Rose was looking, not at him, but at her, with a perplexed expression. And she realised she was trembling. She’d become so angry at the casual way he’d broken her heart that she was physically quivering with it.
What was happening to her? For years she’d managed to preserve an outward semblance of serenity no matter what she’d been thinking. In fact, the last time she’d got so worked up she couldn’t control her physical reaction had been her wedding day.
Her knees had been shaking so badly she’d started to worry she might not make it all the way down the aisle. But even so, she’d managed to lift her chin and force a smile to her lips, determined that nobody should guess how scared she was. Particularly not her husband. Colonel Morgan had frowned when he’d taken her hand to slip the ring on her finger, feeling her tremors. He hadn’t liked the notion she might be afraid of him, of what she’d agreed to. So as she’d spoken her vows, she’d made secret ones of her own. That she was never, ever, going to let her feelings get the better of her again. She would keep a mask of calm acceptance firmly in place at all times.
And until tonight, she’d been able to do so.
Before she could pull herself together sufficiently to form some plausible excuse, Robert leaned down and growled into her ear, ‘I quite forgot that you knew him.’
Oh, lord, that was all she needed. Now she was going to have to convince Robert, too, that he had merely been an acquaintance. If he should guess she had been in love with him, and was, to judge by her remarkable reactions just now, still far too susceptible to him, he would no doubt redouble his guard-doggy role towards her, as well as Rose. It was bad enough that he was already undermining her role as chaperon, with his heavy-handed vetting of all Rose’s potential admirers. She simply could not hand him the opportunity to accuse her of setting a bad example for Rose to follow. That would be the end of ever getting him to listen to her point of view.
In an automatic gesture of self-defence, she parried his query with a thrust of her own.
‘You have a short memory, then. It was he who introduced you to me, in the first place. Do you not recall? He brought me to one of those picnics you used to hold at Westdene.’
‘But I thought you said you only danced with him once or twice,’ put in Rose.
‘Did I?’ She had to wave her fan quite swiftly to cool the heat that rushed to her cheeks. ‘Well, it hardly amounted to much more than that, really.’
Although he had been what her chaperon described as ‘particular in his attentions,’ after that first dance. They’d both been surprised by the number of times he’d called upon her, and sought her out as a dance partner, even though she’d blushed and stumbled her way inelegantly through set after set of country dances. He had not been put off by her stammer, or her apparent stupidity, not like the other men who’d shown an initial interest in her. If anything, he had redoubled his efforts to put her at ease. And gradually, she’d found herself unfurling in his company.
To the extent that one afternoon, as they’d been walking in the park, she’d let slip that she couldn’t understand why he bothered with her.
‘If that is a hint you wish me to leave you be,’ he’d warned her with mock severity, ‘then you are going to have to stop looking so pleased when I come to call.’
She’d blushed harder and studied her feet for several paces, before plucking up the courage to answer.
‘I d-do not want you to leave me be. I-I like your company.’
‘That is just as well,’ he said cheerfully, ‘because I have no intention of leaving you be until I have coaxed one genuine smile from your lips.’
‘B-but, why? I m-mean, what can it m-matter to you? M-Mrs Westerly s-says you aren’t interested in m-m—’
‘No! Do not say that word in my presence,’ he’d cried in mock horror. ‘There is more to life than...’ he’d looked round as though checking to see if anyone might overhear, before bending to whisper in her ear ‘...matrimony. We can enjoy a walk in the park on a sunny afternoon, or a dance together, just for its own sake, can we not?’
‘The sun is not shining today,’ she had remarked with sinking spirits, as they’d halted in front of a patch of equally depressed-looking daffodils which were straining their golden trumpets in the direction the sun would have been shining from, had it been able to penetrate the heavy layers of cloud. In spite of Mrs Westerly warning her not to read too much into the way he’d taken her up, her foolish heart had dared to think that perhaps he was not such a lost cause as everyone thought.
‘But we can still enjoy each other’s company, can we not,’ he’d said, ‘without expecting it to lead to wedding bells?’
She associated the scent of daffodils with the death of her romantic hopes to this very day.
‘We can,’ she’d said, forcing a smile to her lips, though she had not been able to look up into his face. If a light friendship was all he was prepared to offer, she would do nothing to scare him off, for sharing the occasional few minutes with this wickedly witty and dashingly handsome young man had become the only bright spot in her otherwise gloomy existence.
