Sloan clenched his teeth. He badly needed a stiff whiskey, but he would have to wait till they boarded the train and he could find the smoking car. For now he was stuck, he thought bleakly as he headed for the livery down the street where Winnie’s buggy and team were stabled.

The duchess was now his wife, for better or worse.

Surprisingly she did not take long to change. By the time he returned, she wore a traveling suit of black velvet relieved only by a small spray of dried white flowers on the lapel.

He collected her two valises and secured them to the back of the buggy, then forced himself to wait patiently while she said tearful good-byes to her friends. Since Winifred was to accompany them to the train depot, he helped the elderly lady into the vehicle, then did the same with Heather, before taking his own place next to her in the driver’s seat.

With the three of them, it was a snug fit, and he didn’t like the close proximity to his bride. The sweet scent of her rose up to tease his nostrils, and he couldn’t control his physical response as his loins clenched.

Sloan set his jaw hard. This woman was his wife now. He had a right to touch her if he wanted. But he didn’t want to.

It was barely a half mile to the station. He’d bought tickets for the bottom berth of a Pullman sleeper, yet the conductor intercepted them as they started to board the train.

“You are Mr. Sloan McCord?”

“Yes.”

“Sir, ma’am, I’ve a personal message from Mr. Randolf.” When Sloan reached for it, the conductor held back. “Mr. Randolf told me to give it to the lady directly.”

Curious, Heather accepted the envelope of hotpressed blue paper, addressed to Mrs. Sloan McCord. She faltered at the strange title, but then broke the seal and read the note penned in a bold, elegant hand.

Mrs. McCord,

My behavior toward you yesterday was reprehensible and inexcusable, I freely admit. Indeed, I deserve to be horsewhipped. Perhaps it is too much to ask your forgiveness, but I would be honored if you would accept the use of my private car as a wedding gift, by way of apology.

I must respect your choice, my dearest Heather, though I fear I am not yet sanguine enough to wish you joy in your marriage. I can only trust he will be as good to you as I would have striven to be. However, I shall count myself your friend always and beg you to call on me should ever you find yourself in need.

Yours forever fondly,

Evan Randolf

Heather felt her expression soften. Evan was acknowledging her marriage and asking her forgiveness, showing far more generosity than she expected of him.

“What does he say?” Winnie asked.