An Unkissed Lady: A Historical Regency Romance (The Evesham Series)

by Audrey Ashwood

  One junction further on, it was much quieter. Mrs Prisson slowed, forcing Rose to a less hurried pace. The marquess exchanged a look with her chaperone that could only be described as amicable. That took the biscuit! Even Mrs Prisson could not seem to resist the dark charm of the marquess.

  “Is everything all right, my Lady? You are a little pale.” He glanced around queryingly.

  “I am fine,” Rose insisted, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. The moaning of the wounded man still rang in her ears, and the sight of a man on a stretcher tormented her, as well. It was not the first accident she had witnessed, but she had never been so close to the scene. Along with the tension she felt, she sensed her strength was dwindling.

  “Are you sure? I can call a carriage and take you home. I understand that you might be shocked at the sight of a casualty. I would also take all the blame for your trip without the knowledge and permission of your parents.”

  Rose came to a standstill, forcing him to pause, too. She looked up and, for a moment, saw nothing but his looming silhouette, visible against the sun. “The sight was terrible,” she admitted, feeling him squeeze her arm reassuringly. “But it is not only that, and I certainly will not allow you to be responsible for my wrongdoing,” she retorted vigorously, before starting to walk again. She certainly would not tell him that he had surprised her, in a positive way, by caring for a complete stranger. Not to mention, it was none of his concern that every hour she spent in his company confused her all the more. “All I want is for us to sort out this unfortunate affair and be able to sleep soundly again.”

  “I want that, as well,” he replied.

  Rose turned her head when she thought she recognised Richards’s red head in a passing coach, but she must have been mistaken.

  “I deeply regret what happened to your sister,” Rose said, so quietly that neither Mrs Prisson nor the passing pedestrians could hear her. “But why does she insist that Richard is responsible for her condition? I simply do not understand.” She peered up at an angle, waiting for an answer.

  “The idea that your betrothed is keeping something from you seems completely alien to you,” the marquess said. Rose could not tell from his features whether he found her naïve or thought it commonplace that young ladies did not know everything about the man they were going to marry. “If you think Henrietta is not telling the truth, you are welcome to speak with her yourself,” he continued. To his vindication, she had to admit that in no way did the marquess sound annoyed when he made this suggestion – only grieved. Seeing him in this untypical state moved Rose more than she really wanted it to. Why was there no satisfactory solution for everyone involved? If he was right, what would become of her future? Rose did not think that she could overlook the matter if the man she loved turned out to be dishonourable.

  “Be careful.” The marquess’s voice sounded very close to her ear. “I do not want to witness a second accident, my Lady.” Startled, Rose pressed a hand to her pounding heart, as she caught sight of a coach, having nearly fallen under its wheels.

  For a moment, she was puzzled, because his deep, sonorous voice reminded her of something, but the noise of the carriages and the conversations of the passers-by prevented her from thinking clearly. “Stop doing that,” Rose said between clenched teeth. “Why do you have to be so friendly? Can you not just be the old crank who despises me?” The last part of her sentence flew out of her mouth like a cry of desperation. Not only did it cause a young woman holding two children by the hands to turn to her in indignation, but also, for Lord de Vere to stop dead in the middle of the pavement. Once again, his dark eyes had taken on that disturbing glow.

  “I probably deserve to be called a crank,” he admitted, giving her a smile that made Rose want to burst into tears. “But I have never despised you, and I assure you that even now, at this very moment, I feel nothing of the sort.”

  But? Rose wanted to ask. However, before her tell-tale mouth could ask the question, her mind intervened and ordered her to remain silent. A man with an absurdly big stovepipe hat stepped around the marquess, grumbling, but he paid no attention to the passer-by, but instead looked Rose in the face, half-questioningly, half-expectantly. Since she remained silent, he started walking again and, whether she wanted to or not, Rose went along. He was walking faster than before, taking long strides, his broad shoulders straight and his back rigid.

  “Here we are,” he said, stating the obvious.

  This was not a bad thing, because thoughts were spinning in circles in Rose’s mind like the figurines on a new-fangled clockwork music box. With a lurching heart, Rose stared at the entrance, which she had crossed many times in the company of her parents. This time, everything was different. But, she reminded herself, she was not completely alone. Mrs Prisson, whose unobtrusive presence Rose had almost forgotten, moved nearer. Given her stern features, Rose could not tell what she thought of her being accompanied by the Marquess of Cavanaugh to visit her fiancé. Rose felt enormous gratitude in her heart for the presence of the older woman.

  Yet, all at once, she wished she could accept the marquess’s offer of taking her back. She wanted to bury her head in her pillow, sleep and forget everything. He seemed to sense her fear, for he briefly squeezed her hand and nodded encouragingly.

  “I know that this wisdom is of no comfort to you, but it is better to know the truth, even if it hurts.”

  “You are right, it is of no comfort,” Rose said, feeling a tiny bit lighter in her heart. Mrs Prisson caught up, and they all stood in front of the entrance, looking at the door behind which the truth lay hidden. “Let us go in.” She lifted her chin, the gesture covering up her trembling voice. Five minutes, maybe ten, and the ordeal would be over.

