by Tessa Candle
She would not believe it. It took all her effort to resist the habit of a lifetime, but she would not let go of her faith in him. She would become the kind of woman who could deserve a home with Frobisher. She would trust him.
Her hair could not be entirely dried in time for dinner, so the woman arranged it while damp and formed up its natural curls into ringlets at the side and back, taming its volume into a polite knot at the crown. She thought that her hair, at least, would do, auburn though it was, and not the fashionable black colour sported by Mrs. Colling.
Then the woman left the room for a few minutes and returned with a dress. It had a china blue bodice and flowing ivory skirt. Miss Dawling, who was about the same height as Rosamond, had volunteered one of her gowns without the slightest hesitation. But Rosamond had grown very thin, and had only regained a little of her figure while dining well for the last couple of days at the hermitage. The young woman who altered it had worked fast to reduce the dimensions in all the right places.
"Please thank the girl who sewed this up for me." Rosamond stood to examine the new dress in the mirror, and could not believe she was looking at herself. It had been so long—not since her days as Miss Dervish—since she had worn anything so pretty. "She has done marvellous work, and so quickly."
Rosamond twirled this way and that, smiling at the movement of the fabric. It was nice to be a woman again.
Chapter 70
"Come on darling, not that way, this way."
Lucifer tossed her head and nearly yanked Frobisher out of his seat. He pulled the rein to turn her harder, and she snorted and tossed her head once more. Frobisher grabbed the pummel to steady himself and managed to avoid losing his grip on one of the reins. He reached around and reclaimed the other.
"Come now, be an agreeable girl. You only have to get me to Brookshire and back and then when we get home, I will give you extra oats and a sugar lump. How about that?" She began to turn in the direction he wanted, and he thought he was making progress. As soon as he slackened the turning rein, however, she continued until she had done a complete circle and was once again headed toward Blackwood Manor.
Frobisher tried to halt her and turn her again, but she simply would not comply. When he pulled the rein for a turn, she came to a dead stop. When he slackened the rein, she proceeded forward toward her target. Apparently she preferred the stables at Blackwood.
"Living up to your namesake I see." He clenched his jaw, but decided it would be faster to go to Blackwood and borrow a more agreeable horse. "Well, then, if you insist on being a miserable, wilful creature, at least hurry up about it."
This was the wrong thing to say. Lucifer grew wings and flew down the path at a break-neck speed. Frobisher bobbed his head down and raised his hand to shield his face, as branch after branch smacked at him. "
At least stay out of the bloody trees!"
Apparently understanding him, she ran more to the centre of the path after that, but still at such a pace that Frobisher was forced to duck his head wildly to avoid being decapitated by a low-hanging branch. His hat was knocked off, and the realization that it was the same branch that Miss Delville had strung the yarn of her alarm bell under might have amused him, if he were not holding on for dear life.
As they made it to the drive leading to the front of Blackwood, Rutherford's carriage was pulling up to the manor. He could not bring himself to call out for help, but armed men were closing the gate behind the vehicle, and Frobisher knew that the situation could not end well. He pulled the rein gently and tried to keep his voice controlled. "There's a good girl. Woah, now." He became more frantic.
"Woooah!" he screamed as Lucifer leaped over the gate, ran a few steps to slow herself and then trotted prettily over to the vehicle from which Rutherford was emerging, where she stopped and nickered at the other horses.
"Frobisher! Thank God you are alive!" Rutherford rushed to greet Frobisher.
"Only barely." Frobisher was shaking as a groomsman came to assist his dismount. “I brought your horse back." If Lucifer liked Blackwood Manor so well, then Rutherford could have her. A fast horse was one thing, but he was never climbing onto the back of that four legged fiend again.
"What?" Rutherford looked confused. "Whatever for?"
Lucifer also seemed not to understand his mood, and nuzzled Frobisher affectionately behind the ear.
Rutherford grinned. "But never mind that. You are alive!"
