A Lady Compromised (The Ladies)

by Pennington, Ava

  When he reached the estate, a footman immediately met Durham and took his horse to the stables. An ancient butler, who had most likely been serving the family since the seventeen-eighties, arrived to open the door as he presented his card.

  “I shall fetch Mr. Rosewood, directly your lordship,” the stately old man said in a papery voice. “If you will care to wait in the blue drawing room.” He opened the heavy door with surprising ease given his fragile appearance and moved a black-clad arm toward a high-ceilinged room with all windows open to elicit a breeze in the afternoon heat. The Marquess waited and was shortly met in the drawing room by Christopher Rosewood, who introduced himself as guardian of the late earl’s daughter.

  “I found that Lady Delia was quite too distraught to move from her home following her father’s death,” Rosewood was saying, “and, as the late Earl’s secretary had no one to report to until the new Earl arrived from the East Indies, the inconvenience of relocating myself was outweighed by Delia’s comfort.” Rosewood’s words fell on the Marquess’ indifferent ears as he sipped the brandy he had been offered.

  “You have been appointed the young lady’s guardian?” Durham responded politely to after a short pause in the conversation.

  “I have. My father, Sir Edward Rosewood, was a great friend of the late earl’s. When my own, fine father passed away over a year ago, I reacquainted myself with Ellsworth. Not in the best of health himself, and, worried about Lady Delia, he requested that I act as her guardian in the event that he should pass away and his daughter was yet unmarried.” Durham nodded at the typical arrangement and sipped his drink before setting it down on an attractively carved but sturdy table next to the chain on which he said.

  “I’m afraid I must trespass on your hospitality in favor of two more ladies, Mr. Rosewood,” the Marquess said in response to an enquiry as to his presence in the neighborhood. “I have been engaged in escorting a Mrs. Smythe-Dunston and her daughter, Daphne Smythe-Dunston, from London to the country residence of some friends when we were beset by a carriage accident. Transportation is needed to collect the ladies and their baggage and then someone must be sent to repair their carriage. May I rely on your assistance with this matter?”

  “Absolutely, my lord,” replied Rosewood immediately with perfect politeness. The Marquess briefly wondered at the appropriateness of this not unattractive young man serving as guardian and chaperone to the late earl’s underage daughter. Perhaps that was why the two were still in the country. It would be impossible to come to town without an older lady as chaperone. “I will send some footmen with a carriage immediately,” Mr. Rosewood was saying as he rang for the butler. “Beauchamp, please collect some footmen to go to the aid of some ladies who have suffered a carriage accident, a Mrs. Smythe-Dunston and her daughter. Lord Durham has just informed me that the ladies Smythe-Dunston are stranded some two miles up the road toward Byng Hall. They will be need to be transported back to Washburn Court and their belongings collected, as well as a wheelwright to repair their carriage.”

  “I will dispatch Lowe to the stables immediately, Mr. Rosewood.”

  “Very good,” replied the young man.

  The butler nodded and disappeared silently from the room.

  “It is excessively late and I believe your seat is yet another three hours ride at least,” Mr. Rosewood said to the Marquess. “Would you prefer to rest here and depart in the morning after seeing to the safe repair of the ladies’ carriage? I believe I may prevail upon Mrs. Meade show you to a comfortable room straight away.”

  The Marquess was surprised at how grateful he was at the offer, even if it meant spending another night avoiding becoming engaged Daphne Smythe-Dunston. The sun was scorching and his horse needed rest and watering, not to mention a brush-down. He could use with a bath himself.

  “I would be most delighted, Mr. Rosewood,” Durham replied, “to impose on your hospitality for this night,” Rosewood rang for the housekeeper and Mrs. Meade promptly arrived to show him up to a pleasantly apportioned guestroom on the east side of the house, mercifully in full shade. He rang for a bath and began to undress, wishing he had not left his own valet in London with instructions to follow him to his seat with his things in two days’ time. His clothes were in sorry need of a cleaning and press.