‘B-besides, everyone knows you aren’t in the market for a wife. And even if you were, you wouldn’t look twice at someone like me. You know I have no dowry, I suppose?’
‘Of course I do. The tabbies make sure everyone knows every newcomer’s net worth within five minutes of their entering any ballroom. It makes no difference to how I feel about you.’
Well, it wouldn’t since he didn’t see her as a potential wife.
‘And yet,’ he’d said, tucking her arm into his and setting out along the path again, ‘you still...light up whenever I ask you to dance.’
‘Well, you do dance divinely,’ she’d admitted. ‘And Mrs Westerly says—’ She’d broken off, biting down on her lower lip.
‘Go on. Tell me what Mrs Westerly says. I promise that however bad it may be, it won’t surprise me. Chaperons normally give their charges dire warnings about me.’
‘Well, she says that it is no bad thing to spend time with you, because you make me smile. Which makes me look more attractive to eligible men.’
‘Aha! So that is why she doesn’t forbid me to pollute her drawing room with my presence.’
She’d nodded, lulled into a sense of...something almost like companionship as they’d strolled along, arm in arm. Which could be the only thing to account for her blurting, ‘Not that it does any good, in the long term. Because the moment I try to talk to anyone eligible, I start blushing and stammering so much they take me for a perfect ninny. And if there is one thing a man does not want, that is to take a ninny to wife. Not unless she is a great heiress, or has a very grand title.’
At that point, Nicholas had given her a quizzical look and observed, ‘But today you have stopped stammering altogether.’
‘Why, yes, so I have.’
‘It is because you aren’t striving to impress me. You know I am completely ineligible.’
Was that what it had been? Or was it just that she’d finally given up all hope of anything more than friendship?
‘I dare say your chaperon has warned you,’ he’d said airily, ‘that there is a good deal of bad blood in my family. The first Rothersthorpe was little better than a pirate, you know, although Good Queen Bess rewarded him for his efforts against the Spanish with the title.’
‘Oh, yes. Everyone knows that. But what she primarily objects to is...your lack of money. Mrs Westerly warned me that is why you invite me to go for walks with you, rather than taking me for a drive around the park.’
‘Did she? The old b—besom,’ he’d said. ‘Though of course it’s true. I haven’t a feather to fly with.’
‘Perhaps,’ she’d said with just a touch of asperity, ‘if you did not place wagers on such ridiculous things...’
‘Such as?’
‘Well, I did hear there was one between a goose and a mouse.’
He’d let out a surprised bark of laughter. ‘Who told you abo
ut that? Not that it isn’t true. But at least I backed the mouse. Won a packet,’ he’d finished smugly.
‘And on what did you subsequently lose that packet?’ she’d snapped. ‘The turn of a card?’
‘No! I am an extremely proficient card player,’ he’d said, raising his chin just a little, which showed she’d touched him on the raw. But after only a few leisurely paces, his lips curving into a smile, he’d darted her a look of pure mischief and confessed, ‘It was a horse.’
She’d pursed her lips.
‘You are right,’ he’d sighed, in mock despair. ‘I am incorrigible. Money flows through my hands like water. Cannot keep a hold on it for longer than five minutes. And yet,’ he’d said, giving her a quizzical look, ‘you never appear to think that coming for walks with me is a waste of time. Even when there are no potential suitors about to witness you smiling and managing to string whole sentences together without stammering.’
Her heart had thundered so hard in her chest it had been almost painful. If he guessed how she truly felt, would he take fright, and disappear from her life?
But even so, she’d found herself blurting, ‘You make me laugh when sometimes I think there is nothing left to so much as smile about.’
For a moment it had almost overwhelmed her. All of it. She’d had to lower her head and press her lips together to stop them trembling, and blink rapidly to disperse the burgeoning tears.
He’d patted her hand and said, ‘I shall consider it my duty to make you smile, then, whenever our paths cross.’
He already did that. Whenever she was dancing with him, or taking supper, or walking along like this, with her hand on his arm, gazing up into his laughing blue eyes, it was as though the sun had broken through the dark clouds that habitually hung over her.
But then he’d brought those clouds rolling back, by adding, ‘Life is too short to ruin it by worrying about what might or might not happen, Miss Franklin. We should just enjoy each day we are given and let the future take care of itself.’
And she’d had to bite back a sharp retort. It was all very well for him to say such things. He had no idea! He had a roof over his head. A regular allowance—even if he did complain it was a beggarly amount. A secure place in society, because of his rank.
