“Oh, Michael,” she whispered. “What am I to do? What should I do?”
The ring glinted in mute answer. Rosalind had stayed awake almost all the night, thinking, thinking. Every fiber of her sensible self told her that such a match could never work. Her mind urged her to go back to her school, and forget about such a life, forget about him. Especially since she had this new book to work on.
But her heart—ah, her heart cried out something very different. It told her to grab this man and run with him to Gretna Green immediately! It wanted more poetry, more nighttime tree climbing, more waltzes, more kisses, more—more everything. She had always been able to silence her heart in the past, to bury it beneath prudence and good sense. Now, it would not quiet.
“I deserve happiness,” she told herself. “I deserve something for myself after all this time.”
But did she truly?
The carriage lurched to a halt, caught in one of the London traffic snarls. Up ahead, a wagon was overturned, blocking everyone else from moving. Rosalind pulled her glove back over the ring, and glanced about at the people near her.
A few carriages over sat Lady Clarke, with a handsome blond gentleman Rosalind had never seen before. As she watched, Lady Clarke noticed her, and tugged at her companion’s arm. She whispered in his ear, and gestured toward Rosalind. The man laughed, giving Rosalind an insolent stare.
Her cheeks burning, Rosalind turned quickly away and stared resolutely ahead. She had known, of course, that people would be bound to talk once she had been seen in public—several times!—with the famous Viscount Morley. And she had expected it to sting. After all, she had spent all of her life being a pattern card of propriety. But, somehow, the embarrassment was not nearly as grave as she would once have thought it.
It seemed a small price to pay for all she had experienced here with Michael. Yet would she think that still if she went back to her school to find no pupils to return to?
If you were Michael’s wife, it would not matter, her heart whispered temptingly.
The carriage moved on once more, turning down the street toward Wayland House. She had no time to worry about such things now. Georgina and Emily would be waiting; after luncheon, they were meant to go on a shopping expedition. Rosalind actually had her eye on a bolt of sapphire-colored satin at a certain warehouse, the first expensive fabric she had thought of for herself in years.
It would make up a fine wedding gown, that subversive voice in her heart said.
“Enough!” Rosalind exclaimed aloud.
“Ma’am?” the footman who had come to assist her from the carriage asked, obviously surprised. “Did you ask something?”
“Oh, no, not at all.” Her cheeks warm yet again, she took his hand and stepped down onto the pavement. The butler opened the front door, anticipating her arrival, but as Rosalind turned to go up the walkway, something caught her attention. She whirled about to see that man again—the one she had seen at least twice before, lurking outside Wayland House.
He lounged against the iron fence of the park across the way, his face twisted away from her, but she knew this was the same man.
He could not possibly have any business there! Perhaps he was from the bank. Or—or something worse.
“Ma’am?” the footman asked. “Is something amiss?”
“No,” Rosalind muttered. “Not at all, thank you.” She whirled around and walked as quickly as she could without racing to the front door.
Georgina was crossing the foyer to the drawing room, a paint box in her hand, but she stopped in her tracks when Rosalind slammed the door and leaned back against the heavy wood. “Rosie? What is wrong? Is a ghost chasing you? Was it bad news at your publisher?”
Rosalind shook her head. She could not speak; she could scarcely breathe. She did not know what was happening, but a cold knot twisted in her stomach. “That man is back,” she managed to croak out.
Georgina’s brow creased. “What man?”
Rosalind had forgotten that she had not told anyone about the lurker. She had thought she was imagining things, until today. “I have seen this man standing across the street a few times. I thought surely I was hallucinating, yet there he is again today. Oh, Georgie, I do not like this at all!”
Georgina’a eyes caught green fire—not a good sign. “As well you should not! You should have told me earlier, Rosie. No one spies on my house and gets away with it! Come with me. We will soon discover what this is all about.”
