“Somewhat…but not shatter it. I need someone unconventional and Miss Fawcett is the definition of conventional.”
Scrubbing a hand over his face, Norman sighed, “You will see what I mean tomorrow. Good day, gentlemen.”
Rosaline snipped the last string from Miss Fawcett’s newly-crafted long stays and admired the neat stitching. The delicate threading, embroidery and the silky lining was, in her opinion, fit for a queen. Adding it to the completed chemise, Rosaline knew it would be prudent to rest as hasty work would only cause her trouble.
She wanted to begin the petticoats, but she could not concentrate. The encounter with Lord Ogbent was confusing her. How was it that the man had been cordial, but the incident still did not feel right?
Taking up the material for the petticoats, Rosaline trimmed the lamp higher and reached for her pencil. As she stood, a wave of dizziness took her, and she grabbed at the table’s edge for support. Breathing quickly through her nose to display the spell, she gingerly sat back down.
“No more work for me tonight then,” she murmured to the empty air.
When her strength came back, she gently blew the lamp out and was nearing the door when two voices, two cursedly familiar voices neared her— Lord and Lady Ogbent. But what were they doing on this floor?
Quickly, she thought—the second floor where the workroom was, was on the same floor as the music room. They had to be coming from that place and probably heading to the stairs to take them to the third flight.
“Amanda, will you please listen to me?” Lord Ogbent begged.
“Why?” hissed she, “What do I need to hear from you? Are you finally going to apologize for why I had to wait for you until the candles were gutted while you fornicated with that…woman?”
Rosaline’s eyes grew to the size of saucers, she should not be hearing this!
“For God’s sake Amanda, I did not lay a hand on her!” Lord Ogbent said, “And—”
“— And I do not want to hear a word from you!” The Viscountess’ low tone was tightly strangled. “For the sake of Isabella, get Horenwall’s signature on those investment papers as soon as you can, otherwise, everything will be lost, and you are worth nothing to me. Isabella and I are doing our part, do yours!”
Rosaline sank to the floor where she stood and her breathing was rapid. What is going on now! What are they dragging His Grace into now!
Chapter 13
The morning mist had barely lifted from the ground when the party of four assembled on the hunting grounds of the Horenwall’s acres. The nearby fields were generously spotted with heather bushes, the main source of food for the birds they were about to hunt.
“Ah,” Norman smiled as Even and Radcliffe, both dressed in the appropriate hunting apparel—shooting jackets, trousers, and boots—neared, “Lord Ogbent, may I introduce my friends, Lord Edgehill and Lord Belthyne.”
The older man did not look intimidated by Radcliff’s size, a feat that many did not accomplish on their first meet.
“Pleased to meet you, gentlemen,” Ogbent said, with a cordial handshake to both men.
“And I, you,” Evan, the consummate diplomat replied, “I do hope Horenwall will do justice to Miss Fawcett.”
“I am sure he will,” Ogbent said, “And you two, are you married?”
“Seven years for me and three for Edgehill,” Radcliffe said proudly, “We have been waiting for Horenwall to join our circle for years, but time and time again, he has refused. Finally, he is going to join us.”
“Thank you, Belthyne for painting me as the scoundrel bachelor,” Norman drawled dryly, “Now if we can sharpen our focus men, the dogs are about to be released.”
He was about to continue but the rapid yapping of the approaching leashed dogs drowned Norman’s word out. His advice though, would be redundant as Evan and Radcliff were fair hunters and Ogbent, he assumed from his enthused acceptance of the proposal, was too.
Radcliff clapped a hand on his shoulder, “We have run this race before, Horenwall, so your intentions, though good, are not needed. Let us begin. I cannot wait to see your face when I am victorious.”
A commotion drew Rosaline and Janet from their work to the front window of the workroom, and there she saw the hunting party, Duke Horenwall, Lord Ogbent and two more men she did not know, approach the house. But what did catch her eye was the two men holding up Lord Ogbent.
Is he injured?
It wasn’t her business, and she highly doubted Lady Ogbent and Miss Fawcett would care to see her in a party of her betters, so she stayed put.
“Should we go help?” Jane asked quietly.
“No, no,” Rosaline replied, “I am sure he will be taken care of, let us get back to work.”
Worry did plague her though, even as she went on with making the ruffles of the trained petticoat that would match the dress. It was not a worry for Lord Ogbent, but rather the Duke, the man who she was ordered to avoid at any cost.
The silent winces that marked Lord Ogbent face made Norman grimace himself. They had been making good time and shooting a good amount of the fowl when the man had run forward, made a wrong step, sank into an old foxhole and twisted his ankle.
They made it to the nearest ground floor sitting room where Evan and Radcliff gently eased the man on a chair. Ogbent, even flinching in pain, tried to make the most of it.