Frobisher recollected his mission. "Of course I am, no thanks to a certain mare." He gave Lucifer a sideways glance, and she nickered, nodding her head at him. "Look, I want to trade her in for a more manageable mount. I need to get to Brookshire. I think Screwe has got Miss Delville."
"Well then, I can save you a trip. I was just there, and Screwe is nowhere to be seen."
"He must be hiding. I will find the bastard out."
Rutherford shook his head. "No, his wife said that he went out last night and has not returned."
"She is no doubt lying for him."
Rutherford laughed mockingly. "I don't think so. That is to say, she veritably spat out the words my husband, as though she wished him dead. I do not believe I have ever met a wife less likely to lie for her caro sposo than Lady Screwe. She did not seem at all unhappy that he never returned. In fact, she seemed more concerned to find out whether I had passed a cart driven by a dark-haired man on the way over."
Frobisher tilted his head. "Maybe the cart driver is Screwe in disguise?"
Rutherford shrugged. "Let me tell you what I think. She does not care if her husband never comes back, and she was waiting for her paramour to arrive. She would not be planning a dalliance if Screwe were at home."
Frobisher let out a hiss of frustration. "He must have taken Miss Delville somewhere else."
Rutherford gave him a look. "Before I lend you a horse, let us go inside and see what Mrs. Johnson has discovered. Apparently she had arranged a meeting with Miss Delville this morning. Perhaps she has some news. "
A morning meeting? A ray of hope shone upon Frobisher, and he permitted himself to be led into the manor.
He heard her voice from upstairs, before he saw her descending the staircase with Tilly and Mrs. Johnson on either side. Thank God she was safe.
"Well, there she is," Rutherford whispered. "And she cleans up quite creditably. Are you not glad I saved you a trip?"
But Frobisher hardly heard his friend's banter. It was as though no one else were in the room as he stared up at Rosamond. Her beautiful face beamed upon him in return.
She only spoke his name, but how she spoke it said everything that could be said. "Frobisher."
He stood there speechless, with his heart pounding, not giving a damn that his feelings were on display for all the curious bystanders to see.
Chapter 71
When Tilly and Mrs. Johnson arrived to walk with Rosamond to dinner, they marvelled at how well she looked. They were being kind, Rosamond knew, but she did feel better, more presentable.
They all chatted pleasantly as they walked down the hall. Perhaps she might even be able to relax and enjoy her dinner, though she would sit down with such superior company. She was feeling quite complacent as they reached the top of the stairs and began to descend.
Rutherford and Frobisher strode into the room at the bottom of the stairs, the latter looking out of sorts and harrowed, but dressed very finely and even more handsome than she had recalled in the rose-coloured annals of her memories. For a moment she only stared at him.
Then he saw her and his whole face changed. Gone in an instant were the harassed looks and furrowed brow. He was transformed into a prince. As he stared up at her with unconcealed relief, love shone in every feature.
"Frobisher." It escaped her like a prayer, only this prayer had been answered. He was here. He was safe. His expression declared his heart to be all her own. After the initial shock, her face split into a smile. It was all she could do to prevent herself from hurtling down the stairs and into his ar
ms.
Rutherford looked at both of them, then exchanged a glance with his wife and shrugged. Perhaps uncomfortable with all the staring between his two most recently arrived guests, he finally broke the silence. "So here we all are, safe and sound."
The wordless staring persisted. Rutherford cleared his throat. "Very good news. Miss Delville, wonderful to finally make your acquaintance properly. I believe I owe you an apology, but I hope that can wait until after we dine. As you are already dressed, Frobisher, I hope you will stay. But as I am not dressed, I am afraid I must delay things slightly to do so."
Frobisher finally spoke. "Before you leave, Rutherford, as she is under your roof and your protection, and I would like to do things properly..." Frobisher addressed Rutherford, but did not take his eyes off of Rosamond. "I must request of you a private audience with Miss Delville."
