A Forbidden Waltz With the Dashing Duke

by Hazel Linwood

  Perhaps I should not have told Mrs. Wooster. She is ever so loyal to Mama. But then, it is just the one dress, after all.

  She needn’t have worried. The kindly woman smiled at her and shook her head.

  “She shan’t find out from me. And I doubt Lady Catherine will tell her, given that she is presently prancing around the gardens wearing a new gown herself,” she winked at Rowena who grinned. “I shall carry on as these need putting in water,” she lifted the bundle of flowers and departed when Rowena gave her a nod of the head.

  Rowena proceeded to make her way through the foyer. One of the footmen opened the large French doors leading outside. She stopped at the top of the stairs and inhaled. The scent of fresh-cut grass was in the air and the sound of birds singing in the distance drifted to her ears. It was May now, and spring was on the cusp of turning into summer.

  She loved this time of year. The harshness of winter was long behind them and the best season of all, the London Season, was ahead of them. Rowena could hardly wait to join the rest of her family, who were already in London to attend the Royal Wedding, later in the week.

  “Rowena!” her sister called out. She looked up and broke into a grin as her eyes settled on her younger sister, who was walking through their father’s rose garden up ahead. Betsy Carmichael, Rowena’s close friend, strolled alongside her.

  “Come, join us. It is glorious weather out here,” Catherine called out. Rowena grinned as she gathered her pale, peach-colored gown in her hand as to not let it drag along the sandy driveway and stepped onto the gravel path.

  “I see you could not resist the call of the new gowns any more than Cathy could,” Betsy said with a smirk as Rowena joined them.

  “The best part of the war being over at last is that we can finally have access to all these glorious gowns from France,” Catherine said and gave a twirl. She was dressed in a striking yellow gown that flattered her blonde hair and pale skin. A row of white-lace embroidery ran down her chest in a V-shape and the same embroidery had been used around the hem. She’d paired the dress with a white spencer; it too was embroidered, this one with matching yellow flowers along the sleeves.

  “I would venture to say that the soldiers disagree with you there. However, I must admit that I have never seen gowns quite as beautiful. And Mama and Margaret have really outdone themselves. We have enough gowns and hats and reticules to last six London Seasons.”

  Rowena broke into a giggle, joined by Catherine. Suddenly, Rowena’s eyes fell on her friend’s face and she saw that Betsy had not joined in the excited giggles. No, instead she stood quietly, her hands folded in front of her, a polite smile upon her face.

  A wave of shame overtook Rowena and she reached out to clasp her friend’s hand.

  “Faith, Betsy, I am ever so sorry. I did not mean to be so insensitive and boastful.”

  Betsy waved her hand dismissively. “Please, do not fret, Rowena. I am happy for you. This is an important Season for the both of you. Of course, Lady Hazelshire will want to ensure you have the very best and finest of everything. Besides, she has not entirely forgotten me.” A sheepish expression crossed her comely face and her grey eyes flashed with a spark.

  “She has sent me a small trunk of items as well.”

  Rowena exhaled, relieved that her mother had not forgotten their dear friend.

  It was silly of me to worry. Of course, Mama provided for Betsy. She loves her ever so much.

  Betsy, the only surviving child of Lady Hazelshire’s closest childhood friend, had been made an orphan ten years prior when a devastating fire robbed her of her entire family. Lady Hazelshire, loyal to her friend as she was to all those she cared about, had taken her in and raised her alongside Rowena, Catherine, and their brother, Charles.

  “That is wonderful. You must show me later. We can pick out our Promenade dresses for when we are in London.”

  Betsy smiled and nodded, “We shall. Although I imagine Lady Hazelshire intended the new wardrobe to assist me in finding a position, more so than to go for strolls in Hyde Park.”

  Rowena swallowed hard. She knew Betsy was right. While she had been raised alongside them, she was not of noble birth and the time had come for Betsy to find a position for herself. Perhaps as a teacher or governess.

  The thought of her friend leaving made Rowena incredibly sad. Of course, she knew that she would soon be leaving the family home as well…as soon as her father found her a suitable husband. She sighed. Rowena disliked change, but she knew very well what her place within the family was, just as Betsy knew hers.

  “Rowena, do not look so Friday-faced. The London Season is upon us,” Catherine broke Rowena out of her sadness, excitement in her voice. She was presently squatting down beside a bed of orange roses, pulling the blossom toward her, and inhaling the scent with her eyes closed.

  “Does this not smell divine? And the color matches my dress ever so well. I shall like to cut one and put it in my hair. Don’t you think that would be marvelous?”

  Rowena shook her head. A strand of her rich, dark brown hair fell into her face.

  “I would not dare. You know how Papa is with his roses.”

  Catherine scoffed.

  “You are such a goody good, Rowena.” She set out to break one of the roses off, making sure not to poke her skin with any thorns, and wedged it behind her ear. “Papa won’t find out. He is in London, anyhow.”