  But in a strange, twisted way, the idea did not lift her spirits.

  Chapter 16

  Gabriel was as happy as Lady Rose that the brief walk through the most prestigious part of London had finally come to an end, and they had arrived at de Coucy’s townhouse. Had he really believed that his feelings for Lady Rose were a simple weakness that he could overcome by self-control until her enchantment had worn off? The short walk had done nothing of the kind, only proving to him that he was starting to truly like her. Her stubbornness, for example, or the directness that prompted her to call him a crank. He did not think of Lady Rose, by any means, as a flawless being, on the contrary – her impulsiveness got her into trouble more often than she would have liked; also, her loyalty to de Coucy had a negative side – she firmly refused to consider for even one second that she could have been wrong.

  At the door of de Coucy’s townhouse they were greeted by disappointment, though this was more the case for Gabriel’s companion than for him. His secret pleasure of spending more time in her company vanished when he saw the discouragement on her face.

  He declined the butler’s offer to wait for his master and asked him for de Coucy’s current whereabouts. “I cannot tell you exactly, my Lord,” the man said with a sidelong glance at Lady Rose, who reacted immediately and took a few steps back. “Lord de Coucy went first to his club and then to a dog fight in the King’s Head.”

  “Thank you,” Gabriel replied, discretely tossing a coin into the man’s hand. It struck him as strange that de Coucy wanted to see a dog fight, of all things. It did not suit a man who preferred casual pleasures and loathed everything that was loud, dirty, and foul. Still, if the butler had said so, they should at least give the search a try – better than idly standing by, it seemed to Gabriel.

  “Where is he?” Lady Rose came straight to the point when the door had closed.

  Gabriel hesitated. He knew exactly what she would ask him once she learned de Coucy’s whereabouts, and he was sure her parents would not approve of her being in a dark tavern in Whitechapel. On the contrary, he was equally convinced that she would set off on her own into one of London’s most disreputable neighbourhoods to find her worthless fiancé. Accompanied by Mrs Prisson, the journey might just
be feasible, especially if he left the ladies waiting in the carriage. Keeping the dog fight from Lady Rose was also no solution, given the bribable butler. “He was going to his club,” her face brightened, “and then to the King’s Head. It is a pub in Whitechapel,” Gabriel added as explanation.

  Rose frowned. “What is he doing there?”

  Her question sounded so innocent that he hesitated again. “He is meeting his friends there to place a bet, I assume.”

  “In a tavern? I know that men will bet on anything, but he could have done so in the club or on the racetrack.” She linked arms with him and looked around for her chaperone. Gabriel suspected that Mrs Prisson was pretending not to hear even half of what Rose said. The question was, why would Mrs Prisson close her eyes when her protégé was toeing the line of decency? He had the suspicion that the lady would intervene very quickly, if the risk to Rose’s future was too great. “Ah, there it is. I can see your carriage. That is most fitting – we will not waste any more time.”

  “I must warn you. The King’s Head is not a place for a lady.” He felt obliged to say.

  “Then all the better that you and Mrs Prisson will be with me and can cover my eyes if need be, should things happen that you think I should not see.” Her blue eyes sparkled. Could it be that she was enjoying this adventure as much as he was? His heart leapt in his chest as they looked at each other for the shortest of moments and imagined they were nothing but Lady Rose and the Marquess of Cavanaugh, out on a walk one fine day.

  “You can count on me,” he eventually replied.

  “I know that,” she said softly.

  The clip-clop of the arriving coach broke the spell and mercilessly brought them back to the present.

  “Coachman,” he shouted, raising his walking stick to catch his carriage driver’s attention. Moments later, they were on their way to Whitechapel.

  This time, they sat side by side with Mrs Prisson opposite them. She looked out of the window and said nothing. He felt Rose’s slim arm against his and enjoyed the silence between them, which had taken on a different quality, almost as if they were allies on a common mission and not opponents. Time and again, Lady Rose looked inquiringly into his face, until after a while, she broke the silence.

  “What will your sister do, if Richard does not prove to be the father of the child?” Rose whispered. She did not look at him but kept her eyes on the back seat opposite her.

  “That is impossible,” he growled as quietly as she did, though he did not think Mrs Prisson would divulge his secret. He had heard that she had served as a chaperone as early as in the duchess’s time. She seemed more like a confidante than a paid watchdog. “De Coucy is guilty. The question of an alternative does not arise.” Rose uttered a sound of surprise and half-turned her head towards him. “My sister is ruined, if she does not marry the man who seduced her. I have considered sending her to the countryside and giving the child to guardians, but such stories have the unfortunate tendency of resurfacing at the most inopportune moment.”

  “I did not ask what you are planning to do, but what your sister will do,” she corrected him, although surprisingly meek by her standards. “I understand that you care about Lady Henrietta’s future, but why don’t you talk to her and ask for her own opinion?”

  “I have tried that,” Gabriel replied heatedly. “But she refuses to give me a reasonable answer.”

  “I am not surprised.”

