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

by Audrey Ashwood

  Chapter 25

  Rose was relieved when, at long last, everyone the poet had assigned to die had indeed suffered their fate. Normally, she would have trembled and cheered until the final second, even though she knew the tragic outcome, but today, everything was different. After the balcony scene, she had not been able to neither enjoy Shakespeare’s poetry nor the thespianism. It was not that she could no longer follow the piece, but rather, as if she had unexpectedly uncovered a secret meaning behind the verses that scared her in its intensity. Romeo and Juliet loved each other with an exclusivity that resulted in their decision to rather die than live without each other. But, she reminded herself, that was literature, not real life.

  When the actors left the stage to make way for the obligatory pantomime, she had seen enough and stood. Richard seemed surprised but got up, too. “Let us go down and have a glass of champagne,” he suggested. He did not even wait for her answer but instead asked her mother for her permission and led Rose by the arm to the stairs.

  “I am not really thirsty,” she said, looking in the crowd for the marquess. As sure as an arrow, she found him, although she had hoped to avoid a direct encounter. He had his back to her and was chatting animatedly with a plainly dressed woman of her mother’s age and a man with a tremendously dignified air. Next to the marquess, stood unmistakably the slender figure of his sister in a breath-taking red dress, the kind that only dark-haired ladies could wear without appearing vulgar.

  “Then, allow me to get a glass for myself. One moment.” Richard waved to a young gentleman who approached them instantaneously. Oh, no, thought Rose, feeling the panic well up in her chest and throat. Of all people, it had to be Eaglethorpe whom Richard wished to speak to. “Eaglethorpe, old boy, do me a favour, and take a moment to look after my soon-to-be wife, will you? By all means, I desperately need a drink and would not like to leave her alone here amidst the turmoil.”

  “With the utmost pleasure,” Eaglethorpe replied, bowing. Swaying. Was there ever a sober side to this man?

  Rose took a step back and turned to Richard. “I do not need a guardian who can barely stand up, thank you very much,” she said. With a semi-comical and semi-repugnant gesture, Eaglethorpe placed his right hand where his heart was, no doubt pickled in alcohol. Richard, in contrast, was already greeting the next acquaintance and motioned for the man to wait for him. “Lord de Coucy,” Rose said louder than she intended, “are you even listening to me?”

  “Every word,” he replied, half-bowing, and set off to get his champagne.

  He just abandoned her!

  Romeo would never even have dreamed of entrusting his Juliet to a drunken Benvolio. A little cough prevented Rose from continuing to consider the comparison. Eaglethorpe stared at her, waiting for … an answer?

  “Excuse me.” Rose remembered her education. “What did you say?”

  “I was wondering – have we not seen each other recently?”

  “That is quite possible,” Rose agreed. “Perhaps at the Cavendish’s dinner? Or at Almack’s? I was there with my sister Annabelle last Friday. You know Annabelle? She has so little time right now, because …” Rose ran out of breath. Eaglethorpe’s eyes narrowed. He took a step towards her, still wavering, seeming to want to cling on to her. Rose backed away, bumping into something hard, big, that felt like a velvet-clad rock – and turned out to be the Marquess of Cavanaugh.

  “There you are, my Lady,” he said, stepping beside her. Now it was Eaglethorpe who was backing away as far as the crowd would allow. Possibly, in this case, it was even a blessing that he was surrounded by people to cling onto while muttering apologies. “My sister would like to know if you could spare her a moment.”

  “I, um, think someone is asking for me,” Richard’s friend said, pointing at no one in particular and without specifying who it was that wanted to speak to him so urgently. He turned on his heels and – there was no other way to describe it – took flight.

  Rose let out a breath. “Thank you,” she said, noticing that she had already grabbed onto his arm like a drowning man onto a rescue rope.

  “All that is missing now, is Oberon to complete the déjà vu,” the marquess remarked.

  She laughed wobbly. “How is he?”

  “Good, but he misses you.” His dark eyes sparkled.

  “I would like to visit him.”

  “I am sure he would be glad to see you.” The fine lines at the corners of his eyes deepened as he smiled.

  They fell silent as people’s babbling and laughter swelled.