Before Rosalind could even catch a breath, Georgina shoved her box into the butler’s hands and caught up a walking stick from the stand. She threw open the front door and hurried down the walkway. As Rosalind followed, Georgina yanked the stick apart, revealing a hidden sword.
“Which one?” Georgina asked, in a hard voice Rosalind had never heard from her before.
Rosalind pointed mutely. Georgina stormed across the street, and before the spy could even suspect the storm that approached him, she had the tip of the sword pressed to his throat.
“Who are you and why are you spying on my house?” she demanded.
The man, who had appeared so very insolent and indolent only a moment before, gulped and turned a most unattractive pea green shade. He held his hands up in apparent surrender.
“I am not spying on anyone’s house,” he gasped. “I am merely out enjoying the fine weather.”
“My friend tells me you have been ‘enjoying the weather’ here several times.” Georgina pressed the blade closer. Rosalind felt scared out of her wits, yet she could not help but admire that iron resolve—and wish for some of it herself.
“I do not know what you’re talking about. I simply like this park,” the man said. “And you, madam, are attracting a great deal of attention. I suggest you put the blade down before you are arrested.”
Rosalind glanced about. They were indeed gathering a gawking crowd. Georgina just laughed. “Do you know who I am? I am the Duchess of Wayland. No one will arrest me, even if I spit you like a wild boar right here. You are obviously a vile kidnapper, and my children are walking with their nanny in this very park. No one would fault me for defending my family.”
“Now, just a moment—” the man began, but he was cut off when Georgina pressed the blade closer.
A man on horseback came galloping up the street, and the crowd parted to let him through. The Duke of Wayland swung down from his horse and strode through the crowd, looking neither to the right nor left, just straight at his wife.
“Georgina,” he said, quietly but firmly. “What has happened now?”
“I am very glad you are here, darling,” Georgina said, her sword never wavering. “Rosalind has seen this man spying on our house. He is obviously scheming to kidnap Elizabeth Anne and Sebastian.”
“Indeed?” Alex stepped closer and removed the sword from his wife’s hand, his dark, handsome face like implacable granite.
“No!” the man cried out, his upheld hands shaking. “I am no kidnapper. I was merely paid to watch this house.”
“Paid to track my children’s movements?” the duke demanded.
“It had nothing to do with your family at all, Y-Your Grace!”
“Then why are you spying on my house?”
“I was paid to watch her!” The man pointed a trembling finger at Rosalind.
“Me?” Rosalind whispered. Everyone swung about to stare at her.
Everyone but Alex, whose gaze never wavered from the villain’s face. “That is just as bad. Mrs. Chase is a guest in my home. Who wants her followed? Speak quickly, and I may allow you to live.”
The man turned even more green. “It was the Earl of Athley! He paid me. I have been following her for weeks, even before she came to London.”
The Earl of Athley? Michael’s father? Rosalind pressed her hand to her mouth.
Georgina laid a comforting hand on her arm. “Oh, Rosie,” she murmured. “The Earl of Athley. Such a terrible potential father-in-law. It is just fortunate that his son is so very at
tractive. He must take after his mother.”
Attractive. Yes, indeed. Michael was that.
But was he attractive enough? Rosalind thought that now, at last, she knew the answer to that question.
Chapter twenty
“A young lady’s most important decision is who she will marry—she must choose with her head, not her heart.”
—A Lady’s Rules for Proper Behavior, Chapter Ten
Michael handed his hat and walking stick to the butler at Bronston House, glancing about the foyer as he did so. The place was as gloomy as ever, dark, hulking furniture pushed back into place, dust motes dancing in the narrow bars of sunlight falling from between the velvet draperies. There were no signs of the previous night’s unexpectedly raucous soiree.
That could almost have been a dream, a product of fairy spells and full moons. An aberration in the atmosphere. Yet he knew it could not be. His time with Rosalind in the garden, nestled on the wide tree branch, had felt so real. The sight of his mother’s ring on her elegant finger, the diamondlike tears in her eyes—all wonderfully real. He never could have dreamed it.
