“I do. And I look forward to it.”
“Wonderful. We shall make plans for our dinner at the ball. I must say, as unfortunate as the business with the lost necklace was, I am ever so glad it has led us to each other. I foresee a prosperous future for this acquaintance.”
With that, Lord Hazelshire rose and Christopher and Henry followed suit as he led them out of the room.
They bade the Earl farewell and made their way outside.
The moment they stepped outside; Henry boxed him in the arm.
‘What is the matter with you? Finally, we make a connection that could lead us to prosper once more and you all but depart the conversation, standing like a fool while staring at the painting of the man’s family.”
He sighed, “I cannot explain it. There was something about her, the daughter. I must meet her. Henry, I have not the words but something about this woman is so magnetic that it has captured me.”
Henry frowned and then shrugged.
“She is pretty, looks just like her Mother too.”
“Not her, the one with the dark hair. She is ever so striking, so–” he stopped where he stood, stretching one arm out to his side to stop Henry.
‘Oh, Brother, what are you doing?” he grunted as he walked with his chest into his brother’s outstretched arm.
“Look,” Christopher said as they stood on the sidewalk.
Up ahead, a carriage stopped. Embedded within the Coat of Arms was the now familiar symbol, the rose.
The carriage door opened, and the coachman assisted a blonde-haired woman, Lady Hazelshire, no doubt, out of the vehicle. She was outfitted in a traveling dress, as was the young blonde woman who followed her out of the carriage.
This must be the Earl’s family arriving. He did say they were due today. And that means, certainly that means she will be among them.
A young woman with shorter, amber-colored hair stepped out next. Christopher did not recognize her. She’d not been in the painting. However, following her–
He took step forward, almost walking into an oncoming curricle when Henry pulled him back.
“Topher! What has gotten into you?”
He almost did not hear him for his eyes were fixed on the woman with the long, dark hair who had stepped out of the carriage after the rest of her family. He stared in her direction, knowing in his heart it was her. The woman from the painting.
He waited, hoping she might turn around to look in his direction so he might see her face in real life.
After a long moment, she did. The sun lit up her pale face, giving her dark hair a glimmer and for just one glorious second, their eyes met across the street.
Christopher knew then, he had to meet her in person. He knew that nothing would ever be the same again.
Chapter 4
Rowena was standing by the window, looking out over the busy streets below. It seems as though all of London was heading for the park today. People streamed toward the East, to where the entrance to Green Park was visible in the distance. She quite fancied a walk in the park herself. Perhaps once her mother returned with Betsy, she would see if she could persuade her friend to go with her.
They’d only been in London for three days, but her mother had wasted no time at all in taking Betsy on morning calls in an effort to help her secure a position. Nor had she wasted time planning Catherine’s ball. Presently, her sister was busy sorting through the many dresses which hung in her armoire, trying to select the perfect choice for the ball.
“Do you think this one, perhaps? Or is it too much?” Catherine held up a gown in front of her body and swirled it around. The gown, a fancy number, featured a hoop skirt, the kind only worn to Court.
Rowena frowned and shook her head. “Cathy, that gown is meant for Court and you know it. In any case, I should imagine the hoop skirt might making dancing somewhat cumbersome.”
Her sister’s face fell for a moment and she held the gown stretched out in front of her. Rowena could not help but grin. Her sister’s face was pinched together, and she hung the large gown on a hook on the wall and instead pulled out another dress from the armoire.
She held it to her body for a moment and then dropped her arm, letting the dress scrape the floor.
“Cathy!” Rowena rose and lifted the fine silk fabric off the floor. “Do not ruin it.” Her sister appeared unaware that her fine gown was presently gathering dust off the floor, her expressions as though she were in a dream.
“I only wish I could be received at Court. That is the only thing which would make this ball even better.”
Rowena stood; the fine silky material gathered in her arms. “It is a shame, but the Queen is in such poor health she cannot host regular drawing rooms. But do not let it vex you, I was not presented to the Queen either.”
Catherine grinned, “I know. And Faith, look at you now, dearest sister. About to be wed to the Duke of Thornmouth. Once you are wed, you’ll be sure to be presented at Court. Lord Thornmouth is a favorite of Prinny, everyone knows it.”
Rowena didn’t have a chance to reply, for her sister found herself distracted by a pair of shoes that matched the dress she’d just selected.
Rowena was left to stand by and watch her sister revel in her impending coming-out ball plans which was now less than two weeks away. She sighed. She still remembered her own coming-out ball.
Had it really already been four years? It seems like only yesterday.
Her ball had been held at the prestigious Westerson Hall in Bath, instead of in London. Her mother, originally from Bath, had had her heart set on hosting the ball there and Rowena never had the nerve to say no to her mother. It had been a smashing success. She smiled as she remembered the evening. She’d worn a dress made of the finest satin, in a rather daring evening-primrose color with expensive lace and pearls sewn into the gown.