“I don’t know what I was thinking,” the man’s chuckle was laced with pain, “Running at my age. Hunting is a young man sport, not fit for old codgers like me.”
“Nonsense,” Norman rebuffed, “you were doing just fine until that moment. Excuse me, I will send for the doctor.”
Just when he was about to step out, Lady Ogbent and Miss Fawcett entered. The young lady’s face twisted in concern but on the Viscountess’ face was wicked delight. He saw it a moment before an artificial look of concern was forced on.
Hells teeth! Her husband is in pain and she is enjoying it.
Norman knew he should be more appalled, but he was not. The lady was a termagant.
“Father!” Miss Fawcett said as she rushed to his side, “What happened?”
“Nothing Isabella,” the man waved, “I lost my footing, that is all. Thankfully, I was rescued. Isabella, may I introduce Lord Edgehill and Lord Belthyne, Horenwall’s friends who so graciously helped me. Lords, my daughter Isabella Fawcett.”
“Thank you, good sirs,” Miss Fawcett said with a demure voice and queenly curtsy. “We are indebted to you.”
Norman felt exasperation fill his chest when he saw Evan’s and Radcliff’s delighted reaction to finally meet Miss Fawcett. He knew he was going to get an earful that evening from both of them.
“I will summon the physician,” Norman said, turning on his heel, only to get stymied—again.
“A servant can do that Horenwall,” Evan said pointedly and his grasp on his arm mirrored the subtle order. “Don’t you think? Send someone and stay a while.”
Seeing as he was backed up in a corner and with expecting gazed on every side, Norman nodded tightly, “Very well.”
The physician was sent for while the women had moved on to the drawing room. With the injured man were Norman, Evan, Radcliffe, and during the time for the physician’s arrival, they conversed, mainly to distract Lord Ogbent from his pain than anything else.
When the physician arrived, he performed a quick but thorough examination of Lord Ogbent’s foot, and happily pronounced it strained but not twisted or broken.
“A draught of laudanum and a cold compress will ease the pain and set you right, My Lord,” the physician pronounced while packing up his bag. “Make sure to wrap the ankle tightly and try not to move much. Please, call me if you do not see much change.”
“Thank you, my good man,” Lord Ogbent sighed in relief.
Nodding, the physician bowed. “Good day, Your Grace and My Lords.”
Knowing his friends, both that he wanted to get rid of and both that he knew were itching to speak with him, Norma
n ordered Mr. Colden to assist the man to his rooms so they could have some privacy.
Evan began, “Hor—”
“Not here,” Norman said tightly. “We can speak outside near your carriages.”
Striding to the foyer, Norman was preparing his arguments to the ones Evan and Radcliff were surely going to lobby at him. The first one, he was sure, was, “Are you mad, Horenwall?” the second, “What are you stalling for? Are you waiting for manna to flutter out from heaven?” and the third, “Marry her! Miss Fawcett is perfect!”
Damnation.
They had just reached the large foyer and Norman was about to cut their arguments in the quick when a voice the Duke had not heard in days suddenly broke up the tension in the room.
“Oh!”
Norman twisted to see Miss Hall at the edge of the room and with her was her protégé, Miss Moore. The youngest lady was clad in her coat and bonnet, and it was safe to say Miss Hall was seeing her off.
“My apologies, Your Grace, and My Lords,” she said with a curtsy, “I did not mean to interrupt.”
The soft flush of embarrassment on her cheeks tempered Norman’s agitation a little. “It is not a problem, Miss Hall. Good day, Miss Moore.”
“Thank you, and good day to you Your Grace and My Lords,” Miss Moore said and quickly left.
“Again, I am sorry,” Miss Hall pressed when the assistant had left, “If you will, please excuse me.”
“A moment, Miss Hall,” Norman said slyly, “May I introduce you to Lord Edgehill and Lord Belthyne, my friends. Gentlemen, this is Miss Hall, Miss Fawcett’s seamstress.”
It was an act of sweet revenge when he saw the speechless expression on Evan and Radcliff’s faces. Now they knew what he meant when he told them of her arresting eyes.
“I am pleased to meet you, My Lords,” she said.
Norman felt that she was silently begging him to leave, but he did not know why. Had he done something? Had someone else done something? Was she still embarrassed about her ramble in the workroom? Norman was not sure what it was, but he was positive that the confused look on his face showed it.
However, he was not going to let her get more uncomfortable, “Good day, Miss Hall, you may go.”
“Thank you, Your Grace, and good day My Lords,” with her last farewell and curtsy, she was gone, and Norman took care to not let his eyes follow her. It was safe to believe that he was not going to get a lecture from either of them.
Instead, he turned to his friends and smirked. “Wait until you see those eyes with fire.”
Turning away, Norman mentally patted himself on the back. That was a victory he relished. Now, as he passed the bottom of the staircase, what was he going to do with Miss Hall’s strange behavior…and was there anything he could to fix it?
