Then a thought came to her. Mr. Bradshaw was also very much an opposite to her. Where she found a kinship with Caroline, however, Rose did not find the same with Mr. Bradshaw. Granted she was attracted to him—how could she not be as handsome as he was?—but the idea of spending much time with him was less than appealing.
Well, she had told her mother she would give a chance any man worthy of her, and whatever she promised, she fulfilled to the best of her ability.
“Do you need anything, Miss Skylark?”
Rose nearly jumped out of her slippers as Forbes, the butler, appeared out of the shadows. Did he always hide from sight like that? He was a kind man with a twinkle in his eye and a graciousness to him, but he did tend to show up at the most unexpectant times.
“No, thank you,” she replied. “I was just going to the library to do a bit of reading.”
“Would you like me to bring you a tray?” he asked. “Lady Lambert often enjoys a cup of tea while perusing the books.”
“Oh, yes, thank you,” Rose said. “I would like that.”
Forbes dipped his head and, with silent steps, walked away.
Rose entered the library and stopped in the doorway. Despite the fact she had already been to the room several times, it never ceased to overwhelm her with its immense size. Floor to ceiling bookshelves lined every available wall, a ladder leaning against one in order to allow one to reach books on the uppermost shelves.
One section, however, caught her attention, for it was encased in glass, a lock showing that these books were not to be perused. The tomes inside had no titles on the spines, and Rose wondered what was so special about them that they had to be locked away.
“Sometimes the choices here can be staggering.”
Rose turned to see her aunt enter the room. “Indeed,” she replied. She paused. “What are these books if I might ask? They appear to be journals. Are they yours?”
Her aunt nodded. “Some are mine, but most belonged to the previous Ladies of Scarlett Hall. They document their lives dating back more than a hundred and fifty years.”
“How extraordinary,” Rose said. “So much history. Have you read them all?”
“I have,” her aunt replied with a small laugh. “Most contain mundane stories of raising children and village gossip. I wish I had read other books that had been more worthy of my time.”
Rose had considered asking to read them, but now she was glad she had not. It was bad enough she would be reading about hunting, perusing the boring lives of ladies long gone would have been worse.
“Then I will not waste my time asking if I may read them,” she said with a small laugh.
Forbes entered the room and set a tray laden with a tea set. “I did not realize you would be here, my lady,” he said. “Would you like me to bring you a teacup?”
Aunt Eleanor shook her head. “I believe I will retire to my room for a bit.” She turned to Rose. “Enjoy yourself.”
Once Forbes and her aunt had left the room, Rose gave one last look at the journals. How mundane would they truly be? Yet, no, Aunt Eleanor had said they were, so she would not waste time bothering with them.
Scanning the many titles, her eyes fell on a row of books pertaining to the subject for which she was searching. She removed several tomes, all on hunting in one form or another, and carried them to one of the comfortable mahogany and leather chairs.
Choosing the first book titled The Art of the Gentleman’s Hunt, she pulled her feet up under her and set to reading. It did not take long before she became quite bored, for it detailed the expectations of a man’s conduct during a hunt rather than the hunt itself.
She set aside that book and selected another, which she immediately discarded. She knew little German, but she did recognize it when reading it. Plus, if the few illustrations it contained said anything, the book was about bear hunting. Not a likely sport in England.
Choosing another, she settled into the chair. This book seemed much more interesting, and she scanned the text in hopes of finding something she could use to impress Mr. Bradshaw when he next called. She would not be seen as boring and uneducated, that much was certain.
***
Two hours later, Rose stretched in the chair. She had returned the first five titles to their places on the shelves and selected another five. What she had hoped would be an enlightening experience had proven to be one that would lead her to die of boredom. How could men be so enthralled with such a sport? Not only was it barbaric in nature, it could never hold her attention beyond the initial horse ride, which seemed the only exciting—and tolerant—portion of the entire experience.
Frustrated, she set aside yet another book. She had long since finished the tea Forbes had brought her, and with burning eyes, the idea of a nap was quite appealing. One more book remained, and if she did not find something of interest in it, she would give up on this subject altogether.
Perhaps she should have chosen something more appealing, but what? Certainly not business, and gambling was out of the question. No upstanding woman even considered speaking of gambling, although she doubted rather highly that Mr. Bradshaw engaged in such a deplorable activity despite his pronouncement of living a daring life. A thin line existed between a man of his position and the despicable men who whiled away their hours—and depleted their coffers—in such a manner.
She settled back into the chair and pulled the last book onto her lap. If she were not careful, she would fall asleep, the chair was so comfortable. With a sigh—and a hope this book would yield interesting facts—she opened the cover and flipped through the pages.
Suddenly two folded parchments fell from the book into her lap, and she eyed them with interest. They appeared to be letters.