  Chapter 4

  Lady Delia’s maid, Amelia, entered her mistress’ bedchamber as Delia was in her bath, scrubbing furiously at her neck with the soap. She wished she could avoid dinner altogether, but Amelia had immediately informed her of the presence of guests at the house tonight and the thought of Christopher Rosewood entertaining guests as the host of Washburn Court was beyond her ability to countenance.

  “Whatever is the matter, my lady?” Amelia asked as she witnessed her mistress’ furious scrubbing. “You have not taken a fall off your horse or nothing, ma’am?” Lady Delia turned furiously to her maid, splashing water on the rug.

  “Oh, no, of course not, Amelia! That wretched Christopher attacked me and forced a kiss upon me and I declare I can still feel the vile oiliness upon my flesh! I should have kicked him. I was only wearing slippers and they accomplished nothing when I tried stamp on his foot.” Amelia’s eyes widened with horror.

  “Oh my lady! I did not think it would come to that! He should never! Why. Whatever for!” she asked, with her horrified hand on her own throat, as if checking to see if a villainous man had perhaps despoiled her own virginal neck.

  “He positively insists that I marry him,” Lady Delia replied with a shudder, “My entire being revolts! In fact, I hardly know the man! And I haven’t the faintest idea why he thinks he might persuade me to accept him. He threatened today that if I didn’t marry him, he would never accept another offer for me! And that dratted well places me in this man’s power until I am five and twenty! What my father could have been thinking, I know not. It’s distressing in the extreme and not to be endured. I do not know at all what to do,” she mused, once again shocked at her guardian’s utter lack of qualifications for the position. “What is most terrifying is that I am not sure that I could stop him from making another such attack again. I simply do not know how to fight back! Amelia, we cannot remain much longer. I’m afraid to stay even another week! He is monstrous and becoming more so. We shall have to pack and escape to London.”

  “Oh, my lady, don’t be frightened! We will find a way. You absolutely won’t marry Mr. Rosewood, will you?”

  Lady Delia had a plan, which she had begun to formulate after the novel she was writing had started to progress so quickly. She planned to support herself writing more novels—lovely, titillating romances in which the heroine was always fainting and being kidnapped. She knew they sold well and she had submitted the first several chapters to a publisher several months before, when writing was the only thing to distract her from her grief. The publisher had agreed to publish the book and requested the full manuscript. Delia would finish it in London and live off its proceeds while she wrote another.

  Delia shuddered. “Absolutely not! I can’t bear the thought of it. I will simply have to manage in London on what I have saved and hope that my book sells.”

  “Oh, I am certain that it will, my lady! And I know we won’t have to be gone from Washburn forever. That book of yours—I know it will sell a thousand copies!”

  “You are very kind, Amelia,” Lady Delia said, “But I must tell you that this journey is because I must escape. You are under no obligation to join me.”

  “What do you mean, my lady? Do you propose to go to London alone?”

  She looked straight at her maid. “I do, Amelia. And I will not begrudge you if you chose not to come. I am afraid we will have to prevaricate a bit about our identities. We will be unable to take large amounts of luggage, but I have a bit of money I’ve saved up and stashed away from the odious Mr. Rosewood so we should be able to manage for a while. I will not pretend it will be easy, but I simply must hide until I can figure a way to avoid marrying my guardian.”

&nb
sp; “My lady, I trust that you will find a way. And I will go with you to London. I am not as weak as you think. My family was farmers, my lady, and I started as a scullery maid. That means carrying water up and down stairs all day long. I can do it, my lady. ”

  “I confess I did not know that, Amelia,” Lady Delia said with surprise.

  “That’s all right, my lady. It’s no concern of yours, really. But don’t worry that I’m afraid of work. Because I’m not.”

  “I know you’re not, Amelia,” she said with empathy, “It’s just that I do so dislike having to prevail upon you to do such a thing! And it’s most inconvenient for you.”

  “Never mind about that. Now, let’s just get you into a gown for dinner and I will begin to pack our things while you dine.”

