“Then we will talk later, Richard.” Cavanaugh nodded to her fiancé. Almost reluctantly, the marquess made room for the waiting guests behind him and led his sister to the table with drinks. Rose saw that he still walked like a sovereign, or more like a warlord – slowly, with extensive footsteps, despite the numerous people crowding around him. Like back then, they readily made way for him, almost without realising. No wonder, with this strong charisma.
“Poor girl,” muttered her mother, who had also followed the pair with her eyes.
“Indeed,” Rose confirmed. With a brother like Gabriel de Vere, Henrietta was truly defeated. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mother giving her a questioning glance, as only Mothers could, but all that Rose had wanted to say was drowned out by the greeting of Lord and Lady Bracknell, who were impatiently pushing forward. Although the two were at least the same age as Rose’s parents, they were known for their notorious love affair. It was rumoured that Lord Bracknell had once even challenged the Prince Regent to a duel when he paid too much attention to Lady Bracknell’s lush figure for her husband’s liking. Allegedly, the two rivals had met at dawn but decided to go hunting together instead of shooting at each other, which Rose judged to be very reasonable, especially in view of the wilting state that was the reason for the men’s dispute.
Two hours later, she gazed longingly at the lady whom she had smiled at earlier because of her advancing age, and wished she had a little of her vitality. While Lady Bracknell hovered across the dance floor for the third time in a row on her husband’s arm, Rose’s feet hurt so much that she would have liked to keep Lady Henrietta company while she was resting. The announcement of her engagement had happened so fast that Rose had little opportunity to enjoy her new status. All the guests seemed to take the celebration as a reason to thoroughly enjoy themselves – except for her and the Marquess of Cavanaugh. But while Rose made every effort to hide her strange sadness and disappointment behind a beaming smile, the marquess had been standing in the same spot away from the dancers since his arrival, glaring broodingly at the crowd without seeing her. Only once, when she and Richard had danced so close to him that she only had to reach out to touch him, he had glanced up. She was still cold from the look he had given her and Richard. But when she looked for the tall, dark figure, he was gone. Where had he gone? Driven by a restlessness she could not explain to herself, Rose stood on tiptoe and searched the crowd for his characteristic black hair.
“Will you allow me the honour of the next dance?”
It was him. How had she ever thought she could forget his deep voice?
“Off you go,” her mother replied on her behalf. “I think de Coucy has just retired.” Her fiancé was the man who had the next place on her dance card. For the daring waltz that she had wanted to dance with Richard, the marquess, of all people, was now her partner! Rose darted her mother an angry glare, which she answered with a slight lift of her eyebrows. Rose had no choice but to go along with it and make the best of a bad deal.
The marquess gave her a perfect bow and handed her his arm. There was no reason to be afraid of him, Rose told herself. He was a gentleman, at least that was what Mother always said, and as such, he would not tell anyone that she had been waiting for Richard in the dark garden, alone and in a place cut out for a forbidden rendezvous. The last notes of the quadrille had barely ended when the small orchestra struck up the tune of the waltz.
“May I?” he asked, but only for the sake of formality, because barely had he pronounced the words when his arm was already around her waist and the other hand on her shoulder.
Rose had no choice but to nod to his immaculate white shirt, for she could not say a word, and she had no intention of throwing her head back and looking at him. It felt like she was about to dance with a massive tree trunk – so hard and immobile, he seemed. Well, even the longest waltz would end sometime. She truly should stop being afraid. There was no reason for this nonsensical fear. He had done nothing but prompt the good fortune of his friend when he had played the messenger for her. He was … something like her little cupid, although, right now, the Marquess of Cavanaugh reminded her more of the ruler of the underworld.
As soon as the first notes of the sweeping melody sounded, the Marquess of Cavanaugh began to move, taking her by surprise. Even the first steps of the modern dance revealed that not only did he know the dance but mastered it. Not once did he hesitate when he led her into a turn. When the Bracknells, blind to everything but each other, danced past them, he skipped a sequence so skilfully that the other couples did not even notice. Gabriel de Vere made it easy for her to follow him.
