“It would not look like him.” The duchess’s maid was almost finished with the elaborate hairstyle that looked so deceptively natural, as was the fashion.
“I agree with you. It is not like him.” Rose allowed herself a slight gasp.
“Anyway, my concern is not for Lord de Coucy as it is not his reputation that would suffer from the evil rumours – but yours. Have you ever wondered what it would mean to you and your marriage if your husband had a child with another woman, even if it was an illegitimate child?”
Rose was definitely glad she was already sitting down.
“You might very well say that you do not mind today, but what if you cannot conceive or deliver a child yourself, and the other woman’s child suddenly becomes relevant to your husband?”
So that was what growing up meant: dealing with things that hurt. “I would not like it,” she said in answer to her mother’s question, although Rose was sure it was only rhetorical. “It would probably hurt beyond measure.” Just the idea that another woman could give her husband what she was unable to give, burned like a fire in her heart. “But this has not happened yet, Mother. I think I should talk to Lady Henrietta myself and find out if her claim is true.” Rose wanted to bite her tongue when she realised what she had said – that she was leastways ready to acknowledge the possibility that Henrietta’s accusation was not a lie.
One day, and everything was different. If only they had found Richard yesterday! Rose was convinced that looking into his eyes would have been enough to know if he had allured Lady Henrietta or not. Which, if she thought about it, did not necessarily mean he was not the father of the unborn child. There was the possibility that Henrietta and Richard had mutually consented to do everything that was necessary to have a child. Or Henrietta had fallen, like Rose, driven by curiosity, into the arms of a man and had not left it at just a kiss! Rose felt warm at first and then hot as she realised how easily such a thing could have happened to her, had Richard not been blessed with such stalwart willpower.
“Rose?” Her mother’s voice downright tore her from her gloomy reflections.
“I am sorry.” Rose found it difficult to erase the disturbing pictures out of her mind, but under the duchess’s inquiring gaze, she pulled herself together. “I will talk to Lady Henrietta,” she said, resuming the thread of the conversation.
“That is a great idea,” her mother agreed. “We will visit her this morning.”
“Today? Now? You are coming with me?”
“Of course I am coming.” She did not have to formulate what she was thinking. Rose understood by her mother’s tone of voice what she was trying to explain. Firstly, that she would not allow Rose to go alone (even in Mrs Prisson’s company), and secondly, that she was clearly showing Rose, through Henrietta’s predicament, the risk that Rose had taken. Not with the Marquess of Cavanaugh, oh, no, but with her carelessness of yesterday morning.
She had no choice but to submit, even if she would had liked more time to prepare for the visit. How do you ask an unmarried lady who the father of her child is? Besides, Rose had intended to write a letter to Richard asking for his visit, because despite her mother’s words about adulthood, Rose did not believe that the duchess would allow her another visit to a bachelor, even if this unmarried man was her fiancé. “I will get ready and see you later,” she simply said, getting up.
“See you soon, my darling.” Her mother’s smile was as lovely as ever. Why did Rose feel she had been skilfully outmanoeuvred?
Chapter 20
Gabriel’s exceptional good mood lasted for a notably long period. He had just made it in time for dinner with Dr Hollingsworth, who arrived punctual to the minute and greeted Lady Catherine with a gallant kiss on the hand. His relative’s extraordinary reaction to his (per se not unusual) greeting, was remarkable: her cheeks reddened, and she looked like a horse, shying away from a sudden obstacle. Only when the three of them – Henrietta had apologised for being indisposed – sat at the table did Catherine calm down enough for her to lift a glass without spilling its contents.
It was at this very moment, that Gabriel understood the reason for Catherine’s mysterious illness. She was in love with Doctor Hollingsworth! Gabriel had been exceptionally blind not to spot the signs earlier. He was annoyed by his lack of wit, and, at the same time, he was overcome with tremendous relief that Catherine was not seriously ill. In a way, he could not deny his admiration for her. She had proven to be very resourceful in her endeavours to get closer to the doctor.
