“Attractive is as attractive does,” Kate said.
“What in the world does that mean?”
“I need more than handsome features.” Kate looked toward the end of the table, where her father was again partially hidden behind his newspaper. “Papa, may I be excused?”
“Of course,” he mumbled, never shifting his gaze from the article he was reading.
Louisa waited until Kate had quit the room, before turning her attention to Jenny and saying, “She does not seem at all interested in finding a husband.”
Jenny slid her gaze to her father, before leaning forward and whispering, “She has not yet recovered from having her heart broken.”
The newspaper crackled, and Mr. Rose was suddenly glaring over the crumpled paper. “Jenny Rose, you know better than to discuss family secrets.”
“I didn’t reveal the secret. Only the end result. Honestly, Papa, I don’t think you should be forcing her to go out.”
“The matter has been discussed and decided.” He came to his feet. “You will not discuss it further.” He gave Louisa an unexpected hard stare. “With anyone.”
And she realized the admonishment applied to her as well.
“I’m not one to gossip, Mr. Rose,” she felt obliged to state.
“I love my daughters, Lady Louisa. I will protect them with my fortune, if need be with my life.”
“That is quite admirable, sir.”
The sternness in his face eased. “I’m certain your father would have done the same for you had he possessed the means.”
He walked from the room before Louisa could decide whether or not he had just insulted her father.
“Do secrets abide in your family?” Jenny asked.
Louisa decided there was no hope for it. Her stomach would not tolerate her porridge. She set her bowl aside. “All families have secrets.”
“I suppose. You told Mother you knew everything about all the lords. Does that include their secrets?”
“If there are secrets to be known.”
“The duke. Hawkhurst. What do you know of his secrets?”
“He is prone to late nights that lead into the morning.”
“What gentleman isn’t?”
Louisa stared at her. “A respectable gentleman.”
“Respectable sounds so boring. Can a respectable man know of passion?”
Louisa could not help but wonder if Hawkhurst had carried on the same conversation with Jenny that he had with her. “Did he speak to you of passion?”
“No, actually, we spoke not at all, which I found most curious. He seemed somewhat distracted. I found both your brother and Falconridge to be much more interesting when it came to conversation.” Jenny sipped her tea, and it seemed to Louisa that she was now distracted, and she wondered if she was thinking of her dances with both men. If she’d found one more interesting than the other.
And if she had, what then? None of the three was suitable. She had to steer her toward the proper gentlemen.
“If you’ll excuse me, I need to look through the invitations in order to determine which ball you should attend next.” Louisa pushed back her chair and stood.
“By the by, Kate and I will be having our art lesson in the conservatory later in the morning. You will join us, won’t you?” Jenny asked.
“I don’t want to impose.”
“Nonsense. It will be fun, and it’ll give you an opportunity to know us better. And that’s essential if you’re going to find us the perfect husband.”
“I said nothing about finding you the perfect husband,” Louisa said.
“That’s good. Perfection is no doubt overrated. I think I’d like a man with a bit of naughtiness in him. Would that describe your brother?”
“I’m fairly certain your mother would not approve of you spending time with an earl,” Louisa said, deftly avoiding answering the question about Alex.
Jenny smiled slyly. “Which makes him all the more enticing.”
“I thought you wanted to please your mother.”
“Only as long as it pleases me.”
Louisa sighed. She now understood why Mr. Rose had offered her such a generous salary. He no doubt understood that the women in this household were impossible to comprehend.
As she walked from the room she remembered Mrs. Rose’s earlier demand that she go to Hawkhurst’s residence if he did not call on the Roses. Lord help her, she thought she’d never find herself praying for a visit from Hawkhurst.
Hawk found his mother in the garden, a straw basket burgeoning with cut flowers dangling from her arm, while the gardener dutifully cut more for her. For as long as he could remember, it had been their morning ritual. Hawk had been grateful the man’s dedication to his gardens had prevented him from leaving when finances began to tighten. His mother so loved her gardens; she spent a good deal of her time simply enjoying them. Hawk knew this latest batch of blossoms would go into a vase in her bedchamber, some in Caroline’s. His mother was very particular about the fragrances that surrounded them.
And she had conveniently avoided joining him for breakfast that morning. No doubt because they’d been at odds of late, their opinions differing on what was best for Caroline.
“Good morning, Mother.”
With a wave of her hand, she dismissed their longtime gardener before facing her son. She was tall with a willowy grace, her dark hair only just beginning to turn silver. She’d married young, at sixteen, a man many years her senior. Hawk did not deceive himself into believing it had been a love match. No, the love of her life had given her a daughter. His identity remained a secret. So damned many secrets in this family of his.
She smiled warmly, her dark eyes reflecting all the love she held for him. Strange how affection could add to a man’s burden.
“I heard you’d arrived home,” his mother said. “Bored with the Season already?”
“Hardly. I simply needed…” He let his voice trail away. It was one thing for him to be burdened. Another entirely to burden her.
“The reminder?” she asked. “Caroline is not your obligation.”
“She is my sister. The daughter of my mother, if not my father. It is enough.”