“Where did you learn to dance waltzes?” This question was as good as any other to break the ice between them.
“In Paris,” he replied taciturnly and fell silent again.
He had been in French captivity for a short time, Rose knew that. She had heard her parents talk about it when his father died.
“Were you there long?” She spoke to his waistcoat. That was rude, but safer than looking him in the eye.
“Three months.”
“Ah.” The buttons were made of black, polished stone. If you looked closely, they reflected the glow of the candles that illuminated the hall. Rose did not know how to politely ask a man who had gone to war if he was well, so she preferred to confine herself to things she was sure would not stir up old wounds. “I have not seen your sister for a long time. It is nice that you are accompanying her tonight.” He did not stop moving, but she thought she felt his arm stiffen again under her hand.
He remained silent.
“Do you remember the evening when …”
“You are wearing the same dress as on that evening when …”
They both spoke at the same time, then fell silent at the same moment.
Rose felt her cheeks flush. “You remember my dress?” Was she deceiving herself, or had his grip tightened around her waist? The next second, he whirled her so energetically through the crowd that she nearly became dizzy. Or did it just seem to Rose that he had broken the rhythm? In any case, she had asked a question and the answer to it was obvious. He would hardly have mentioned her dress if it had not caught his eye. She raised her head and tried to decipher his features from that position. It was impossible.
“Of course I remember your dress,” he said, slowing the pace until they settled back into the rhythm of the strings. Again, Rose did not know what to say, because everything that went through her mind was completely inappropriate. “But today”, another turn as he whirled her to the centre of the dance floor, “I want to leave the past behind.”
So, he was a gentleman after all. What else could his words mean other than that he had erased her most foolhardy request from his memory?
“Tell me something, Lady Rose. Are you happy, right here and now?”
Rose was so shocked that she would have nearly stopped and stumbled, if the marquess had not caught her and concealed her clumsiness. Not only was the question indiscreet, but it also revealed that he did not understand the slightest bit of women. How could she not be happy the night she and Richard de Coucy were announcing their engagement?
“Of course I am.”
There was no other response.
Chapter 8
Her answer was so quiet that he struggled to hear her above the murmur of voices and increasingly shrill music, but when his mind grasped what she had said, his heart sank. Not for his sake, by no means. It was rather the case of his sister’s luck, which was destroyed by Lady Rose’s response. For how was he going to get de Coucy to make Henrietta an honourable woman?
If he forced de Coucy to marry Henrietta, he would destroy Lady Rose’s happiness.
If he decided to stay silent, he would be responsible for his sister’s sorrow. No matter how he twisted and wriggled it, there was no easy way out.
Whenever he peered down at Rose and led her lithe body from one side of the room to the other, his hesitation grew. He could not tell her th
at her fiancé was an honourless scoundrel and that his sister was carrying his bastard child.
Was there another way out?
Luckily, the dance was over. Gabriel led Lady Rose back to her mother, and perhaps held her hand a moment longer than considered decorous as he thanked her for the dance. Her cheeks were reddened and her bosom under the darned gold-and-red dress rose and fell rapidly. This bloody dress was to blame for him not immediately forcing de Coucy to break off this engagement as soon as it was announced. Every rustle, every crackle of the lush material was like an echo of his memories, evoking the delicious feeling of her lips on his.
“Thank you for entertaining my future wife so well,” Richard de Coucy said, releasing Rose’s hand from Gabriel’s. His tone was perhaps a shade colder than necessary, which made Gabriel wish he had a sword or a weapon at hand to challenge this arrogant popinjay.
“Anytime,” Gabriel replied, staring into de Coucy’s blue eyes, which were normally pale blue but looked unnaturally dark. A blotchy redness was visible on the edge of his white collar. “What do you think, can you spare me five minutes? Otherwise, it will be my pleasure to dedicate myself to Lady Rose until you are ready.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Rose was eyeing him with a hint of irritation and then she uttered a faint cry, just to release her hand from de Coucy’s.