  Suddenly, her sister’s blue eyes took on a dark expression. “I cannot believe we were not invited. It is a scandal, I declare.”

  Rowena and Betsy exchanged a glance, each suppressing a grin.

  “I would not go so far as to declare a scandal, sister. If every member of every aristocratic family in England went to the wedding, they would have to hold the wedding at outdoors in St. James’s Park instead of Carlton House. Indeed, Charles and Margaret were lucky to get invited alongside Papa and Mama.”

  Catherine shook her head and rose. “Faith, Mama and Margaret best memorize every detail. I shall want to hear it all the moment we get to London.” She looked down at her hands, pouting. Rowena was struck by how young her sister looked. She was seventeen now, a woman already, but still her face still had a child-like quality to it, especially when she was upset.

  “I am certain they will,” Rowena said and ran her hand along her sister’s spencer in comfort.

  “I know I should not say so, but I am ever so envious of Princess Charlotte,” her sister’s voice slipped from matter-of-fact to dreamy. “They say it was love at first sight between her and Prince Leopold. Can you imagine?”

  Rowena sighed. She could not. She’d never dared to. She knew very well that as the oldest daughter she would be expected to marry whoever her father chose for her. And, as much as Lord Hazelshire loved his daughters, he would choose someone who would benefit the family and who increased their influence and wealth. Not someone who fit his daughter’s romantic fantasies. Although she thought it wise to keep these thoughts to herself. Her sister was slipping into a melancholy mood as it was.

  “I am sure it is wonderful. And I know you will find someone to love soon, Lady Catherine,” Betsy said, giving the younger girl an encouraging nod. Instead of being encouraged by the comment, Catherine simply sighed.

  “I would need to have my coming-out ball first, of course. Otherwise no man will even know I exist.” She looked from Rowena to Betsy and back.

  “Cathy–” Rowena reached toward her, but Catherine removed her hand and shook her head.

  “It is quite alright, Rowena. It cannot be helped. I simply must be patient.” She rubbed her temples. “I feel as though I am coming down with a rather nasty headache. I shall rest for a while, but I will see you at dinnertime, I am sure.”

  Without waiting for a reply, Catherine walked away toward the house.

  “I feel ever so dreadful, Betsy,” Rowena said as she and Betsy walked along the lake which lay just beyond the rose garden. “It is my fault she has not had a coming-out ball yet.
And it is my fault she has not yet been able to even look for a match.”

  Rowena shook her head, her delight at the arrival of the beautiful gowns now a distant memory.

  Betsy looped her arm through Rowena’s.

  “It is not your fault and you know it. Do not let it vex you. I am certain your Father will find a husband for you soon and then Catherine can have the most glorious of coming-out balls and be wed in no time at all.”

  Rowena sighed. She knew that the only reason her parents had held off on giving Catherine a coming-out ball was because they had yet to find a husband for Rowena. While having both daughters out at the same time was not uncommon, it was unseemly.

  “I can only hope. I still feel ever so terrible about what happened with Lord Mortimer.” She shuddered at the memory. The year prior, her father had attempted to make a match for her with Louis Forbes, the Marquess of Mortimer. She had met the young man on several occasions, always properly chaperoned by her mother and found him as tolerable as one could hope for in a match. She’d expected that an offer of marriage would be made in no time at all.

  In fact, her parents had been so confident that an offer would be made, plans were drawn up for a summer wedding as well as a coming-out ball for Catherine that fall, who’d been ecstatic at the idea.

  And then the unthinkable had happened. Lord Mortimer had run off with his secret lover, the daughter of a local butcher, and wed her at Gretna Green. Utterly devastated by the events, Lady Hazelshire had taken to her bed for a week, and Catherine had cried until her eyes were puffy and red, and Rowena…well. She had done what she’d been raised to do. Kept her composure. While her mother and sister had fallen into despair at their respective disappointments, Rowena had carried on as always.

  “Faith, don’t waste another thought on that scoundrel Mortimer. You’ll see, soon enough you will have a new match and Catherine will have a ball. And I, God willing, will have a suitable position.”

  Rowena frowned. “Have you got any prospects?”

  Her friend shrugged. “Lady Hazelshire is going to take me along on her morning calls when we get to London to introduce me to some of the families that might be in need of a governess.”

  Rowena sighed heavily. “I shall miss you ever so much, Betsy.”

  Her friend shook her head. “Don’t fret. I won’t go far. You all are as close to a family as I have. I’d never want to leave you. Well,” she winked, “unless a handsome young merchant asks for my hand in marriage. Then I might be inspired to go wherever he wants to take me.”

  She swayed a little as she walked, and Rowena found herself pushing away a slight ping of envy.

  Sometimes I wish I had the freedom to wed a man I choose, like Betsy.

  She pushed the thought away, reminding herself of all the blessings she had in her life and of all the hardships Betsy had gone though. If Betsy could find a man who loved her and gave her a comfortable life, Rowena would be happy for her. There were few people who deserved happiness more than Betsy.