  “I would like to say hello to your sister,” Rose finally remarked.

  “Then I will try to fight our way out, my Lady.” That was, in fact, greatly exaggerated, because, first of all, the distance to the little group of three was quite short, and secondly … well, the marquess had a way of moving forwards that made everyone spontaneously give way to him.

  “Lady Rose,” his sister greeted her. Her cheeks turned red.

  “How nice to see you, Lady Henrietta,” Rose said quickly. She had not wanted to embarrass the other woman by her presence, so she put as much warmth into her words as she could. Lady Catherine was also present, and she and Rose exchanged a friendly greeting. Then, the marquess introduced her to the other man, a doctor named Hollingsworth. Without being able to put her finger on it, she thought to notice that something special connected him and Lady Catherine. Maybe it was the way they kept gazing at each other with fleeting glances.

  “Did you enjoy the play?” Rose aimed at the ladies. She realised that she was still holding onto his arm and wanted to let him go, but at that moment, the Marquess of Cavanaugh placed his left hand over hers as if he had read her mind. Through the glove, she felt the warmth of his touch.

  “Miss Taylor was tremendous as Juliet,” said Lady Henrietta.” Her mimic art was well expressive without the slightest exaggeration.”

  “I second that,” Rose agreed. “Her voice is wonderful. Buoyant and mellifluous.”

  The doctor nodded in agreement, and Catherine did the same a second later.

  “This kind of actress is only born once in a generation,” Lady Catherine interjected. Rose saw that Dr Hollingsworth turned to Lady Catherine as soon as her voice rang out and looked at her as if she had said something extraordinary, not merely conversational.

  “I just wished for a different Romeo,” she said quickly, trying to forget an obtrusive comparison, which forced itself upon her, of Lord de Coucy’s gazes. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a satisfied smile spread across the marquess’s face.

  “What did you dislike?” he enquired.

  “He did not feel what he was saying,” Rose said immediately. “He recited the verses without any feeling, and when he wanted to convey his love for Juliet to the audience, he crowed exaggeratedly, missing the right balance.”

  “He is a bawler,” said the marquess. “What do you expect?”

  Rose chuckled. She could not help it, even with his merciless assessment of one of the kingdom’s most famous actors. She looked up. His dark eyes found hers.

  A throat clearing made her flinch. “An evidently rather enraged young man is approaching you, Lady Rose,” said Dr Hollingsworth. “Is it possible that he is looking for you?”

  Without letting go of Gabriel’s arm, Rose turned around. Indeed, it was Richard de Coucy approaching them with the Marchioness of Glastonbury by his side.

  “Cavanaugh,” Richard said curtly, upon reaching their small group at the edge of the balustrade. “Lady Henrietta.”

  Rose introduced him and the marchioness to the doctor and Lady Catherine, but Lord de Coucy begrudged them with no more than an abrupt nod. Rather, his gaze lay upon her, to be more precise, on her hand, which the marquess still covered with his. Rose wanted to explain why she had fled from Eaglethorpe, but then she closed her mouth again.

  Richard was ungracious.

  Richard had left her alone with Eaglethorpe, who was clearly drunk, knowing that the man could b
arely stand.

  He did not answer her questions.

  He treated her like an object.

  Rose realised that she was staring at her fiancé, who had expectantly reached out his hand to her. She felt the tension in her arm and in the fingers of the marquess beside her.

  “I would like to chat a little more with Lady Henrietta,” she said, looking Richard in the face.

  “Yes, there must be plenty for Lady Henrietta to explain, is there not?” the marchioness intermeddled without being asked, giving the title by her emphasis a libellous undertone. Her gaze lingered too long on Lady Henrietta’s midsection to cast any doubt upon the true meaning of her words.

  The grip around her fingers tightened. Richard smiled crookedly.

  “When do you intend to retire to the country?” The rosebud-shaped mouth of the marchioness formed the words carefully. She did not do anything to dampen her volume.