I am an aberration. Rosaline cried.
The look the two men, the Duke’s friends, had given her was only a touch above scorn, and she knew it! The wide-eyed stare she received from both men was stationed in her mind.
She even imagined one of the men jerking away. It was clear, she was a misfit. The last straw was how, while walking away, she had felt the Duke’s eyes on her, laced with confusion she was sure, as she forced herself to keep walking.
The horrible part was she knew he was wondering what was going on. She knew he must be asking himself why the over-courteous, edging-on-cold, attitude, and lastly, he might be asking if he had done something to evoke it.
Her chest was paining her. She wanted to tell him that none of her actions was his fault. She wanted to tell him that avoiding him was not her choice or pleasure, but it was the right thing to do. He was the closest thing she had for a friend, and she had treasured the times they had spoken.
At nights, and only for some simple comfort, she replayed his apology that morning in the library. If he could understand her nervousness that day and how she reacted, he would understand when he knew why she was staying away.
She also thought of the family history he had told her about not too long ago. A family history that had to be a secret, she was sure. The image the Kinsley’s had was prestigious, and many would be appalled to know that the wealth of the family had come from chance and hard labor.
But she had to keep her distance.
Her Grace had ordered her to and after looking into it, she had agreed. Keeping the Duke safe from a scandal at this crucial point in his life was the best option for him and not antagonizing the Ogbents was best for her. If only she could find a way to tell him so.
Chapter 14
This morning has to be the third time Miss Hall has jerked her head back from looking at me directly, Norman mused while in his study.
It was almost a week and a half since the start of her strange behavior and Norman was growing from confused to annoyed.
Had they not forged the beginnings of a friendship not too long ago? To be honest with himself, Norman missed the frank honesty that showed in her eyes and the plethora of her emotions. He liked to see her delight, anger, confusion, all plain and unfettered with the chains of properness. Now they were gone.
What was stopping her?
Idly picking up the paperweight on his desk, he secured the files he was supposed to be looking over. Not once in the last eleven days had he encountered Miss Hall in the library, and he had much more propriety than to visit her unannounced in the workroom.
The fleeting times he had come up her in the hallways, he knew— damn it he knew—her eyes had lit up with delight before going blank. She was masking her emotion with a skill that Norman usually attributed to seasoned politicians.
What was in play here?
For the life of him, he could not figure it out but then again, he did not have much time to do so. A good portion of his thoughts was centered on Miss Fawcett. That day when he had made the decision to ask her what she would like to do, he had been surprisingly astonished when she had proposed a ride through the countryside on horseback.
He had been even more flummoxed when she had challenged him to a game of chess—which she graciously lost—and then she had begun a conversation on the latest state of the government. She had spoken with true elegance, knowledge and here he felt even more surprised, interest.
Her efforts had earned her another shift in his emotions. First, it was from impassiveness to admiration and now it grew from admiration to respect, but there was still no attraction.
Sighing, Norman shoved away from the table and leaned back in his chair. What was he going to do? Every day he saw his mother’s expectations and he knew that the date was drawing near—but could he sacrifice his life and live in monotony for his mother’s appeasement?
Norman heard a knock on his door and found Lord Ogbent at his doorway. His eyebrows arched with surprise to see the man up and about so early. It was just after ten o’clock, an hour that Miss Fawcett and Lady Ogbent were inaccessible for any appearance.
“Ogbent,” Norman waved him in, “good morning to you, please sit.”
To further his surprise, the man moved with almost no sign of pain or a limp. “How are you feeling?”
“Much better, Horenwall,” the man smiled. “The physician was right. I am fixed, please offer my thanks when you see him again.”
Nodding, the Duke asked, “May I call for a drink for you? Coffee, tea, wine perhaps?”
“Not at this time, thank you,” Lord Ogbent refused calmly. “But thank you for the offer.”
“If you only came to ask me to confer your thanks to Dr. Abbott, there is no need,” Norman then dryly added, “I dare say the thirty pounds he received for the impromptu visit was enough thanks.”
Lord Ogbent’s laugh was filled with humor, but Norman could feel some anxiety inside. “Wonderful, but that is not why I am here. Have you taken a look at my proposal, Horenwall? I am sure that our estates will complement each other.”
It was for business then. The write-ups Lord Ogbent had given him about the state of his assets looked very well on paper, but No
rman had learned a thing or two when it came to documents—they lie. Assets were fickle things, and they could be lost in an hour of idle gambling.
Days ago, and despite Evan’s and Radcliff’s warning, Norman had used his powers to order a real account of Ogbent’s resources. In fact, the report should be coming any day now. He was still hesitant about digging into Miss Hall’s past, but if it came to it, it would be done.
“I have,” he replied carefully, “but with all my attention centered here, I have sent my steward to make a careful compilation of my assets and then we can go further.”
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