All the best and finest of society had been there and she’d danced one dance after another. She could still taste the Negus on her lips when she closed her eyes. She’d been so full of hope for the future then, and full of naïve dreams still. Sure, she’d known being out meant that she was to be wed soon. But back then, she’d still hoped that she could combine doing her duty to her family and marrying a man she might actually like.
She scoffed at her own childish dreams.
I made a cake of myself thinking I might get away with finding a suitable man that I liked.
Since then, she’d done away with those foolish notions. She’d seen too many other ladies married off to men who were often the opposite of what they’d dreamt of. Men who were wealthy and influential yes, but who were also often older, widowed, or downright unpleasant.
“What is it, Ro? You look Friday-faced all of a sudden.”
She shook her head, “It is nothing, Catherine. Just a little tired, is all. I was just thinking of–” she got no further for the door to her sister’s bedchamber swung open.
“Oh my, girls. What is this mess?” Lady Hazelshire stopped in the doorway and surveyed the room. Rowena hadn’t realized, but the room had indeed become rather messy. An array of dismissed dresses were piled upon the bed, shoes cluttered the floor, and an assortment of reticules and bonnets and caps littered the floor. And in the midst of it all was Catherine, currently wearing three different bracelets on each arm as well as a variety of necklaces around her neck.
Her sister blinked at their mother and swiftly turned on her sweetest, brightest smile. The one nobody in the family, save for Rowena, could resist.
“Mama! I am ever so sorry for the mess. Alas, I must admit that I have been completely overwhelmed with selecting a gown for the ball.” She turned to her sister. “And Rowena has been of no help whatsoever, occupied as she is with her own plans.”
Instantly, Lady Hazelshire’s harsh expression changed. The good fortunes that were about to be bestowed on both her daughters evidently softened her heart and she gave them a slight smile.
“Rowena has much to consider, starting with the most impo
rtant question. Summer or winter?”
Lady Hazelshire bent down and picked up a white-satin reticule with lovely roses embroidered on the front and handed it to Catherine. “This one. The roses are the same ones as in our Coat of Arms. Your Father had it embroidered especially for you upon your twelfth birthday. It will be perfect.” She did not allow time for Catherine to protest, for Rowena knew her sister disliked this particular reticle. Instead, Lady Hazelshire looked squarely at Rowena.
“Summer or winter?”
Momentarily confused, Rowena frowned only to be instantly chastised by her mother.
“Now, what did I tell you about frowning? It will only give you wrinkles.” She stepped closer to Rowena and placed her hands under her chin, lifting her head slightly and inspecting her face. “I like the way you applied the powder. Is it the crushed pearl?”
Rowena nodded as much as she could, given the grip her mother had on her face.
“Very nice. It suits you.” She released her hand.
“Betsy did it.”
Suddenly, her mother’s face softened. “She is a girl of many talents. She will do well in life. I am certain of it.”
Rowena could not help but smile. Lady Hazelshire was not a soft woman. In fact, she was quite the opposite. Harsh and with a sharp tongue, her concern was always with the way her family was perceived by the judgmental society in which they lived. She, with the help of assorted governesses and tutors, ensured that her children had the most refined manners and reputations within society. Her son, the future Earl of Hazelshire, had been educated by the most respectable tutors money could buy. He was an expert at horseback riding, fencing, and many other talents expected of a young gentleman.
Both Rowena and Catherine had long been raised to be perfect ladies of the ton. They knew every dance, were well read, and their individual talents were honed and perfected. While Rowena was not particularly talented at embroidery, she had a talent for music and thanks to her mother’s efforts, could play not only the pianoforte, but also the violin and the harp. She was also an accomplished painter. Catherine’s gift on the other hand, was her voice. Trained from an early age, she could sing beautifully and also had a talent for reciting poetry.
Rowena had to admit, their mother had turned each of them into the perfect member of the high society. But it had come at a cost. The motherly warmth that Rowena had often craved as a child had been absent for most of her childhood. Hugs, kisses, and comfort had come from the nurses and governesses, and often also Mrs. Wooster, the housekeeper, instead of from Lady Hazelshire. For many years Rowena had thought that her mother simply did not have maternal feelings, but then Betsy had arrived. And she’d found she’d been wrong.
For with Betsy, Lady Hazelshire always showed a different, kind side. She was loving and caring, supportive and sweet. Always quick with a kiss and a hug. Rowena put it down to the fact that Betsy was an orphan, and that her mother had been Lady Hazelshire’s closest friend. And of course, she did not have to worry about raising Betsy with the same strict rules for she would never be expected to wed a Peer of the Realm nor to join the ton. Yet, she had to admit, at times it stung.
“Rowena?” Lady Hazelshire’s shrill voice broke through Rowena’s thoughts and pulled her back into reality.
“Yes, Mama?”
“You still have not answered me. I’ve asked you three times now. Summer or winter? For the wedding? Personally, I think a winter wedding would be utterly charming.”