  “Because I am such a grump who even intimidates his own sister,” he stated, only hinting that it was a question.

  “No, but because, like most men, you think that women should not make choices about their own lives. Besides, it may not be a question that can be answered with reason, but only with the heart.”

  “You mean, Henrietta fell in love with de Coucy? That is absurd.”

  A little wrinkle formed between her brows. “I do not think so,” she countered, sliding a little more to the side to better scrutinise him. “Richard is equipped with a lot of charm.” He could barely hold back in letting out a derogatory snort. “And unlike you, he believes that God has given women a mind to use, not just for housekeeping or worshipping their husbands.”

  “Are you sure that we are talking about the same man?” He could not refrain from the question.

  “I was wrong about you,” Lady Rose noted. “You are not a grump by any means, you are simply audacious.” The corners of her mouth twitched and took the sting out of the rebuke.

  “The way you put it, Richard could easily pass as an advocate of the women’s movement,” he replied. Now it was time to take advantage of the favourable situation and find out why she had committed herself to de Coucy. He became serious. “What is wrong with me worrying about my sister’s future and just wanting the best for her?” The best was certainly not Richard de Coucy, whether there was a case of paternity or not.

  “There is nothing wrong with that,” Rose responded. “Everyone cares about the people they love most. But unlike you, Richard would not fail to give Henrietta a choice.”

  “Is that the reason why you love him? Because he allows you liberties?”

  Her cheeks turned red as he could see, even in the semi-darkness of the closed cab. The mute Mrs Prisson gave a disapproving snort. For a moment, his eyes met those of the chaperone, then she turned to gaze out the window of the coach again.

  “It is not fitting to question a lady about her feelings,” Rose told him. Out of the corner of his eye, Gabriel saw a tiny, satisfied smile appear on the face of her chaperone. Quieter, she continued, “I will answer your question, anyway. Perhaps my answer will dispel your constant doubts about Lord de Coucy’s honour. Richard…” Rose fell silent and ran her tongue over her lower lip. Then she took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders determinedly. “You know it was me who took the first step, you do not have to deny it.” By this, she meant the message that had started it all. “He never criticised me for it. Not a single word that could be considered blameworthy has passed his lips because I behaved in a way that most gentlemen consider inappropriate. Richard has never taken advantage of my… initiative but instead, given me plenty of time to be absolutely and one hundred percent sure of my intent before we became engaged.”

  Gabriel gritted his teeth as he heard praise for the man he loathed more than anyone else. But he had challenged her reaction and could not take back his casual words. “In one respect, you are absolutely right. Two years is a long time. I admit that.”

  “Why does everything that you say sound disparaging? I understand that you have no sympathy for him, because you have to assume that he seduced Lady Henrietta. Really, I am trying to see it from your point of view,” she gasped out angrily. “But you know nothing about Richard and me. Nothing.”

  Nothing except that she thought she had kissed de Coucy, while in truth, it was his lips she had felt on hers. “What you consider a virtue, his so-called tolerance of your escapades, I call indifference. If the desire to safeguard my sister’s future and actively care for her happiness is a sin, then I plead guilty. I would rather try too hard and fail than watch Henrietta run into her misfortune.”

  Lady Rose opened her mouth to bid defiance, but at that moment, the wheels of the coach came to a standstill. They were in Whitechapel.

  He had the task of guiding her safely through the hell of depravity.

  Chapter 17

  It stank. Rose, who was about to get out, felt the hand of her chaperone on her arm. “You should better wait here and let him…” Mrs Prisson nodded to the marquess, “settle the matter on his own, my child.” As a long-standing employee of the Evesham’s, Mrs Prisson had earned the privilege of the familiar form of address.

  “I know,” Rose replied, “but I cannot sit here and do nothing. You understand that, do you not?” The hand around her arm slackened, then, Mrs Prisson sighed and got out first.

  Rose fought the fear that was spreading through her heart as she followed her chaperone out of the carriage. The unfamili
ar loud and lively environment scared her, even if she would never in her life admit to that before the marquess. What was Richard doing in an area like this? Scantily dressed and rather unkempt women waited by the side of the road and winked at her companion, while a horde of children crowded around them both and stared at them with dull eyes. A particularly small, gaunt girl touched the fabric of Rose’s coat, awestruck, leaving a trail of sticky dirt on it – but instead of being angry, Rose’s heart was torn to pieces. She fumbled in her handbag for the coins she had taken as a precaution and handed them out to the children.

  The gut-wrenching sight of the skinny children even repressed her simmering feelings towards the marquess, who was also giving out coins. Rose longed for the moment when they finally found Richard and could talk to him. Then, the unfortunate matter would be cleared up. The marquess, who held her close to his side, brought calm to the turmoil of the children’s voices with a single gesture. “The ladies and I are looking for the place where the dog fight is taking place. Which of you can take us there?” Thin little arms stretched up into the air. Even the little girl, who had touched Rose’s coat and had been pushed to the side by the stronger children, hesitantly raised her hand. Rose squeezed the marquess’s arm and pointed to the girl.