If so, she sighed as she approached the workroom, I guess my holiday is over.
Never in his life had Noman seen Evan this enraged before. As the day was getting to evening, the Viscount of Edgehill had stormed into his study, with his hair bristling at the edges.
Poor Mr. Colden, who had once again, ran after another unexpected guest, had begun to apologize when Norman wisely waved him off. With the manservant gone, Norman had not gotten a word in before Evan started to hiss.
“What the deuce is wrong with you Kinsley?”
A faint premonition ran oven the Duke’s skin but he hoped and prayed it was not what he was thinking.
“Could you care to be more specific?” Norman added stiffly.
Evan turned around and shoved the room’s door into its place so hard that the frame rattled. “You damn well know what I am talking about Kinsley. I had hoped—God’s truth I had hoped—that you wouldn’t be so stupid to kiss the seamstress when you have your fiancée under the same roof!”
“Radcliffe told you,” Norman said flatly.
“Not of his own volition, no,” Evan snarled, with his normally blue eyes lit aflame like marsh fire.
There went his hope. Turning around Norman went to his desk, “It is not as black and white at it seems Evan.”
An arm swept everything off the table and Evan’s fist pounded on it. “Do you not have any morals man? I know you don’t walk line to line with the good book but by God, you have jeopardized your entire station, life, and reputation. I know you have better sense than to chase after a skirt but even if so, you had many options and you know that! Why would you seek a…a rendezvous in your own home?”
Norman fury exploded.
“You have no idea what you are talking about Evan. I did not chase after a skirt. I told you, it is not as black and white as you think! Do you believe that I would annihilate my moral code for something I could control?”
“She’s a witch then!” Evan spat, “And you’re under some wicked enchantment.”
“No,” Norman snapped
“Then what?” the Viscount was tense, “What could she do to you to make you break your own code?”
“I think I’m in love with her,” Norman said before he realized the words he had spoken. Words that were spoken with definitive truth laced in every word.
Evan’s face was pale, and he stepped back with his eyes wide and shifting, “Y-you cannot be serious.”
“As serious as my life is,” Norman sank to his chair and eyed his friend who he knew was about to snap ties with him. Evan’s sense of morality was defined by the absolute ends, there was right, the white end, and then there was wrong, the black end. The scale of grey did not exist to Evan.
Seven years of friendship were now lost and though Norman was numb, he was not regretful. The silence stretched until the Viscount shook his head at Norman. The pitying look he had was the look one had upon looking at a madman that had just broken his finally tie with reality.
“Norman, I will not think twice in shouting this indiscretion from the rooftops if you do not regain your senses,” Evan said quietly.
“Is that a threat, Edgehill?” the Duke’s eyes narrowed.
“If I’m pressed.”
“And if I am pressed, I can ruin you,” Norman replied, “I do not take threats lightly. Not from anyone, friend or foe.”
His words were quiet but Norman knew a death knell had sounded between them. If he was sure that was how he felt— or at least that was how he suspected he felt— Evan might not be hearing from him in a while.
Norman stood and tugged his waistcoat, “I’ll see you out.”
“Don’t bother.”
Stone faced and unapologetic, Evan spun on his heel and stalked out. Tragically, Rosaline, who was bidding her apprentice goodbye was in the foyer. Evan shot the helpless woman a glare that could shrivel hundred-year-old oak trees.
Rosaline shrunk back with fear and confusion blatantly written on her face. Norman’s automatic reflex was to tug her into his arms and comfort her, but while stepping forward, he realized he was out in the open and stopped. Fury then took him and rushing out the door he got a face full of dirt as Evan’s carriage sped off. Grimly, he spun around to find Rosaline gone.
Hell’s teeth.
Pressure bubbled in his chest like water bubbling in a covered pot. Just as things were starting to get easy with Rosaline, things had to take a turn for the worst. He had recently told her that both of his friends liked her. Now with Evan’s hateful look, she was going to hold him as a liar.
Scrubbing a hand through his hair, Norman stopped himself from cursing out loud. He had been thrown back to the beginning. What would he do if Rosaline never trusted him again?
I knew it! Rosaline cried as she closed the door behind her with more force than needed, I knew it—they do hate me! Why did I trust him?
Countless times in her life had she been looked at as a worthless person with no valuable contribution to society. She had been scorned, dismissed, and overlooked but not one of those insults had measured to the level of loathing Lord Edgehill had given her.
Perched on the edge of her bed, Rosaline breathed in deeply. She had been so busy quivering under the man’s glare, she had not seen the Duke’s reaction. When he had rushed out to follow his friend, Rosaline’s flight reaction had kicked in and she had bolted.
The only safe place she could get to and be alone was her room so that was where her feet took her. As the frantic energy lessened, fear crept in. Lord Edgehill knew! She was certain of that! He knew the Duke had kissed her, little insignificant her.