Strange. He had always imagined that he would be nervous when he asked a lady to marry him, would be loathe to give up his freedom for duty. He had been as calm and steady as he had ever been when he took Rosalind’s hand and asked her to be his wife, more steady even. He had not been loathe to give up anything—only excited to be gaining something infinitely precious.
It was right. It was meant to be. He could only pray that Rosalind felt the same way, for he had had no word from her yet today. But her kiss had not lied. She loved him, as he loved her. And he would do anything to make her see that.
“Is my sister downstairs yet?” Michael asked the butler. Hopefully, Violet would be in her little sitting room, and he could slip in there to see her without alerting their father to his presence. He had no desire to deal with the irascible earl, today of all days.
“Not quite yet, my lord, though her maid just took Lady Violet’s chocolate up to her. She should be down very soon. But Lord Athley is in the drawing room and wishes to see you, my lord.”
Damn and blast. “I suppose he knows I am here, then?”
“Oh, yes, my lord. He saw your carriage from the window.” The butler bowed, and strode briskly away with Michael’s hat and stick.
Well, it seemed he was well and truly trapped. He had to see for himself that Violet was unscathed by her ordeal last night, and in order to do that he had to stay at Bronston House.
“Ah, well,” he muttered. “Might as well get it over with.”
He went into the drawing room and closed the doors firmly behind him. In here, too, the signs of the night’s ravages were few. Aside from some drooping roses left in the vases, everything was back to its normal aspect. The draperies were drawn, and, despite the warmth of the spring day, a fire blazed in the hearth, casting an ominous glow on the carved stone crest.
The earl sat in a high-backed, thronelike chair before that fire, a woolen shawl wrapped about his shoulders, his gouty leg propped on a footstool. He looked up sullenly with bloodshot eyes as Michael crossed the room to sit on one of the settees set a bit farther away from the flames’ heat.
“I told your foolish aunt I would rue the day I allowed her and your bloodless sister to have a rout here!” the earl grumbled without preamble. “I knew it was a poor idea. Company brings nothing but trouble, trouble and mess. There is no one left in London worth knowing. It is just parvenus and mushrooms. And now see what has happened!”
Had Violet told their father what had happened in the conservatory? Michael cursed silently. She had been so agitated, but he should have warned her about saying anything to the earl. “If you are referring to Lord Carteret’s reprehensible behavior ...”
“Carteret?” the earl shouted. “Was it that insolent puppy who did it? By God, but I will send the Bow Street Runners after him to get it back! That dirty thief.”
“Thief?” Michael frowned in confusion. A cad Carteret undoubtedly was, but a thief? “What was taken?”
“Someone broke into the library safe last night and stole your mother’s pearl ring. There is no telling what else is missing in the house. If it was that Carteret ...”
Michael burst into surprised laughter. His father actually thought a thief had been in the safe! This was absurd. The man was becoming bacon-brained in his dotage—not that he had ever exactly been a clear thinker.
The earl scowled, and swiped out with his walking stick. Michael was too far away for the blow to do anything more than stir the hot air about.
“You young idiot!” he growled. “What are you laughing at? A crime has been committed!”
“I hardly think so, Father. Mother left her ring to me, and I am the one who took it. There was no thievery involved.”
The earl turned a most unattractive shade of purple. “You took the ring?”
“Yes. Did you not wonder why nothing else in the safe was missing? Mother’s sapphires are there, not to mention her diamond tiara and a great amount of coin.”
“You had no right to just take that ring! What did you want it for? To sell it for gambling money?”
“Of course not. I wanted it for the purpose Mother intended it for—to give it to the lady I mean to marry.”
The earl’s face cleared a bit, and he leaned forward in his chair. This was a theme he had been harping on for years, Michael’s duty to wed and produce a new little heir. “Indeed? Well, why did you not say so! It is about time you did your duty. Who is it? Miss Sanderson? Lady Eveline Ferry?”