Rowena inhaled sharply. She still recalled how attached her mother had been to the idea of a summer wedding when she was to wed Lord Mortimer. Her sudden preference for a winter wedding was perhaps in part due to the events involving Mortimer. But in any case, Rowena had yet to meet her future husband thus talk of a wedding appeared premature and she said as much.
“Is it not too early to talk about when to have the wedding? I’ve yet to meet the Duke, after all.”
Despite her own instructions not to, Lady Hazelshire frowned.
“Whatever do you mean? Of course, you have. Last year, at Almack's. You danced with him. Twice. The quadrille and then the cotillion. And I am pleased to report, he was charmed by you. Charmed, I declare. Your Father says the Duke appears besotted with you. Your Papa said the Duke is so keen on the match he could have gotten away with paying a pittance for a dowry,” Lady Hazelshire giggled while Catherine’s eyes grew wide. She crossed the room and began to pick assorted dresses up off the floor, returning them to the armoire.
“Oh, Faith. He didn’t, of course. Your Father is an honorable man.” She set her eyes on Rowena. “It appears you are quite a bit more memorable than the poor Duke. I beg of you Rowena, when you meet him again, do not let him know that you cannot remember him. It would be a disaster.”
“Of course not, Mama.”
Rowena replied and pursed her lips, trying to remember. In her efforts to find Rowena a husband, Lady Hazelshire had taken her to so many balls that it was all a blur to Rowena.
“You would do well to remember, my dear. I am certain the meeting will come up when you see him again, especially since it will be at a ball again.”
Rowena had gotten up and looked out the window. Rain clouds had moved in, obscuring the brightness of the sun. Yet, the change in weather did not appear to have slowed the stream of people making their way to the park.
“A ball? I am to meet him at a ball?”
Lady Hazelshire turned and walked back toward Rowena. She tucked a stray strand of dark hair behind Rowena’s ear. Rowena noticed once more just how much Catherine resembled their mother. They had the same short statue, and their blonde hair and sapphire blue eyes made them appear almost like sisters.
Rowena on the other hand favored her father. She, like her brother Charles, was tall with dark hair and deep, dark eyes. The only physical trait she shared with her mother and Catherine was her pale skin, achieved by largely avoiding the sun and always carrying a parasol, in addition to large amounts of crushed pearl powder.
Now her mother wrapped her hands around Rowena’s wrists. The coldness of her hands on this warm day made Rowena momentarily shiver.
“At your sister’s coming-out ball. The Duke has declared that he cannot wait to see you again.” She tilted her head to one side. “Your Father has not spoken to you?”
Rowena shook her head. “No, I have hardly seen Papa since we arrived. He took off for Shropshire almost immediately.”
Among the family’s considerable land holdings was a large vineyard, purchased last year. Charles was to be in charge of it, but their father had yet to hand him reins. Rowena knew nothing about the running of estates and lands, but this particular property appeared to cause her father much struggle for he was often called away to attend to matters there. In fact, he’d departed, along with her brother, the very evening she and Catherine had arrived in London.
Lady Hazelshire sighed and shook her head, releasing her wrists.
“This vineyard will be the death of him yet. Very well, given that your Father is not here to tell you, I shall. Your Father and Lord Thornmouth determined that your sister’s coming-out ball will be the perfect opportunity to meet again.” She paused and pursed her lips. “It is less than two weeks away. Perhaps between now and then you might recall the first time you met. Now. The wedding?”
Rowena sighed, knowing that her mother would not let the topic go.
“I expect a winter wedding would be nice, you are right. Although having a wedding with the roses in full bloom would also be pretty.”
Lady Hazelshire’s eyes widened. “Roses? Ah, dear child, you are thinking of having the wedding at Farnsworth Manor.” She waved an arm dismissively. “Charming, but I expect the Duke will want to have the wedding at Crawford Castle. It is much more suitable especially if…” she lowered her voice and leaned in closer as if afraid someone might overhear, even though they were the only people in the room, “especially if the Regent will attend.”
“Prinny will come to R
owena’s wedding?” Catherine shrieked, only to clasp her hands in front of her mouth when Lady Hazelshire hushed her. “Prinny? Really?” Catherine said quieter. “And perhaps Princess Charlotte and her new husband, Prince Leopold. Faith, perhaps the Queen as well.”
Lady Hazelshire sat on the edge of the large four-poster bed, stroking the embroidered pillow beside her.
“I should not expect the Queen, given her ill health. But the Regent, perhaps. Yes. I hear Lord Thornmouth is quite well connected at Court, and the Thornmouth Dukes have long been Court favorites. The Regent attended the wedding of the Duke’s cousin so I should expect he will be there.” The smile on Lady Hazelshire’s face was that of a woman who was about to achieve everything she’d ever set out to in life.
A Forbidden Waltz With the Dashing Duke Page 4