He wondered if his sister knew of her cousin’s tender feelings towards the doctor. Now that Gabriel’s eyes were truly open, the indications were unmistakable: the way Catherine looked at Doctor Hollingsworth whenever she thought nobody was watching her, or even her shy, yet bright smile told Gabriel everything he needed to know to shed light upon Catherine’s lengthy and queerly vague malaise.
Now, the question arose as to whether Dr Hollingsworth knew of Lady Catherine’s feelings and whether he returned her affections. Gabriel thought that the former was unlikely. The doctor was an honourable man, and he would hardly have sent out treatment bills for an illness feigned for love. As for the latter … well, Gabriel believed that Dr Hollingsworth was not, at the very least, indifferent to Catherine. He kept an unobtrusive eye on the man during dinner. At the beginning of the three-course meal, which was served à la française, the conversation centred on mundane topics like the weather and the reckless way the young dandies held carriage races in Hyde Park, but it quickly turned to the theatre, turning out to be a shared interest between Catherine and Hollingsworth. As the two heatedly discussed the merits of various actors, Gabriel had already leaned back to follow their highly lively conversation. Both Catherine and Dr Hollingsworth did not notice Gabriel’s silence until they were able to agree that Miss Maria Foote had played Julia exceptionally well last season but had given a mediocre performance of Ophelia.
“Why do you not join us at one of the next evenings at the Lyceum, Dr Hollingsworth?” Gabriel said swiftly, attracting both Catherine’s and the doctor’s attention. Although it was not exactly polite of them to completely forget about their dinner host, Gabriel did not mind. Maybe it was because of his conversation with the duchess, or because he had spent almost the entire day in Rose’s company, but at that moment, the role of a benevolent observer was enough. “My family has a loge there, and if I am not mistaken, Romeo and Juliet will be on next Saturday. Please, do me the honour.”
He avoided looking in Catherine’s direction until Dr Hollingsworth had accepted. Only then did Gabriel realise that Catherine was staring intently at her plate, as if to hide her face. Was she afraid of openly revealing her happiness? However, when his cousin lifted her head as if she had felt his gaze, her expression showed no joy. Did Catherine think he intended to shut her out? Gabriel had said we and we meant the family, but obviously, she did not feel part of the Cavanaughs. “It will certainly do you good to step outside again,” he said to his cousin and stood from the table before the affection of her undisguised bliss overcame him. “How about a glass of port, Dr Hollingsworth? If you would excuse us, Catherine?”
Later, as he lay in bed, trying to reminisce about the day, Rose appeared uncalled in his mind’s eye. Even the snoring dog, who had settled on the unoccupied side of the double bed, reminded him of how Rose had used her precious scarf to dab the blood from the gentle beast’s fur. At least, he thought and could not help but smile, Oberon had managed to jump onto the knee-high bed, despite his injuries and the bandages that restricted his movement. When Gabriel had seen the dog’s previous owner pick up the animal and dispose of him like a worn-out item of clothing, something had burst inside him. The anger which he had felt at the sight of the mangled animal had broken fresh ground, and he had barely been able to control it. Only the very fact that the whining animal needed urgent help and that Rose and Mrs Prisson (guarded by the gang of children and the coachman), were waiting for him, stopped him from teaching the
brute a lesson. He would never forget the man’s unbelievable laughter as he picked up Oberon and carried him away.
Rose, she had been wonderful!
With this thought, he fell asleep.
She haunted him in his dreams, and they were dreams of an alarming sensuality, that he had clearly in mind when he awoke and that lingered long after he had gotten up and dressed. However, unlike before that wretched day yesterday, his thoughts of Rose were not easy to restrain. It was quite the opposite, for when he thought of her spending the wedding night in de Coucy’s arms, his stomach churned. But the nausea and anger that engulfed his body also had a good effect, because he was now unmistakably clear about one thing, even more so than after yesterday’s conversation with her mother: He would do everything in his power to conquer Rose. The time for waiting was over.