He watched as tears welled in her eyes, and she blinked them back.
“It was never my intent to burden you.”
“You did not. Father did. On his deathbed. ‘Do not let your mother be unhappy.’ I daresay if happiness does not visit your daughter, it will not visit you.”
Reaching out, she touched his cheek. “If you are not happy, it will not visit me either.”
“What man is happy in marriage?”
“A man who chooses wisely. Have you a prospect?”
“Possibly. I met her only last night. She seemed quite pleasant.”
“Pleasant?” Her brow furrowed in slight disapproval. “Pleasant is the manner in which I would describe an afternoon absent of rain.”
“I do not know her well enough to classify her any other way.”
“Do her interests mirror yours?”
“She will be free to pursue her own interests, so they need not mirror mine.”
“Did you ask after her interests?”
“No. They hardly signify. She is in pursuit of a title, and I’m in pursuit of money.”
“Ah, she is an American then.”
“Yes, Jenny Rose. She has a sister. Kate. But she did not seem as pleasant.”
“You spoke with her then?”
“No. I cannot explain why, but I had the impression she did not wish to have my attentions foisted upon her in the least.” He saw no reason to explain that it was Jenny’s desire for passion rather than Kate’s desire for love that had caused him to narrow his choice to Jenny. He doubted his mother would approve.
“I can hardly credit any woman not wanting your attentions,” she said.
“I daresay I think it’s safe to say Lady Louisa felt the same way.”
“Lady Louisa Wentworth?”
�
�Yes.”
“Has she not married?”
“No.”
“Been a bit long on the vine, hasn’t she?”
“Apparently she has decided to pluck herself from it. She is serving as chaperone to the Rose sisters.”
“Interesting. I didn’t realize she was that old.”
“She’s not. But neither does she have a dowry. Therefore, her prospects for marriage are decidedly limited.”
“So she has decided to make herself a woman of independence. Good for her.” She brought the flowers to her face, sniffed the bouquet, and closed her eyes as though lost in memories. She often seemed to drift off to another time, another place, a memory that sustained her during difficult times. In truth he was surprised they’d bantered as long as they had before she lost interest. When she opened her eyes, they had a faraway look in them. “Perhaps Caroline could become a chaperone.”
“Lady Louisa has an entrance into society. Caroline has none, not until I give her one. Wealth at my disposal will ensure that the process goes much more smoothly. I do not expect her to marry a man of rank, but certainly she is good enough for some lord’s younger son.”
His mother flinched.
“I apologize,” he said quickly. “My choice of wording was poor. She is worthy of a king, but unfortunately the reality is that a king will not have her.”
“Except in the stories you created for her when she was a child.”
“It was a world of make-believe, never meant to give her hope, and yet I fear that it did. Sometimes it is as if she truly believes she is a princess.” He studied her for a moment, wondering if she might at least admit what he suspected—that her father might indeed be royalty.
“She is our princess,” his mother said. “Still, I cannot help but wonder if Caroline wouldn’t be happier with a young man from the village.”
“Would you have been?” he dared to ask.
His mother rubbed the petal of a lily between her thumb and forefinger. “Happiness eludes cowards. I was a woman unwilling to give up what I valued for what I treasured.” She lifted her gaze to his. “What do you treasure?”
“Nothing I do not value. My heritage, my obligations, and my vow to my father. I shall honor them all at any cost.”
“And if the cost is your happiness?”
“I shall pay it without regret.”
“Regret only comes in hindsight, my love.”
“Do you have regrets, Mother?” he asked somberly.
Giving him a determined smile, she reached up and cradled his cheek. “None that is impossible to live with.”
He swallowed hard. “Was her father married to another?”
She squeezed his chin. “This is a subject we have agreed not to discuss.”
“I agreed to nothing. I have a right to know.”
“No, my love, you don’t. Caroline has a right to know, and should she ask, I will tell her.” She patted his cheek. “Don’t look so disgruntled. Tell me more about this American girl who has caught your fancy. Will you have much competition for her?”
“It matters not. I will do whatever I deem necessary in order to have her as my wife.”
Chapter 7
“So you’re the chaperone.”
Louisa spun around. A gentleman was leaning casually against the wall, one foot crossed over the other, his arms folded across his chest. His hair was dark, his eyes…some dark color, she thought, but couldn’t properly identify from this distance.
She’d come to the conservatory, only to discover no one else had yet arrived. “Yes, Jenny said you wouldn’t mind if I attended the art lesson.”
“I don’t mind at all.”
He was clearly American and very well dressed for an artist. His trousers and jacket were finely tailored, fitting him as though each stitch had been sewn precisely for him. She supposed that Mr. Rose was paying him as handsomely as he was paying her.
“Did you travel with the family from America?” she dared to ask.
A corner of his mouth hitched up as though he found both her and her question rather amusing. “Couldn’t avoid it, I’m afraid.”
“You didn’t want to come?”
He shrugged, shoved himself away from the wall. “Lady Louisa, is it?”
She smiled. “You have me at a disadvantage, sir. I’m afraid Jenny didn’t tell me the name of her art teacher.”