“You hurt me,” she complained to her fiancé, who came to his senses and bent over her maltreated hand.
“Forgive me, my little darling,” he apologised.
Gabriel felt his eyebrows raise and his lips curl in contempt. Did the fool not have any other name for Lady Rose apart from, “my little darling”? It was inappropriate enough to call her that in public, but given her fondness for the great bard, he, in de Coucy’s place, would have gone bright red with shame for this ordinary term of affection.
For a moment, their eyes met over the top of de Coucy’s auburn head, then she lowered her gaze.
“May I occupy your husband’s study for a moment, my Lady?” The Duchess of Evesham, too, enjoyed a kiss on the hand from de Coucy. She made a gesture that could have meant anything from “away you go” to “of course, as long as I am relieved of your presence” and turned to her daughter.
“Perhaps, in the meanwhile, you can check on Lady Henrietta?” Gabriel heard her ask, before following Richard to the first floor.
“You must have been surprised to hear about my engagement to Lady Rose,” de Coucy said casually, as they walked upstairs.
“Indeed,” Gabriel confirmed curtly. He really did not feel like talking about the man’s motives to marry the lady whom he had so unlovingly spurned back then after all, but nevertheless, he could not resist a certain curiosity. He wanted to know if de Coucy sincerely loved Rose. But asking him directly was simply impossible, so Gabriel decided just to let him do the talking.
Just as he had guessed, Richard was only too willing to talk about himself. “I admit, I did not like her then. I thought she was missing that certain something that truly makes a woman fanciable.” Gabriel saw him pull a fake grin and felt his own face freeze into a mask of contempt. De Coucy did not seem to become aware as he kept chatting about Rose and how, although not ugly, this boring duckling had grown into a proud swan. Gabriel was glad when they reached the top landing and de Coucy unerringly headed for his future father-in-law’s study. Obviously, he had frequently come and gone from the Evesham’s’ house, for he did not hesitate and pushed open the door to the duke’s study and stood at the window, heedlessly turning his back on him.
“What did you want to talk to me about?”
Gabriel preferred to keep his distance. “About my sister, you rattle-pated ivory tuner.”
“Henrietta? What about her?” De Coucy did not turn around and ignored the disparaging address, staring out of the window as if there was something extraordinarily interesting to look at. “And I thought you had fallen in love with Rose and were trying to take her away from me.” A caustic malice lurked beneath his light-minded tone. It had not escaped Gabriel that de Coucy spoke of trying, as if Gabriel was not a serious rival for him.
“She is indisposed,” he said.
“Yes, she did not look very well. Maybe you should send her to Bath for a few days. The hot springs there are supposed to work wonders on all sorts of women’s problems. Or so I have heard.”
“You bloody bastard.” Gabriel lost his patience when de Coucy accused his sister of hysteria or venereal diseases. “She is with your child, that is what the problem is.”
Finally, Richard turned around. In the dim light, Gabriel could not make out his expression, but when he heard him laugh, he finally lost his patience. In one bound, he was beside him, grabbed him by the collar of his starched shirt, and shook him like a naughty puppy. “You ruin her, and you find it amusing?”
“That is too much of an honour,” the other gasped, doing nothing to free himself from Gabriel’s grip. “I did not touch your precious sister. She’s not my type at all, old friend.”
“To make matters worse, you also call Henrietta a liar?” Gabriel pulled de Coucy close until their noses almost touched. He felt Richard balance on his tiptoes for a moment, then let him go abruptly. “You disgust me. How could you do that to Lady Rose?”
Richard managed to regain his balance before falling to the floor. His gaze which had darted everywhere apart from focusing on Gabriel’s face, now sharpened. “Ah, the crux of the matter. It is not your sister you are getting worked up about, but our priciest Lady Rose,” he mocked in a faux falsetto. Gabriel backed away. “That hurts, does it not?” He adjusted his collar and wiped away an imaginary speck of dust. “Did you like kissing her?”