  “Shall we return to the house?” Betsy asked after they’d walked for a while in silence.

  Rowena nodded, “Perhaps we should. I have much packing yet to do. I dare say, Mama went a little over the top with her purchases.”

  Betsy laughed out loud. “She does love fashion. I will say, I was surprised she took Lady Dorset with her to Paris and not you or Catherine.”

  Rowena shrugged. “I expect she is trying to make nice with Margaret, since she will be the Countess of Hazelshire one day, when Charles inherits the title.”

  Betsy shook her head. “I dare say I don’t–“ She got no farther for up ahead, Catherine sprinted their way, running so fast she had to hold on to her bonnet to keep it from flying off her head.

  “Rowena! Betsy! A messenger has come, a messenger!” She reached them, totally out of breath and bent forward, pushing her hands on her knees. In her hand she held a letter. Rowena recognized the broken wax seal at once as that of her father. She swallowed. Why would he be sending a messenger all the way to Herfortshire when they were going to be in London in less than a week?

  “What is it, Lady Catherine?” Betsy asked, anxiety in her voice.

  Catherine straightened and took a deep breath and then broke into a grin so wide it lit up her entire face.

  “I am to have a ball. A coming-out ball! It is true. Papa has rented out the Worcester Ballroom for it and he will invite all the finest lords and ladies. It will be in a month’s time. Can you imagine? The Worcester Ballroom? It is glorious. And to receive such news on the day of Princess Charlotte’s wedding makes it all the more wonderful.”

  She swayed back and forth, clutching the letter to her chest.

  Rowena felt Betsy’s eyes on her before she even looked at her. When their eyes met, she could see that her friend knew what this meant just as much as Rowena did.

  She steadied herself and then addressed her sister, who was swallowed up in a cloud of elation.

  “Was there a letter for me as well?”

  “What?” Catherine stopped swaying and looked up as if woken from a dream. Then she nodded. “There was. I am ever so sorry, I forgot. I was so excited about my ball.” She reached into her reticule and retrieved a sealed letter which was now somewhat crumpled from its journey inside Catherine’s bag.

  She handed it to Rowena. As she took it, she suddenly realizing her hand was shaking. Forcing her hand to steady itself, she took a deep breath and broke the seal. She began to read the letter she knew would change her life forever.

  Chapter 3

  Christopher sat at the breakfast table, a steaming cup of hot chocolate growing cold before him. He held a beautiful golden necklace in his hand. Its long chain danced and twisted as he held it up to the morning light. The small pendant at the bottom caught the sunrays and sparkled. He’d found it on the ground after he and Thorpe had finally chased off the attackers two days prior.

  The messenger, so cowardly that he had likely dropped it in his hasty retreat, abandoned all hope of delivering it to its recipient. He’d looked for the note or letter that had to have gone with it but hadn’t found anything. He had to admit, he’d been too exhausted to search properly that night.

  A fly buzzed around the freshly baked honey bread, irritating Christopher. He swung his hand across the table to chase it away just as his brother, Henry, stepped through the door.

  “Good morning, oh hero of the streets of London.”

  Christopher gave his brother a weak smile and nodded toward the empty chair.

  “Join me, will you?”

  “Don’t mind if I do. It appears all this delicious food shall go to waste if I do not. Has your appetite deserted you, brother?” Henry took a seat and immediately set about cutting a large slice of honey bread from the loaf. He smeared it with butter and a generous helping of elderberry jam and took a bite.

  I have never known one with such an appetite who remained so trim of figure.

  “Have you decided what to do about that?” he nodded toward the necklace on the table.

  Christopher shrugged his shoulders and winced. With his left hand he rubbed his right shoulder.

  “Still aches? Perhaps you should have seen the physician after all,” his brother suggested before biting into an apple.

  “It is nothing. I’ve had worse just falling off a horse. As will you if you decided to go in the military.”

  Being the younger of two, there were no lands that awaited Henry and the young man had to make a life for himself. Christopher knew that he had his heart set on joining the military. A fine option for a young man, and with the dark days of the Napoleonic Wars behind them, a far less worrying one.

  Yet, Christopher knew that his brother had been delaying his decision to join in order to help Christopher achieve his quest to rebuild their fortunes.

  Henry held out his hand and bent his index finger, requesting the item. He dropped it into his brother’s hand and finally turned his attention to the honey bread
on his plate.

  “To my Darling Daughter, my Beautiful Rose. Your Loving Father.” Henry read the inscription out loud, his soft voice full of wonder. “Not much of a clue at all.”

  Christopher crossed his legs.

  “No, not at all. I have spread word at Parliament to see if anyone was in expectation of a messenger, but no results thus far.”

  Henry frowned. “Why are you so determined to find the rightful owner? Judging by the material, the father is rather wealthy and can easily replace the item for his daughter.”

  It was true, the chain itself was made of gold. The pendant, rectangular and with smooth edges, appeared older. The front contained a painting of three roses, intertwined to show one stem. Unusual.