Rosamond was too stunned to utter a word, but heard a happy squeak escape Tilly and a surprised "Oh!" from Mrs. Johnson. No one moved, and Tilly finally ended the stalemate by touching Rosamond's arm and saying, "I assume you have no objection to such an audience, Rosamond?"
Rosamond finally gathered enough wits about her to speak. "I should be very happy to oblige the marquess." The one good thing about her red face was that it would at least conceal how furiously she was blushing. Rosamond had once thought herself immune to such girlish fluttering, but she was now quite undone.
He was going to propose. He was going to openly acknowledge his love for her. Her stomach tied in knots and she found herself wholly unable to call forth the reserve of cool rationality that she had relied upon so often in the past when her life was in danger. Right then she could only think with her heart, and that organ was ready to swoon with happiness.
Tilly took her arm and guided her down the stairs. "The east parlour is free. No one will disturb you there."
Frobisher joined them and quietly walked alongside.
When Tilly had deposited Rosamond in the parlour with him, she made the most transparent of excuses for leaving. "I will step out and order you both some aperitifs. That will take some time, I am afraid, because the servants are all prepared to serve dinner at any moment. So you may have to wait…" She paused to calculate. "Oh, I am afraid it could be as much as an hour. Certainly not less than three quarters."
Rosamond smiled at her and saw out of the corner of her eye that Frobisher mouthed "thank you" to Tilly before she took her leave.
Then they were alone, and Rosamond could no longer keep quiet. "Thank heavens you are well! I was so worried when I awoke this morning to find you gone."
Frobisher winced and looked earnestly at her. "You did not think I had abandoned you, I hope."
Rosamond paused, trying to construct an answer that would neither be a lie, nor betray her lapse in faith.
But Frobisher did not give her time. "I can see by your face that you did. I am sorry. It was thoughtless of me. But after doing things the wrong way at first… Um, that is to say, I do not regret anything that passed between us, but I felt that I had done wrong by not being patient. In short, having put your reputation at risk, I was determined to observe all propriety in making my offer of marriage impeccable and immediate."
Rosamond laughed, and all the tension dissipated. "You inflate, I am afraid, the value of my reputation, which has all but been destroyed by my past actions."
"Your resourcefulness and… well, I shall call it a certain lady-roguishness are utterly charming. I will not allow anyone to speak ill of you, and I wish ever after to be the protector of your reputation." He stepped closer to her, and then stopped himself. "Let me do this the right way before your beguiling presence overwhelms my resolve to behave like a gentleman."
Rosamond only sighed out a breath of happy longing. It was a central irony of love-making that a man's desire to behave in a gentlemanly manner made a woman fervently wish he would not.
Frobisher smoothed a hand over his tie and continued. "When I left you, I went to Fenimore and asked Mr. Delville's permission to seek your hand. He granted it, perhaps a bit too lightly for my taste, but that is Delville, for you." Frobisher shook his head with a smile of resignation. "I also searched through my jewels to find this." He pulled a ring out of his pocket and held it out for her to see.
"It is stunning." It was a gold band carved with love knots and ornate symbols—very fine work, but elegantly subtle in appearance. She loved it.
"It was my grandmother's. She had no title. I wanted something to symbolize that I am inviting you into my heart and my family, not merely requesting that you become my marchioness."
Tears sprang to Rosamond's eyes and she unconsciously stepped closer to him. "Oh! You could not have said a better thing."
He also took another step toward her. There was only a foot separating them. He still held out the ring. "Perhaps not, but I could ask one thing that will be much, much better, so long as you accede. Rosamond, I love you with all my heart. It is not a perfect heart, and I never believed it could feel this way, but it is yours to command. Will you make me a happier man than I can ever deserve to be, and consent to be my greatest treasure, my love, my family, my wife?"
She was in ecstasy. He was offering her the longing of her heart, his love and a real family, a real place to call home through all the storms of life. She had never believed such happiness could be hers. It took her breath away, and she could only nod yes through her tears.