A whimper startled him from his thoughts, just in time, before he completely lost himself in his fantasies. Oberon had followed him to the stairs and was wailing softly as Gabriel moved away from him. He turned on the middle of the stairs and noticed that the big dog was staring at him with a heart-breaking expression, while attempting to put one of his huge paws on the stairs, only to withdraw it again. “What is the matter, boy? You made it to the bed – is the staircase an invincible hurdle?” Gabriel went back up and knelt down beside the black giant to rub behind his ears. His original floppy ears had been cropped, probably to minimise the risk of injury in those damned dog fights. “Well, then, I suppose I have to take you down,” Gabriel said softly, picking up the dog in his arms to take him, step by step, down with him. He felt the dog’s thin body under the pitch-black fur and gritted his teeth. Reaching the bottom, he set Oberon carefully down and gently stoked his injured flanks once more. “You are a brave boy”, he praised him and turned around just as Henrietta’s bubbling laughter rang out behind him.
“Is there, by any chance, a sensitive heart in the marquess’s chest?” she announced like an actress on stage and even pressed her right hand to her heart. “Praise the day when the nobleman with the noble countenance…” She did not get any further for she began holding her sides with laughter. Oberon, who had not yet met her, scrutinised her suspiciously with his brown eyes, then joined in with Henrietta’s laughter by letting out a wolf-like howl. Gabriel tried in vain to remain serious. Actually, he did not find Henrietta’s joke very amusing, but Oberon’s reaction was just too delightful. At first it was just a grin, which turned into a full-on smile and, finally, a laugh that felt so strange yet so good that it took hold of him.
“What is going on here?” Catherine came down the stairs, presumably seeking the source of the unusual noise. While Gabriel and his sister broke out into another unpreventable fit of laughter, the whine coming from the dog petered out into a disapproving growl.
“Please tell me I am dreaming,” Catherine mumbled, joining the siblings without completing her sentence. Oberon, lying exhausted at Gabriel’s feet, opened his eyes and looked from Catherine to Henrietta and back again. “Where has this monster come from?”
Henrietta dropped to her knees and scratched the dog at the back of his ears. Like Gabriel, she knew what four-legged friends liked, as their father had kept a pack of hunting dogs for a long while, until he grew too old to still ride a horse.
“May I introduce you – Catherine, Henrietta, this is Oberon. Oberon, this is Henrietta, and here is Catherine. We should go to the parlour, and I can tell you how I found Oberon over a cup of tea.”
“Are you sure he will not bite?” Catherine eyed the gigantic dog suspiciously.
“I think the greater danger is him soaking your dress with his saliva,” said Henrietta, making every effort to stand up. Gabriel gave her his hand and pulled her buoyantly to her feet. Yes, indeed, the sleeves of her light-blue dress were dark and shiny with wetness. Oberon followed them into the parlour and lay down at Henrietta’s feet. Catherine rang for the servant and ordered the tea, and when they were all served, Gabriel told of how he had found and retrieved the black dog, carefully omitting some of the details. After finishing, Henrietta was making strange cooing sounds, which, with a little imagination could be interpreted as “you are the best” and “my most handsome boy” and even Catherine stroked the “most handsome boy’s” coat where it was free of bandages.
“His coat is as soft as silk,” she stated, clearing her throat as if uttering an indiscretion. Still, an almost dreamy smile graced her lips and she awkwardly patted Oberon’s head again, before straightening up, looking embarrassed all around her, except at Gabriel.
He would not have given everything, but very, very much, in fact, to be able to extend this moment and hold on to it, but that was impossible. Catherine had kept up a pretence because she was unhappy and in love, or unhappily in love, and did not believe that her feelings were reciprocated. His sister was expecting a child from a man he detested, and, despite the circumstances, he did not want Henrietta to become that man’s wife. Then there was Rose, who … at that moment was announced by his butler. Gabriel felt his chest unusually tighten. He had not expected to see Rose so soon!
“The Duchess of Evesham and Lady Rose wish to pay Lady Henrietta a visit.”
Oberon pricked up his ears and snorted.