  Henrietta was shaking. Rose saw that she could barely remain on her feet. Determined, she pulled her hand out from under the marquess, went over to Lady Henrietta’s side and put an arm around her waist, both to support the much larger woman and to show her partisanship. “My mother has invited the Marquess of Cavanaugh and his family to spend the Christmas days in Surrey with us, and I think we will depart early this year.” It was quite a while before the holidays, on the quick, Rose could not think of anything better to say. After a pause, just when the marchioness turned her icy-blue gaze to Rose like a reptile stalking its next prey, Rose continued, “There is currently simply too much rabble in town for my liking.” By her side, the marquess laughed mildly, but loud enough for the bystanders to take notice of his amusement. Again, it was not the wittiest of ripostes, but coupled with the wintry expression (that Rose had inherited from her mother) and a beaming smile, it was not without the desired effect. The marchioness unfolded her old-fashioned fan – allegedly handed down from the Sun King’s wife (her supposed ancestor) – and pointed it menacingly at Lady Henrietta, who had said nothing.

  Rose looked at the marchioness, long and hard. The marquess slipped in between them, hooking both their arms while his cousin and the doctor positioned themselves to their left and right. De Coucy took a step towards Rose, holding out his hand demandingly.

  The fan in the hand of the cold beauty began to quiver, unlike Richard’s hand. His gaze was in no way inferior to hers, neither in stoniness nor in length.

  “Lady Rose?” They were only three syllables, but they were enough to make Rose shudder.

  Gabriel made a slight turn until he was half-shielding her from Richard.

  “Rose?” Richard repeated louder, more impatiently. The first heads turned in their direction. Rose silently shook her head. Richard dropped his hand, turned on his heels, and gave her one last look as he went.

  She had won this battle, but the war that was just breaking out between them was not over yet.

  Chapter 26

  Gabriel watched as de Coucy and his cold-hearted companion moved away from them. Those who had stopped to watch, turned away and continued where they had left off, armed with a new, juicy bite of gossip.

  “Gabriel, I want to go.” His sister was no longer shivering, but she was visibly pale. She glanced from him to Rose and back again, her eyes holding a lot of questions, but too exhausted to ask them. “Thank you, Lady Rose. Once again, I doubtlessly have to say, it seems as though with every passing day, I find myself deeper in your debt.”

  Gabriel saw Rose pull a small grimace. “Oh, please, I have never been too fond of the marchioness,” Rose responded in a clear, carrying voice, intensifying the whispering at her back. “I think she deserves to be put a little damper on.” Then, she said something quieter and winked at Henrietta. “I think I will go soon. I still have to fight my way back to my mother.”

  Gabriel leaned over to Henrietta and asked if she would mind if he came back later. “Only if you really do not mind,” he added. Henrietta shook her head. At the same time Hollingsworth came to his side, offering to drive the two ladies’ home and take care of Lady Henrietta.

  “Thank you,” Gabriel replied. “I do not want to leave Lady Rose alone.”

  “I am not sure what is going on here,” whispered the doctor, “but I believe that will be quite all right with the young lady.” He hesitated, then added, “The truism stating that life is more exciting than any spectacle seems to take on a whole new meaning in your presence, my Lord.”

  Standing next to him, Rose chuckled, at first hesitantly, then louder, when his lips curved upwards, too. Only when the small group disappeared from sight did they become serious. He searched for the right words to express how much he admired her for standing up for his sister, without finding the appropriate phrase. “I thank you,” he said at length, making a gesture as if to take both her hands in his. At the last second, he remembered that they were not alone. Too many curious eyes and ears had witnessed Rose confronting her fiancé.

  “What are friends for?” She raised her chin. “We are friends, are we not?”

  His throat tightened. “We are. I will escort you to your mother. She is certainly already impatiently waiting for you.”

  “Certainly.” Rose sighed. Then, her demeanour lit up. “I wish I had a fan as well,” she remarked lightly.

  “For what reason?” Gabriel sensed that her question was bait and was only too happy to fall prey.

  “Because I could give you, my Lord, a playful little clap with it.”

  “What did I do to deserve that?” He raised both hands in a theatrical gesture. “I am not aware of any guilt.”

  “Oh, is that so? Then tell me – what made you think to take your sister to Romeo and Juliet, of all plays?”