Gabriel straightened his shoulders. There was no point in denying it, if it was obvious to de Coucy, but he certainly would not say it aloud. After all, why would Gabriel pretend that the kiss was meaningless when it was everything but? Yes, he had not behaved honourably when he approached Lady Rose in the disguise of another man – but, what was done could not be undone.
“Oh, my dear friend, I can tell you – she, too, liked the nightly meeting with you. As a matter of fact, she has been pestering me about that kiss for two years and never tires of emphasising how happy it made her.”
The stone that Gabriel had dragged around for two years in place of his heart started to crack. Lady Rose had been talking about their kiss for twenty-four months?
“And until today,” de Coucy’s white teeth flashed in the darkness, “I was grateful to you for representing me, Cavanaugh. Deeply grateful, I should emphasise. When you come to think of it, it was your masquerade that enabled me to ask for Lady Rose’s hand.”
The silence that spread after his words was like the calm before the storm. Gabriel knew that de Coucy would now close in for his, allegedly, deadly blow and cursed his indecision. Who was he supposed to protect – his sister or Lady Rose? For she, too, needed his protection, Gabriel finally admitted, even if not from social ruin. If he remained silent, allowing her to tie the knot with de Coucy, she would marry a cruel liar. With that, he would seal her fate, no two ways about it.
Another thought shot through Gabriel’s mind, leaving his body ice-cold and his head hot. Did he really want to let his own sister marry this vile scoundrel? The righteous way was not the right one. Henrietta would wither away by Coucy’s side like a rose in the early frost.
“You have won,” he said flatly and turned around. “I will not hold you accountable for what you did to my sister, but believe me, I will move heaven and hell to open Lady Rose’s eyes. If she marries you, it will be over my dead body.”
He saw Richard shrug his shoulders. De Coucy took a step back. “Hold your horses, old boy, with the threats. After all, I know about the dissolute behaviour of your sister. Think carefully about what you are doing. It is in my hands to show the world that your high-born sister is no better than a light-skirt who spreads her legs for a few coins.”
Gabriel closed the distance between hi
m and the talebearer within seconds. He punched Richard with the flat of his hand, causing him to stumble. “You will pay for that, de Coucy,” Gabriel hissed.
The masks had fallen.
Gabriel was as calm as he had ever been before in his life when he challenged Richard de Coucy. He saw the effect on the other man’s face – his jaw worked, his eyes darted backwards and forwards as if seeking for a way out.
“Listen,” Richard began, “maybe … we should think about it again. I mean, it is just about women, Cavanaugh, my old friend. Why not go together and talk about it over a cup of wine. I am a regular guest at an establishment that will make you forget every woman in the world, I guarantee you.”
The urge to punish the man with his fists became nearly overwhelming. If he did not leave now, he would fight de Coucy like a schoolboy. “My second will come to you tomorrow and deliver the demand. The day after tomorrow at six o’clock. Battersea Fields.”
He turned around. He had told de Coucy where and when. Everything else would be decided early the day after tomorrow. The question Gabriel posed at that moment was not whether he would survive the duel, but whose honour he was defending – his sister’s or Lady Rose’s?
He stepped out the door and thought that he saw a woman in a gold-and-red dress flit around the corner in the flickering light of the candles.
He prayed he was wrong.
Chapter 9
The evening, which was supposed to be the most wonderful evening of her life, ended in disaster.
When Rose had come out of her room where Lady Henrietta lay peacefully asleep on the ottoman, she had walked past her father’s study. At first, she had not thought anything of it when she heard Richard’s voice and just kept going. But then, just as she was about to go downstairs to join her guests, she had stopped.
His exact words she had not understood, but something about his tone seemed strange to her. Indecisive, Rose stood on the landing, attempting to get to the bottom of her uneasiness. In the first instant, she had not even recognised the voice as her fiancé’s because he had sounded so … malicious. Richard had never been anything other than friendly. He had always been polite, even to her servant, not even reacting impatiently or arrogantly when the new maid had spilled sherry over his trousers because she was shaking so much.
An Unkissed Lady: A Historical Regency Romance (The Evesham Series) Page 5