“His name would be Applewhite.”
Her heart kicked against her ribs as understanding began to dawn. “You are not the art teacher?”
His grin grew as he bowed his head slightly. “I must confess to not having an artistic bone in my entire body. Allow me the honor of introducing myself. Jeremy Rose.”
“Ah.” She could see the resemblance now, a younger, slimmer version of the older Mr. Rose, before his dark hair had begun to turn silver, and responsibilities had carved deep lines into his face. She hoped she wasn’t blushing too profusely. “I didn’t realize there was a son.”
“I’m not often spoken of.” He leaned toward her slightly. “Black sheep, and all that.”
“I’m sure it was simply an oversight—”
“Oh, I’m sure it was intentional.”
He removed a silver case from inside his jacket pocket, opened it, removed a cigarette, and went about lighting it. She was fascinated watching him. She’d never seen a gentleman smoke before. It was something they did in rooms where no ladies were present. She’d always thought it would be something wicked to observe. Instead she found herself slightly disappointed by the sight, and not overly fond of the aroma that wafted around him. She wondered if Hawkhurst smoked. Would Jenny find the habit offensive?
“So how is the husband hunting going?” the young Mr. Rose asked, interrupting her thoughts. “Any prospects for my dear sisters?”
“We have quite a few prospects. The challenge is to narrow them down.”
He inhaled, blew out the smoke, and seemed to take great interest in watching the end of his cigarette burn.
“Perhaps once you’ve married off my sisters, you can help me find a wife.”
“Are you in the market?”
He laughed. “Not really, but I’d welcome any excuse to be in the company of such a lovely lady as yourself.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You are toying with me, sir.”
“A bit perhaps. I understand you were properly chastised for dancing last night.”
“Where did you hear such gossip?”
“From my mother. She was quite miffed.”
“I assure you it will not happen again.”
“Oh, it’ll happen again.” He winked at her. “I plan to attend the next ball.”
She hardly knew what to say. Before she could argue further, Jenny waltzed into the room, her eyes alighting at the sight of her brother. “Jeremy! When did you arrive?”
She immediately snatched the cigarette from his fingers, and to Louisa’s astonishment, took a long pull on it before tipping her head back and releasing the smoke. Her action seemed somehow quite elegant yet unladylike at the same time.
“In the early hours of the morning,” Jeremy said.
“I missed you,” Jenny said.
“Missed my smokes more like it,” he said.
She laughed before taking another puff. “Lady Louisa, you look scandalized.”
“I’ve never before seen a lady smoke.”
“I only do it when Jeremy is home. Mother thinks he’s a bad influence.”
“I am a bad influence,” he said, completely unabashedly, taking the cigarette from his sister while winking again at Louisa.
“Are you flirting with Lady Louisa?” Jenny asked.
“I’ve asked her to save me a dance at the next ball.”
“Mama doesn’t approve of Lady Louisa leaving us untended,” Kate said from the doorway, and Louisa wondered how long she’d been standing there and why it was that she never seemed to notice her.
“Which will make it all the more fun,” Jeremy said
. He dropped his cigarette to the floor and crushed it beneath a very polished and obviously expensively made shoe.
“How was the Continent?” Kate asked.
“Quite fascinating. Paris, Rome, Berlin, Stockholm, I enjoyed them all.”
“Can you imagine being able to travel when you wanted, where you wanted, without any encumbrances or people constantly watching your every move?” Kate asked, and Louisa wondered if she was hinting at a fault with her chaperone.
“Don’t be so concerned, Lady Louisa,” Jenny said. “She’s always envied the freedom men are given.”
“It’s hardly fair,” Kate said.
Jeremy reached out and tweaked her nose. “Life never is, little sister.”
“Jeremy, are you going to join us for our art lesson?” Jenny asked.
“Good God, no. I just wanted to make the acquaintance of Lady Louisa—”
“And cause a bit of mischief while you’re at it?” Jenny asked.
“Of course. What is life without a bit of mischief?” He bowed slightly. “Lady Louisa, it was my pleasure to make your acquaintance. Don’t forget that you’ve promised me a dance.”
“I did no such thing,” she blurted. “Your mother is quite right. I should not be dancing.”
“We shall see.”
He walked from the conservatory before she could say anything else. It seemed American sons were no easier to deal with than American daughters.
It was really quite thrilling to have the opportunity to apply watercolors to canvas. Louisa had always enjoyed sketching, but her parents had never been able to afford for her to have proper lessons. She thought she could stand within the conservatory all day testing out this medium, which was new to her.
“Oh, Lady Louisa, I do believe you’re a natural,” Jenny said.
Their lesson was to paint a vase of roses. Louisa had painted a single rose.
“The dew drop is a lovely touch, don’t you think, Kate?” Jenny asked.
Kate looked up from her book. “One would never know that you hadn’t taken lessons before.”
“I never think to add anything extra to mine,” Jenny said. “I paint only what I see. Does that make me boring, do you think?”
“Of course not,” Louisa said hastily.
Duke of Her Own, A Page 7