How intriguing! she thought. What could these letters contain? And who wrote them? Did they contain fascinating information that the journals belonging to the former Lady Lamberts did not?
A part of her wanted to return the letters to the book unread; she was not the recipient of either and therefore what they contained was none of her concern. Yet, a part of her found the idea of learning someone’s secret too interesting to reject.
Her curiosity won out in the end, and she unfolded one of the parchments to find that it was not a letter but rather a sort of journal entry.
Is it shameful for a man to desire to be with a woman who is not his wife? I have contemplated this for many nights, and I do not believe it is. I, for one, can understand the desire that fills a man for one such as Rachel.
Rose shook her head. Could the man be speaking of her mother? But no, that was impossible. Many women shared her mother’s name and therefore it had to be another woman.
Sighing, she returned to the writing.
I do not love her, nor do I believe I ever will. However, the child that grows inside her now is a gift, one I desire to share with her. Yet, she will not have me, even in secret, which aggravates me. Despite her rejection, I sent funds in order to look after the child and will continue to do so on a monthly basis for as long as possible. I am not so daft as to allow a child to want because its mother refuses me.
I cannot seem to help myself, but I do desire her. Thoughts run ramped of running my fingers through her red hair, of tasting the sweetness of her lips, and of becoming close again as we once were. I must have her, one way or another, to ease this growing desire inside me.
Red hair? Her mother had red hair. This could not be about her! Her mother would never put herself into this type of situation. She was much too proper to be this bold!
Rose’s heart screamed that she should stop reading, to replace the documents where she found them. But the temptation was too great, so with trembling hands, she continued to read.
Perhaps this matter is far simpler than I believe. I will inform Rachel that I request her attendance in my bedchambers in London when I journey there during my many business trips. There I shall fulfill my needs in exchange for helping her financially with the child. Yes, she cannot tu
rn away money that could be of help to her and her family only to find herself living in the streets. I will make her see reason one way or another.
The writing had no author’s name. Who could have written this? How long had it sat between the pages of the book? Perhaps it was a former resident of Scarlett Hall and had nothing to do with her mother at all. She clung to that hope like a woman clinging to a branch in a raging river.
This explanation was dashed the moment she looked at the second parchment, for the penmanship was unmistakable. It took every ounce of her being not to cry as she read over it.
Dear Charles,
What you have done is unforgivable. My decision is not up for debate, nor do I wish to ever discuss it again. In fact, I would prefer that you never write nor attempt to see me ever again. You have brought shame upon me and therefore my children will never know you.
Sincerely,
Rachel
Tears rolled down Rose’s cheeks. Were the words on the first page written by Lord Lambert, Aunt Eleanor’s deceased husband? She could only infer that it was since the letter was addressed to him. Her mother had spoken often of Aunt Eleanor but had mentioned little about Lord Lambert. In fact, even her aunt did not speak much about her husband.
This brought on a host of other questions she had never considered. Why had her mother left Rumsbury in the first place? She complained excessively about London and how she missed living in the country, yet they rarely left the city.
Rose glanced at the letter written by her mother. Why had she denied Charles calling on her? And why had she mentioned Rose and Graham? What connection did he have to either of them besides being a friend of their mother’s?
Then a new thought came to mind, one that made her heart clench with fear and her stomach roll in worry. Charles mentioned the desire to share what they once had and helping with the child inside the woman’s womb. Was that child Rose? If so, did that mean that the man Rose thought was her father was not he but rather Lord Charles Lambert?
Chapter Seven
Holden had finally come to an understanding of what he needed to do to please his father. He had called on four different women since the party, and Miss Skylark proved to be the one in whose company he found the greatest enjoyment.
When he had informed his father of this fact, the man had given him a broad smile. That coupled with Holden’s attempts at working on the books for the family businesses, the old man had been happier than Holden had seen him in a long time.
The issue of ignoring his requirements when it came to matters of business had nothing to do with his abilities, for he was quite good with numbers. He could balance the books without much thought, and with few mistakes, and his ability to charm prospective investors was a gift.
What bothered him was that those tasks took him away from what he enjoyed doing, which had nothing to do with making money, but rather spending it.
What Holden learned, however, was that, if he spent a portion of his time on his responsibilities and continued to speak highly about Miss Skylark, his father refrained from browbeating him. This, in turn, gave him more freedom to do what he wanted during his times of leisure.
Looking down at the ledger in front of him, he tallied the last column, checked his work, and replaced the quill in its holder, pleased by his work. It was only two in the afternoon and he had completed enough work for the day to make his father happy. At least, that was what he hoped. The man could be a right cutthroat when he chose.
His thoughts were interrupted when the object of his aggravation entered the study. Holden went to stand, but his father raised his hand to indicate he could remain seated.
“Have you completed the ledgers?” he asked as he walked over to the desk. He had the most perfect posture Holden had ever seen, and his long strides had him standing before the desk in no time.