  Delia smiled at the maid’s confidence and stepped out of the bath to a warmed towel in front of her fire. “I will endeavor to appear less than disgusted by my guardian at dinner but why must we have guests tonight? It is most uncomfortable for me, as I would far prefer to sup here in my bedchamber. I know not who these ladies and gentlemen even are. I’ve never met the Smythe-Dunstons so shall have to prepare for the worst.”

  “Of course, my lady,” Amelia soothed. “Never you mind about the ladies. It’s not as if this Marquess of Durham would bring improper persons to your home, especially since there is a mother along. I’ll bring your pale lilac dinner gown. It’s only half mourning, but you are at home and not exactly entertaining. It should be most proper and can produce no comment from ladies.” Amelia hurried off to the wardrobe as Delia dried herself by the fire.

  Delia brushed her long auburn hair after stepping into a clean muslin chemise. Waiting in front of the fire for her hair to dry, she sighed with frustration and wished she could hide in her room for the rest of the evening. Reality intruded in the form of Amelia, carrying the lilac gown. It was a color usually reserved for elderly widows, but as Delia was in mourning for her father, and the shade particularly flattered her unusual violet eyes, she didn’t mind being seen in a hue generally observed adorning women thirty years her senior. Fringed with long, curling black lashes, Delia’s eyes looked almost purple with the gown buttoned up her back.

  Low in the bodice, the gown had very small capped sleeves as was the fashion, and fell from just below the bosom to the floor in layers of swirling silk. Amelia piled Delia’s luxurious hair into a knot on the crown of her head, and contrary to fashion, left no ringlets to fall about her mistress’ neck, which in her mind seemed frivolous and unseemly for a young lady still in mourning for her late papa.

  “I have not entertained in an age, Amelia,” Lady Delia remarked and her eyes filled with worry. “You are quite sure there is nothing amiss in my appearance?”

  “No, my lady, you appear quite respectable and never you mind about the dinner guests.” Amelia replied as she walked around Delia, checking from every angle. “You look quite well turned out and there is not so much as a frivolous ribbon to draw comment from a lady seeking to criticize.”

  “Thank you, dear Amelia. I am convinced you have outdone yourself, making me look like a properly mourning daughter instead of an infuriated ward.” Christopher Rosewood will regret his disgraceful behavior, she vowed to herself. “While I am at dinner, as quietly as you can, please do pack what you think we can conceivably carry with us for the journey, as we discussed. Is there anyone you can trust to secretly post boxes to us in the city without being observed or revealing our address? If we could only have our trunks! I haven’t any idea how to manage.”

  “I know where some old trunks are stored, my lady. I can pack everything I can in them, well, with things we will need but not right away? My cousin Georgie, he’s a footman, and he can maybe hold them until we can tell him where to send them. He could send them by the post-chaise, but say they are donations for the poor!”

  “If that is indeed possible, it would make our lives in London a great deal easier. Amelia, I’m afraid we must leave tonight.”

  “Yes, my lady. I will pack our small valises and ask Georgie to help me distract the grooms and load the horses. Lady Delia, I’ve never ridden a horse!”

  “I was afraid of that, Amelia and I do not doubt that it will prove to be quite taxing. But I will help you and tis not far. We will leave before dawn and arrive at the posting house by mid-morning. From there, we may hire a carriage and you need not ride more than that. Once we are in London, I shall hire a small house in an unfashionable neighborhood. I have been thinking of it, and I believe you should think of me as the widow Mannering from this night onward.”

  “Oh, my lady, you have thought of everything!”

  “It is true that I have been contemplating this course of action ever since my guardian first made himself so disagreeable to me. However, I cannot deny there may be some unexpected complications and I pray you do not grow frustrated when I have inevitably failed to account for some contingency. For it is certain to happen. And I must tell you that you may change your mind at any time, Amelia. You are under no obligation to accompany me.”

  “Oh, miss, but I won’t be staying here! Mr. Rosewood would never believe I knew nothing! And he’d be sure to turn me out without a reference. It would be but a matter of time! But never you mind about that. You had better get down to dinner, my lady! The gong’s about to ring and you don’t want them waiting for you or it’ll only bring more attention,” she observed.