A worried eye ran desperately over the room. Should she start packing right then to save the Duchess the trouble of sending her away? And the Duke, was he going to get in trouble with his intended for her?
Good God, is the Duke going to lose his soon-to-be wife? Has Miss Fawcett seen it? Is my deepest secret going to be known to the whole country? If Lord Edgehill tells it, are people going to automatically take me for the Duke’s lover, mistress or even…dare I think…a prostitute? Am I going to have to live under humiliation for the rest of my life? No respectable man was going to marry me now.
The worries kept mounting, going from logical to irrational, and with every evolution, her fear became stronger. Rosaline could not breathe in enough air, her gasping breaths were so short, that her bosom was soon fluttering like a hummingbird’s breast. Her head felt light and her blood rushing from cold to blistering hot.
“What am I going to do?”
Her fear was so crippling that Rosaline stayed in her room, curled up on her bed, not daring to venture out even with her protesting stomach.
Four shots of whiskey, one drunk after the other, had not given Norman the fuzziness in his head he had hoped for. He felt trapped in his own skin. Rosaline was in her room suffering, and he could not dare go see her.
She has to hate me, Noman grimaced while pouring another measure. Hell, I hate me. I got her hopes up just to have them crash to the ground. I am such a bastard.
“Norman,” the Duchess said from the doorway, “What are you doing?”
Wonderful. This was the last thing he had wanted—a visit from his mother. “Having a drink, Mother.”
“I see that but I mean, why?” she said as she approached, “Mr. Colden told me about Lord Edgehill’s visit and an exchange of harsh words. Is this why you are trying to drink yourself into incompetence?”
To hell with Evan. To hell with his righteous moral and black or white thinking.
“Incompetence is a little strong Mother,” Norman replied while setting down the glass. “Evan and I had a disagreement. That’s all.”
“May I know what the disagreement was about?”
“You may not,” Norman said without any heat. “Just leave it be, Mother.”
“Norman—”
“I said not now, Mother,” this time his voice whipped out strongly and instantly, he regretted it, “…please?”
>
The Duchess’ lips thinned, “Very well, I will leave you be.”
His rough palms pressed against his stinging eyes, “Wonderful, you bloody fool. You just keep digging yourself in deeper and deeper.”
The manor had not woken up fully the very next day when Rosaline left it. With her bonnet on, she went towards the stables and found the carriage driver.
“Miss Hall,” the man said while brushing down a dappled grey. “Good morning, do you need something from me?”
“Good morning, Mr. Taylor,” she smiled, “Would you be so kind as to drop me off in the town this morning? I don’t think it would take much of your time.”
“Not a’ all, Miss,” said he, “Just let me get the buggy in order, and we’ll be off.”
Rosaline had no idea what she was going to do in the town, she just knew she had to leave the manor for a while. She had considered going to Mrs. Caddell but if she went, she knew that inevitably, she would be pouring out her worries to her. She did not think the older woman would be comforted to hear that she was slowly falling for the Duke—an engaged man.
The idyllic countryside of wooden trees and colorful wildflower soon merged into buildings of wood, glass, and stone. As she approached the center of the town, a big building stood in the middle and had a massive tower and at the apex was a large bell. Curious she asked what it was for.
“For His Grace, Miss when he acts as a magistrate,” the coachman said, “this town has a unique custom, that bell is rung to let people know when the court is keeping. By the by, do you have any specific place you want to be left at, Miss Hall?”
She wasn’t sure but said, “A sweet shop, mayhap?”
“Righto,” he said and just a stone’s throw later, she was dropped at a quaint wooden establishment with the name Le Bonbon written delicately in gold paint.
“Thank you, Mr. Taylor,” she smiled, “You don’t have to come back, I’ll hire a hackney to take me home, good day.”
Entering the sweetshop, the smell of honey, sugar, cream, and roasted nut enveloped her senses. On the trays displayed were balls with dusted chocolate, squares of white with curious shreds of something on top, another tray of small brown squares with dusted sugar on top.
“Hello, my dear,” a lady said as she came through the door, but what took Rosaline was her soft French accent. “may I assist you? My nougat is freshly baked and extremely succulent today.”
She felt ignorant while looking at the candies and blushed accordingly, “I’m sorry, Madam, I do not know what that is. Not to say it doesn’t sound delicious.”
The lady smiled, “Ah, a first comer. Splendid. How about a caramel, petit?”
“I can only trust your judgment,” Rosaline added and took a chair. The lady then handed her the soft brown square in a paper, and tentatively, Rosaline bit into it. The flavors that erupted in her mouth astounded her. Slowly she deciphered the taste of cream, sugar, and milk, all burned to the smooth near-chocolate taste she was enjoying.
An almost moan nearly left her but she resisted and moved off to the next bite of the treat. It was too good for words.
