhaps we should just put our first marital fight behind us," Torie said. She gently pulled her hands from his and slung

her arms around his neck, reaching up to brush her lips over his.

A groan broke from his throat. "Darling."

"Kiss me," she whispered.

But Dominic felt anguished to his bone marrow, and kissing would merely delay the conversation they needed to have. "Do you

remember what I thought was the bedrock of any relationship?" he asked instead, eyes searching her face. "The one attribute

I hoped my wife would have."

Her brows drew together. "Fidelity?" she guessed, stepping back. "I have never had the slightest improper thought about Langlois, Dom."

"It was honesty. That replaced all my foolish notions of what I wanted in a wife."