“Yes, Father,” Holden replied, motioning to the stack of books beside him. “I have worked on this all morning. Did you wish to inspect my work?”
“No,” his father replied. “I know your skills in mathematics are impeccable, a trait you inherited from me.” He stood all the taller as he said this. “It appears you have taken my advice and have now become the son I have expected you to be. Your work ethic has improved tenfold, and you wake well before noon. Tell me, what has brought on this new change in you?”
“It is quite simple, really,” Holden replied. “I do not want…” He clamped his mouth shut. He had almost revealed that he no longer wanted his father criticizing his every move! Clearing his throat, he continued with another response. “I do not want to be seen as the foolish son of a respected baron. Although I still enjoy some of my previous activities, I have taken your advice that work must always come first.”
When his father nodded, Holden almost sighed with relief. He had been uncertain if his father would believe he had truly changed.
An awkward silence fell between them before his father responded. “Is there another reason?”
So, his father had not accepted his excuse after all. The man never was one who could be easily duped, and Holden suspected the old man had caught onto his ruse. Fear overtook him and he found he could not find the words to respond. It was as if his mind had turned to mush!
“Does it have anything to do with a certain Miss Skylark?” his father asked with a sly grin. “I would bet my left foot that it does.”
This time Holden did sigh with relief, although he attempted to cover it with a nervous laugh. “I am not able to hide anything from you, even today,” he said. “Indeed, Miss Skylark has been the motivation behind many of my changes. I have found her to be a great beauty, and as you have said on many occasions, ‘great beauties do not want foolish gentlemen’.”
His father fell back on his heels and laughed. “I knew it! There are women out there who can bring out the best in a man.” He sighed. “Your mother was just such a lady.” The old man shook his head and the smile returned. “That does not matter. This Miss Skylark appears to be just what my son needs. You must do whatever it takes to make her happy and keep her interested in you. You do not want another gentleman to come in and whisk her away right under your nose, now do you?”
Holden shook his head as he rose from his chair. “No, I would not want that. I will try my best…”
“No, you will make her happy.” Gone was the exultation, replaced by his typical tyrannical tone. “You may call over again a few more times and then you will ask to court her.”
Holden stared at his father in shock. “Court her? Should such matters not be approached at a more respectable pace? I do not wish to scare her off.”
His father snorted. “You will not scare her off. However, if you wish to remain in my good graces, and perhaps receive an advance on your inheritance, courting should be your main objective when it comes to Miss Skylark.”
This caught Holden’s attention. “Advance?”
His father grinned and clasped Holden by the shoulder. “Indeed. One day you will take over my title and wealth. Perhaps I can allow a small advance, beyond your current allowance, if you are able to court a woman such as Miss Skylark.” He looked Holden up and down. “Of course, you will need new clothes and enough money with which to entertain her. I may even throw in a new hunting dog and a hunting trip as incentive.”
Holden could not believe his luck. “Yes, Father, I believe you are right. I will continue to do what I can to make her happy and soon ask permission to court her.”
“Very good,” his father said. “Now, David is waiting for you in the drawing room. I believe you have earned time with a friend.”
“I forgot he was calling today,” Holden said. He went to walk around his father, but the man placed a hand on Holden’s chest to stop him.
“Make certain you enjoy his company. Drink as much as you want, and if you desire to go out for the evening, you may. You have earned it. And, as long as you continue to please me, you will continue to earn such privileges.”
; Holden felt like he had just returned from school with high marks. His father rarely encouraged him to do what he enjoyed. The old man claimed it was Holden who had changed when in fact it was he who had changed, and Holden would use it to his advantage. All he had to do was feign interest—beyond the obvious physical attraction he had for any woman of her beauty—and he could do whatever he wanted.
At least it would not be too difficult to do, for she was easy to look at. He did enjoy her company, as well, even if she was a bit mundane in her conversational abilities. Well, enjoy might be too generous a term. He could tolerate her company, much more so than some women with whom he had the displeasure of spending time. If he earned himself a kiss in the process, all the better.
“I will not disappoint you,” Holden said before hurrying to meet David and tell him the good news.
***
The Gentleman and the Hound was perhaps one of the most respectable public houses one could find outside of London. With its ornate oak carved chairs and tables and a bar polished to such a sheen one could almost see his reflection, it was a cynosure of male gathering for the most affluent in and around Rumsbury.
Holden had been to the establishment often and now sat beside David, their glasses raised in a toast.
“To the men who once were,” David said with a wide grin, “for a new generation will soon take control over Rumsbury and do away with such drab traditions of old.”
With a loud “Here, here!”, Holden tapped his glass against David’s and downed his brandy in one gulp. Familiar faces surrounded them, including several Holden recognized as acquaintances of his father. Then his eyes fell on Lord Thrup, father to Miss Caroline Thrup.
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