“Ah Pralines, next mademoiselle,” the lady said while handing over another treat but she stopped her.
“Would you tell me the price first?”
“Miss Hall?”
Looking up in confusion, Rosaline wondered—why Mr. Taylor was back? Hadn’t she told him that she’d find her way back to the manor? “Mr. Taylor, why are you here?”
“Will you come with me please?” the coachman asked while nodding to the proprietress. “Madame Bellemont, good day to you.”
Rosaline was not comforted in the least with the coachman’s vague request but nodded, “Madame, what do I owe you?”
With the price spoken and the pennies paid over, Rosaline and the coachman stepped out to near the door of a black lacquered carriage. Mr. Taylor opened the door and helped her in before closing it and going to his post. She did not dare move an inch as the Duke shut the thick blue drapes and the carriage drove off.
“Will you look at me?” Norman asked while seeing and hating how she instantly drew back from him.
“Are you here to send me off?” she said darkly, “Surely the whole manor knows by now?”
“No, they do not,” he said, “and that is not why I am here.”
“Why are you here then, Your Grace?” Rosaline asked. “Even without the crest, the town must know your carriage and I, a single lady, just entered it. Are you not afraid of a scandal?”
“No one knows I am inside. For all the spectators know, I sent the carriage for you,” was his reply. And such spectators can go to the depths of hell for all I care.
“Do you think I am a liar?” Norman asked in the painful silence, while seeing how withdrawn she was cut his chest in half. He could not see her eyes but her fingers clenching on her skirt told of her anxiety.
“No, Your Grace. I don’t think so,” she said evenly.
It was soft placation, but it did not help him much. Norman carefully formulated his words and then when the silence got long, he asked, “Do you hate me?” Her eyes darted up and he finally saw the glittering orbs, “Do you?”
“I could never,” she said, “I could never hate you. Why would you ever think so?”
“Why not?” he returned ruefully, “I hate myself for not being able to come to your aid. Yesterday when Lord Edgehill scared you, I was hamstrung for fear of breaking propriety, and I hated it. I got drunk that night Rosaline, the second time in years. I drowned myself in whiskey because I failed you. I am sorry.”
“How could you fail me?” she asked.
“Because every time I want to do this…” he said and reached for her hand, “I can’t, and every time I want to do this…” he gently tugged her forward to rest on his chest and he hugged her, “to comfort you, I can’t…and every time I want to do this…” he pressed his lips to her and kissed her softly, “I cannot.”
Slowly she extricated herself from him, “Because you are about to be married, Your Grace.”
“That’s the problem.” Norman gritted his teeth, “I know it’s right to marry one of my station, but I feel no connection with my engaged. The one I have with you is inexplicable, God knows we have not spent an hour in each other’s presence yet but I am drawn to you. I cannot say the same about Miss Fawcett.”
“Why?” Rosaline asked.
“Many reasons,” Norman replied, “She is just like all the other upper echelon women I have met in my past. She has all the grace, education, and training but I cannot find anything to desire. Her mother is unagreeable, her father is a coward and a charlatan.”
“How is he a charlatan?”
His lips thinned with judgment, “One night when he was drunk, he admitted to me to having an extra-marital affair with a maid named Mary.”
Rosaline felt like a bullet had struck her between her eyes. An extra-marital affair with Mary? Mary—her sister? What? No! It could never be!
Mary had much more morals than to sink to being a mistress!
Thankfully, the Duke was more immersed in his thoughts than seeing her reaction, and she was grateful for his inattention. Mary was Lord Ogbent’s mistress! It was despicable to even think about, and shivers of repulsion ran through her at the very notion.
She caught the Duke’s eyes on her and gathered her faculties, “H-how did you find me, Your Grace?”
“I rode Goliath this morning, and when I went to the stables, Mr. Taylor casually mentioned meeting you and what you had asked him to do. I had hoped to find you in the same place he had left you, because even though I have business to attend to in the town, I have to apologize first.”
Nodding, Rosaline replied, “I accept…are you sure no one knows?”
“Lord Edgehill’s code of honor has already stopped him from spreading gossip. That is one of his traits that I admire. He hates tittle-tattle,” the Duke added, “Trust me, there will be no scandal.”
The crunch of t
he loose gravel of the Horenwall’s manor broke up the air, and when the carriage pulled to the carriage gate, the Duke opened the door and stepped out first.
Helping her out, he then reached for the box and pressed it into her hands, “Good day, Miss Hall.”
She curtsied, “Good day, Your Grace and thank you.”
Turning away, she felt his eyes on her back but didn’t look back. She had her duties to attend to and facts about Mary to worry over.
An upper reading room
Lady Ogbent stepped away from the balcony that overlooked the driveway. She had seen a picture that rankled her. What was the Duke doing with that wretched seamstress when he had her daughter to be mindful off?
The Sullen Seamstress of Horenwall Manor: A Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 20