He slipped the ring onto her finger and pulled her into a deep kiss, then looked into her eyes and whispered, "Say it my love. Let me hear the sweet words from your lips."
"I love you," she said, gasping for breath, "and I consent to marry you with all my heart."
He kissed her again, and his tongue teased her own, probing her mouth deeper and deeper as his hands drifted down to her buttocks and massaged them through the dress. When he came up for air, he had a devilish glint in his eye. "And do you consent with all your body, as well?
Rosamond licked her lips. "Every part of me wants all of you."
"Good." He dropped to his knees. "I understand this is the appropriate position for proposals. There is a particular part of you with whom I must have an even more private audience." With that his head was under her skirts and he deftly navigated his way to her mound.
She could hardly remain standing when his mouth began working its way around her womanhood, gradually finding her most sensitive spot and gently greeting it. With each movement, his tongue became more and more insistent. She was afraid that she would begin making noises that would alert the whole house to what they were doing.
He re-emerged from her dress and stood up to lift her in his arms and carry her to the chaise longue. He set her gently down and spread her legs open. His eyes burned as he stared at her and unfastened his pantaloons.
"My God, you are so sweet," he whispered as he entered her. Then he moaned as he began to drive into her. "I love you so."
"Mmm," she purred. "More of that, please." He thrust more frantically then, and she fell deeper and deeper into the ocean of pleasure that was welling up between them.
She cried out a single note as she crested on the climax of the wave that rushed through her, and her voice was met by his own feral growl as he thrust harder and faster and shot his seed inside of her.
They lay panting on the couch. She was speechless. He was in grave danger of falling asleep. Poor man. It must have been an exhausting few days.
She roused him with a kiss. "I think we had best get ourselves straightened before the aperitifs arrive."
"Aperitifs?" he said with disbelief. "I am sure it has not been an hour. I was just catching my breath." He slipped his hand under the top of her bodice to stroke her breast. "I wish we could remove all of this vexing clothing."
She laughed and pushed him away, forcing him to stand up, so she could straighten her dress and smooth her hair. "This will not be our last meeting. Let us go tell the others of our news."
"Very well." He reached down and
pinched her bottom. "But expect a visitor in your bed chamber tonight."
Chapter 72
Frobisher arose early, downed a quick cup of tea and had his carriage readied to return to Fenimore. The birds were singing cheerfully despite a morning mist that blocked the sun, and the first signs that fall might be encroaching upon late summer revealed themselves in the cool air and crunch of leaves underfoot as he walked to the vehicle. He wished he could spend every minute at Blackwood with Rosamond, but there were some important matters to attend to at home, and they could not be put off any longer.
It had been two days since their engagement was announced to their friends, and it was otherwise kept a strict secret. Screwe had not resurfaced, and his wife continued to insist that he never returned to Brookshire—a fact that did not appear to be making her unhappy.
Though Frobisher desired to lay eyes on Screwe again about as much as Lady Screwe did, he spent a great deal of time ruminating on the man. He could not dismiss a nagging fear that Screwe would rear his ugly head and once again try to kill Rosamond.
She insisted on reaching her majority and claiming her inheritance before they wed. Who knew she would prove so stubborn? She had a point, though. If she were revealed to be alive, as she would be when they married, Screwe would attempt another assassination. After she turned twenty-one, Screwe would have no claim to her inheritance, whether she were dead or alive. But with each day Frobisher felt the odds increase that the devil would reappear to menace them.
The carriage reached Fenimore and Frobisher disembarked to go visit the remains of the hermitage. He had organized workmen to clean out the inside of the cottage, and ostensibly to hunt for any sign of Mr. Hatch. Appearances must be maintained for Rosamond's safety.
Frobisher brought with him a few bits of charred sheep bone to drop among the ruins of the house. It would at least give them some scant evidence to find, which might bolster the idea that Mr. Hatch had died in the fire, and affirm to Screwe that he had succeeded in murdering his would-be victim.