The Accidental Duke (The Mad Matchmaking Men of Waterloo Book 1) by Devlin, Barbara (love letters to the dead .TXT) 📕

what ails you, my lord, and you may struggle with the mental infirmities for the remains of your life.” From a side table, Handley retrieved a piece of parchment, upon which Anthony noted a list. “However, you can manage the various maladies that typify what is referred to as ‘nostalgia’ or ‘irritable heart.’ In elementary terms, yours is but an attempt to deal with the abnormal events you witnessed, in highly irregular circumstances. It is doubtful you will ever forget what you met on the battlefield, but you can train yourself to cope with the discomfiting memories and mitigate your response.”

“Interesting, because I did not think it possible.” And reassuring, given Dr. Handley was a respectable physician with an estimable clientele. “What do you suggest?”

“There are many different methods of treatment, but I prefer the most basic.” The doctor handed Anthony the paper. “Discussing the source of your distress, either with me, Lady Arabella, or another trusted confidante works best. I also encourage you to journal about your experiences. And Lady Arabella tells me you lost your horse at Waterloo. Forgive my indelicacy, but you need to get back in the saddle, my lord, the sooner the better. Experiment with the items I propose, and find what succeeds for you.”

“I promise, I will support you.” Arabella reviewed the inventory, and Anthony would have given anything to know her thoughts. “In fact, we can do it together, my lord.”

“An excellent plan, my lady.” And she was his lady, more than ever, though she knew it not. “For now, we must depart before your parents search for you, because we have been here for three hours.”

Arabella stood, and he followed suit. Dr. Handley showed them to the door, and Anthony collected her pelisse, along with his greatcoat. When he peered down the hall, he was surprised to discover no butler or servant.

“For privacy and discretion, I relieve my staff when I see patients in my home, Lord Rockingham.” Dr. Handley smiled and extended a hand, which Anthony accepted. “It has been a pleasure, and I am available, if you have need of me.”

“I am grateful, sir. I cannot express that enough.” With that, Anthony escorted Arabella to the coach. In the sky, the clouds parted. The sun cast its rays on the street, and he hoped for a future he never thought possible. Rolling his shoulders, he savored his tranquil and unencumbered state, the depths of which he had not enjoyed in years. To the coachman, Anthony said, “Deliver us to the corner of Upper Brook Street and North Audley.”

“Aye, sir.” The driver nodded.

As he sat on the bench across from his fiancée, he glanced out the window, until Arabella lowered the shade and then plopped beside him. Before he could say anything, she framed his face and set her mouth to his, in an unutterably sweet demonstration of her devotion, which he returned, measure for measure.

Heat pooled in his loins and charged his nerves—and he broke the kiss. For the first time in a long time, he could think clearly. “Darling, you must take care, else you will lift your ankles for me, here and now, and I will not claim your bride’s prize in my rig.”

“I thought we were going to take a turn about the park?” She scooted closer, and he clenched his thighs. “Why did you change your mind? Did I do something wrong?”

“Sweetheart, today, you did everything right, and I owe you my thanks.” He rested his forehead to hers and sighed in irrepressible contentment. “Whether or not you realize it, you lifted a great burden from my shoulders. It is as though Dr. Handley shone a light on my demons and banished them, and I no longer believe I am a danger to you. Indeed, I cannot wait to marry you, tomorrow.”

*

Standing before the long mirror, Arabella admired the silver lamé wedding gown of Mama’s design. Behind her, the lady’s maid stowed the last of Arabella’s clothing in a large trunk, to be transported to the duke’s Grosvenor Square residence, because she and Anthony planned to depart for the coastal cottage after their wedding breakfast.

“Arabella, are you ready?” Papa called from her sitting room and knocked on the interior door, which sat ajar, to her bedchamber. When he spied her in her bridal finery, he sobered and splayed his arms, and she rushed into his waiting embrace. “My dear child, you are a vision.”

“Thank you, Papa.” Resting against his chest, she exhaled, and he hugged her. “I cannot believe I will soon be a married lady.”

“And a marchioness, at that.” Papa cradled her head. “You will outrank me, and I could not be prouder. While most expectant fathers live in hope of a male heir, with you I was never disappointed, and today you join two great houses and make me a most happy father. I only pray you can forgive me, someday, for forcing you to wed Lord Rockingham. But Swanborough pledged to protect you from his son, and I encourage you to provide the next in line to the dukedom, that you may be free of your obligation.”

“Papa, I am not forced to the altar.” As she retreated, she held her father’s hands in hers. In light of the terms of endearment with which Anthony addressed her, yesterday, she anxiously anticipated her nuptials. “While I admit I harbored serious reservations, and I had no desire to wed, I have since come to know Lord Rockingham, and he is the best of men. Indeed, if my opinion holds any value, I promise I am in no danger from him, and I would have you know him, as do I, because he is the greatest man of my acquaintance, excepting you, of course. Despite what His Grace claims, Lord Rockingham is not insane. He is a brave war hero, and he is to be admired, not institutionalized.”

“That is the second time you have insisted as much, and I would indulge in a debate, but I would