  Delia started.

  “You are right,” she said with a sigh. “I’ll go straight away.” As she strode quickly from her room, the supper gong sounded. Upon reaching the staircase, she slowed, ensured that her hair was in place in front of the large mirror at the top of the stairs and descended slowly. She steeled herself to meet Mr. Rosewood as he moved from the corridor into the entrance hall and looked up at her lasciviously. She smiled sweetly with the knowledge that by tomorrow, she would be gone to London and quite close to be entirely removed from his influence and unpleasant advances.

  The other dinner guests arrived virtually simultaneously. Her guardian took her arm immediately and Delia suppressed a shudder, acquiescing to this unwelcome touch in front of their guests.

  However, she could not quite suppress the shiver that ran through her when she saw the Marquess. The most beautiful man she had ever seen stood in front of her with absolutely no warning. She tried to remember to breathe as she heard Mr. Rosewood’s nasal voice form the words of introduction.

  Chapter 5

  “My dear Lady Delia, may I present Lord Mason Broadstone, Marquess of Durham. Your Lordship, my ward, the Lady Delia Ellsworth.” She found herself curtsying and tore her eyes away from him to be introduced to Mrs. Smythe-Dunston and her daughter, Miss Daphne Smythe-Dunston. Her eyes went of their own accord back to the Marquess’ thick black hair, slightly given to curl and eyes so dark that they appeared almost black. Firm, slashing brows framed those black eyes, beneath which a straight nose led to a curving mouth that smiled at her with what she prayed was not an explicit invitation.

  Tall and broad shouldered, but tapering at the waist and hips, he hadn’t an ounce of extra flesh on his muscular frame. She trembled slightly as he bent over her hand and she both desired to continue the brief contact with his hand and wished it gone, as the strange feeling dissipated slightly once he ceased to touch her. Delia could feel her blush and forced herself to look down and focus on polite conversation. What was wrong with her? Had she not been among attractive men in so long that she would lose her head over the mere sight of a handsome man? Though, she owned, she had never seen someone who quite affected her as he did. His chiseled features served to make Mr. Rosewood’s eyes appear to close together and her guardian’s blondness looked villainously insipid next to the dark beauty of Durham’s face and form.

  She reminded herself that it would be humiliating for him to catch her staring and she turned away as he asked Mrs. Smythe-Dunston for her arm to lead her into dinner. Mr. Rosewood had not loosened his grip on her
elbow so she said firmly but politely, “Mr. Rosewood, you really must escort Miss Smythe-Dunston to supper! The Marquess has politely offered his arm to Mrs. Smythe-Dunston and our guest cannot be ignored.” Delia extended her free arm to Daphne, so her guardian was obliged to take the young lady’s arm, much to Delia’s relief.

  Upon being seated at the head of the table opposite her guardian, Delia snuck a look under her lashes at the Marquess, seated to her right. He seemed not to have noticed her existence. At that depressing thought, she turned to Mrs. Smythe-Dunston, who was addressing her.

  “It is a pity that your dear late father’s illness occurred when it did, my dear Lady Delia. I do not remember that you had a season. You must be quite on the shelf at your age! And to be yet living at home and unmarried… My dear Daphne is already out and just seventeen. Though I do not expect she will need another season!” Mrs. Smythe-Dunston’s laugh was meant to appear conspiratorial but Lady Delia saw through it and her surprise at the woman’s rudeness did not show. She was aware that ladies with marriageable daughters in the presence of rich and eligible young men were sometimes wont to observe the strictest bounds of politeness when addressing rivals.

  “Indeed I am quite ancient, ma’am,” she said loudly. “I am not yet one-and-twenty! It was indeed impossible for me to go to London, as my father took ill, just the year I turned seventeen. I fear I may grow into a spinster as I mourn my late father.” Lady Delia had nothing to lose by declaring her old maid status, hoping that Mr. Rosewood would hear and take note, though, she reflected with sadness that she would prefer not to declare an election to become an old maid in front of the Marquess. However, there was nothing to be done.