“It is Mrs. Rosalind Chase,” Michael said calmly. “I am sure you will wish us happy.”
That purple color suffused the earl’s cheeks again, and for a moment Michael feared he might have apoplexy right here and now. He rose from his chair to fetch a brandy, but was driven back a step when his father’s thrown stick hit him square in the chest.
“How dare you!” the earl shouted. “You have always been willfully blind to your duty, but this is too much even for you. Marrying a schoolmistress, a red-haired adventuress ...”
Michael had heard more than enough. He snapped the stick in two with his bare hands and threw the jagged halves into the fire. “You will not speak of my future wife in such a manner.”
“Your wife! A woman older than you, with no fortune, no family, a brother who gambles away what little money they have? A woman who has business with bankers? I know all of this and more, Michael, because I knew you and your stupid sister were caught in that woman’s snare. That your sister was far too attached to her and that school. So I hired a man to follow her, even before she came here to London to entrap you.”
The earl sat back in his chair, oozing with a smug satisfaction. Michael suddenly wished he had not thrown that stick into the fire so precipitously, so he could beat his father over the head with it now. How dare that monster set a spy to follow Rosie!
“If you thought this news would dissuade me from marrying Mrs. Chase, you were much mistaken,” he said, in a low, tight voice. “I love her, and I am more resolved than ever to make her my wife. And now, I bid you farewell.”
He spun on his heel and strode out of the room, before he gave in to his overwhelming desire to commit murder. He ignored the earl’s shouts, and closed the doors behind him.
Violet stood halfway down the staircase, her hands clutched on the balustrade. Her face was a bit pale from her adventures of the night before, but a brilliant smile curved her lips and her eyes sparkled. She did not even seem to hear the screams and thumps from the drawing room, as she ran down the stairs to throw her arms about Michael.
“Oh, my darling brother!” she cried. “Are you truly going to marry Mrs. Chase?”
“If she will have me.”
“Of course she will have you! She must. You are the finest catch in London, Michael, and this is the best decision you have ever made. To think—she will be my sister. Oh, Michael. Last night was the worst night
of my life, but this is the very best day.”
China shattered behind the drawing room door. Michael gave Violet a rueful smile. “As you can tell, Vi, Father is not wildly happy about my choice of bride.”
Violet cast a hard glance at the door. Her look was strangely contemptuous—an expression Michael had never seen on his sister’s sweet face. It was as if she had grown up in only a day. “Who cares about him? He can do nothing to you. Mrs. Chase will one day be the finest countess this house has ever seen, after Mother, of course. And I will dance with the greatest of joy at your wedding!”
Michael laughed. He twirled her to him and gave her a resounding kiss on both cheeks. “Vi, you are the very best of sisters! And I promise that you shall dance at my wedding. Now, I want you to get out of this house, go call on Aunt Minnie for the afternoon. Mrs. Chase and I will come see you later.”
“What a fine idea. Aunt Minnie did have a new bonnet she wanted to show me.”
Michael kissed Violet’s cheek again, and framed her face in his hands as he examined her closely. “Are you truly well today, Vi?”
She clasped his hands in hers and gave him a reassuring smile. “I am fine. Never better, now that I have heard your news. Really, there was no harm done. I was saved by the rules, you know.”
Michael laughed again. “My dearest sister, I think we both were.”
Chapter Twenty-one
“Always marry a gentleman whose character and background you are sure of. This is the only assurance for future happiness.”
—A Lady’s Rules for Proper Behavior, Chapter Two
“What a truly extraordinary day,” Georgina said, leaning back in her chair with a deep sigh. She swirled a crystal goblet of restorative brandy between her hands. “I vow, Rosie, you must have dragged all the excitement behind you from the country. Town was deadly dull until you arrived, and now look at all that has happened!”
Improper Ladies: The Golden FeatherThe Rules of Love Page 36