  “I thought it would cheer Henrietta up.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Of course. Seeing two lovers being separated from each other by fate and go to their deaths, is immensely amusing. If you say now that you did not know the outcome of the play, you will only make things worse for yourself. So, think carefully about what you have to say for your justification.”

  “It really was not the best idea I ever had, was it?” Gabriel admitted. They talked quietly enough so that none of the other theatregoers could overhear their conversation. “But she should not hide herself away in her room all the time. To see how she grows sadder every day and loses more of her zest for life … I cannot bear that.”

  “My mother told me that your sister loves the young man very much and hopes that he will return home soon,” said Rose. “Tell her that she can stay at our estate in Surrey until he returns home. And if he does not … then you, yourself, must marry and declare the child as your own.” She clapped her hand over her mouth as if surprised by her exceedingly daring words and blushed. When she saw his astonished face, the blush became a deeper red, making her look very innocent, despite her free-spirited suggestion.

  He smiled to show her that he was not angry. “How would that work? I do not intend to marry just anyone.” Gabriel paused for a moment before continuing. “If you were not engaged, I might just prod my heart.” He knew that he was taking her shockingly simple and highly unconventional idea to the extreme, and he also knew that she had to reject it outright.

  “And if I were not engaged, I would accept your request.” She evaded his gaze, but her cheeks turned a tell-tale red. Gabriel was close enough to see her pulse pounding underneath the tender spot behind her ear, a place that he so much wanted to explore with his lips. “For your sister’s sake, of course.”

  Their pace slowed the closer they came to de Coucy’s loge.

  It was time to change the subject. “Are you worried that your fiancé will reproach you?”

  She tilted her head and looked at him. “He was not pleased,” she said, slowing even more. “Why do you ask? Will you challenge him to a duel for reprimanding me?”

  “Only if you promise not to interfere this time.”

  The worry lines on her forehead disappeared. “I swear by Oberon’s
life – if you can stop him from giving me a slap on the wrist, I will not intervene.” She paused. “But I insist on being able to watch. Of course, from a safe distance.”

  He came to a stop. “Lady Rose,” he said. “Rose, I …”

  “Yes?” She was breathing in quick little bursts.

  Her eyes burned into his heart and soul. Gabriel bowed his head, irresistibly drawn in by her expression. How many times had he wished in recent days that she would only look at him this way? At the last second, he regained his self-control.

  Was that disappointment in her eyes?

  “I will pick you up the day after tomorrow, in the afternoon. Give me one day to sort out my family affairs and then …” He found it hard to speak. “Four o’clock. We will go to Gunter’s, as I promised you.” They started walking again and covered the remaining steps to the door in front of de Coucy’s box. The servant opened the door, and Gabriel escorted her inside. To his relief, there was no sign of Richard de Coucy. Only the duchess had endured and seemed absorbed in the sight of the mime, mucking around on the stage.

  “The day after tomorrow,” Rose whispered to him and approached her mother.

  After the incident at the theatre, Henrietta insisted on accepting the Duchess of Evesham’s offer and turning her back on London as quickly as possible, which stirred rather mixed feelings in Gabriel. On the one hand, he had half a mind to defy convention and leave Henrietta in the city with him until the child came into the world. On the other hand, he knew that this was an impossible endeavour. Had it been for his future alone, for his position in high society, he would have braved them, but Henrietta, despite all the protestations of her indifference, was not strong enough to endure a lifetime’s contempt from the lords and ladies. The ugly scene at the theatre had made this clear to him.

  Either way, it was a good sign that Henrietta had decided to leave instead of waiting for him to decide for her. The problem of what should happen with the child after its birth was far from resolved, but at least her confinement would take place in peace. Last night, Gabriel had had a long conversation with the doctor, who had been waiting for him – not for long, as he assured Gabriel. It was a token of the esteem that the doctor had earned during Gabriel’s absence in the house that Peters brought him, with no prompting, the second-best brandy, discreetly swapping it for the best as Gabriel joined Hollingsworth in the library. Having guessed Henrietta’s delicate condition even before the visit to the theatre, but not bringing it up, the doctor then had introduced him to some details of natal education.