“Take the ladies to the drawing room, Edward,” Gabriel said, realising he was already up and about to rush towards her.
“Please tell the duchess and her daughter that I am not well.” Henrietta was about to make a run for it, but Gabriel was quicker, grabbing her by the wrist.
“Please stay,” he said, feeling his sister trying to wriggle out of his grip. He pulled her towards him until her resistance subsided. “Lady Rose wants to hear from your own lips who is responsible for your condition. Henrietta, for God’s sake, she is betrothed to de Coucy and will marry him. You owe it to her to say it to her face.”
“I do not owe anyone anything, Gabriel, least of all the woman who turned your head. If you do not want her to marry de Coucy, you should court her yourself and not send me to destroy the connection between the two of them.”
He pulled Henrietta closer until they were face-to-face. “What are you so afraid of?” he whispered. His sister, at times, had a sharp tongue, but to this day, she had never tried to wilfully hurt him. “You lied to me.” Gabriel was unable to speak loud and clear even if he had tried. “De Coucy is not the father of your child.” He read the answer on his sister’s face and let her go. Henrietta took the opportunity to disappear from sight. He turned to Catherine, who tried to fearlessly return his gaze, but in vain. “Do you know who is responsible for her condition?” Gabriel struggled to compose himself, attempting to adopt a measured tone of voice, but Catherine, who had already stood, was backing away from him in spite of that.
“I … cannot comment.” She avoided him and wrung her hands.
“Catherine,” Gabriel said slowly, emphasising every syllable of her name. It took every ounce of his self-control not to slam his fists on the table like an ordinary old household tyrant. “This is not about blame or punishment. I am just trying to mitigate the damage. If I am to somehow help Henrietta, I have to know who the child’s father is. It can hardly be anyone worse than de Coucy.”
His cousin’s eyes widened, and she scurried past him like a frightened deer. “It is not my place to tell you his name. Talk to your sister.” Why did she have to choose this moment, of all times, to prove that she had a backbone? As Catherine disappeared from the room with her skirts rustling, he was alone. He realised that the duchess and Lady Rose had been waiting a good few minutes for him and Henrietta.
Now, it was up to him to tell Rose the truth.
If he was honest with himself, he would rather have ten duels than tell Rose that her fiancé was really and truly innocent.
Oberon got to his feet and padded slowly to the door. Looking back over his shoulder, he cast Gabriel a glance that could only be described as pitying.
He and the dog seemed to be the only rational beings in a
household whose female occupants were in the grip of acute madness.
Chapter 21
When the marquess entered the drawing room, Rose knew immediately that something was wrong. His face was pale, and his lips were so tightly pursed that they were little more than a thin line. His dark brows were drawn, and his hair looked dishevelled, as if he had run his hand through it, but at the same time, forgotten what he had done. Oberon walked with a measured pace beside him, and Rose’s heart jumped. Because of the dog, of course, and not the man.
Naturally, he greeted her mother first, but as he leaned over her hand and said her name, his dark eyes searched her face. He held her hand a moment longer than was actually necessary, and Rose felt the light pressure of his warm fingers as a small extra greeting just between them.
With delight she saw how Oberon tapped the floor a few times with his tail, as if he truly recognised her and rejoiced at her visit. “Oberon is getting better, I see,” she said as the silence perpetuated. To avoid his gaze, she dropped to her knees beside the dog and stroked his chest. Oberon was so tall that he could look her in the eyes. “You remember who I am, is it not so?” She nattered, pulling back as he licked her cheek with his tongue.
“Oberon, behave yourself,” the marquess said sternly, and promptly, the dog pulled his huge head back and looked up at his master as pure and innocent as a dove.
Rose got up and brushed imaginary dust from her dress. “Leave it, I do not mind. Oberon can kiss me as often as he likes.” Had she said something wrong, or why was the marquess looking at her so strangely?
“My Lady, Lady Rose, please sit down. Would you like some tea? Or something stronger?”
The Three Evesham Daughters: Books 1-3: A Regency Romance Trilogy Page 53