And, most importantly, he did not have to marry, not unless he really, really wanted to.
Was he married now?
She watched him smile down at the plump girl as they went into a right-handed star.
She had no idea. She’d deliberately avoided finding out anything about him since she’d married Colonel Morgan. Things had been difficult enough. If she’d read the announcement of his betrothal to some other woman, and known that she’d managed to impress him enough to renounce his hedonistic lifestyle, she would have wanted to curl up and die.
Which would not have been fair to her husband. To whom she owed so much.
No—to repay all Colonel Morgan’s generosity by breaking her heart over another man—that would have been unforgivable.
‘So...he is a friend of yours then, Robert?’ Rose was looking from her to her brother, a perplexed frown creasing her brow.
‘Not any longer,’ Robert growled. ‘I did not mention it, but...’ He shifted uncomfortably. ‘Well, if you must know, we had a bit of a falling out. I have not spoken to Rothersthorpe since a short while after you married our father,’ he said to Lydia, though it was Rose who was questioning him. ‘I did not tell you about it, because, well, because...’
Rothersthorpe?
He’d come into his father’s title, then. Her insides hollowed out at the thought they’d drifted so far apart she did not even know that much about his life.
Though it had been what she’d wanted.
It had.
‘But Mama Lyddy called him Mr Humming...something.’
‘Hemingford,’ Robert corrected her. ‘That is his family name. Now that his father has died, he has of course inherited the title. He is Viscount Rothersthorpe now. I would have thought you would have known that, Mama Lyddy.’
‘No.’ She’d taken such pains to avoid seeing his name in the Weekly Messenger that she had missed even that.
When you made your bed, you had to lie in it. And it had been hard enough to accustom herself to Colonel Morgan as a husband as it was. Letting anyone suspect she had married one man, whilst mourning the inconstancy of another, would have done nobody any good.
And it would do nobody any good to so much as hint at the truth now, either.
‘Heavens, Robert, surely you know I have never been one to pore over the society news? I left that world behind when I married your father.’
‘But you have been talking about him,’ Robert persisted. ‘Neither of you can take your eyes off him.’
Oh dear. He was not going to let it drop. Now he was like a guard dog with a bone.
‘I was trying to warn Rose to be on her guard. I don’t want her taken in by his handsome face and superficial charm.’
He gave her one of those penetrating looks that put her so very much in mind of his father. He had the same steely-grey eyes, the same hooked nose and eyebrows that could only be described as formidable. Of all Colonel Morgan’s children, he was the one who resembled him, in looks at least, the most.
He reminded her of him all the more when he looked down that beak of a nose and said, ‘You need not worry. I am more than capable of protecting her from undesirables.’
Both Lydia and Rose turned their backs on him, snapped open their fans and began to ply them vigorously.
Men! They were all so...impossible!
Especially the handsome charmers like Rothersthorpe, as she must think of him nowadays. Because, even though she was angry with him, she was still achingly aware of exactly where he was, at any given moment.
She refused to look at him, yet she knew when he returned the plump young lady to her chaperon. And she sensed him turn and begin to saunter straight across the room to where they were sitting.
Her heart skipped a beat when she realised he was coming straight towards her.
That he was going to speak to her.
Well, his first words had better be an apology for letting her down, just when she’d needed him the most.
He came to a halt not three feet before her chair, a sardonic smile hovering about his lips.
And it took all her will-power not to get up and slap it right off his face. She had to remind herself, quite sternly, that this was a public ballroom and she must not cause a scene that would rebound on Rose.
She took a deep breath and snapped her fan shut.
She could be polite and dignified. She could, even though her heart was pounding, her mouth had gone dry and her knees were trembling.
She wasn’t an impressionable eighteen-year-old any longer, but a mature woman, and she refused to blush and stammer, or go weak at the knees, just because a handsome man was deigning to pay her a little attention.
Chapter Two
‘Good to see you, Morgan,’ said Rothersthorpe, his gaze sliding right past her as if she was not there.
After a moment’s struggle, she acknowledged that it was probably just as well he had not spoken to her first. Apart from the fact that it wasn’t the done thing, she still wasn’t fully in control of her temper. Only think how dreadful it would be if he’d said, ‘Good evening, Lydia’, as though nothing was wrong, and she’d let all this bottled-up hurt and anger burst forth like a cork flying from a shaken bottle.
As it was, she felt Robert’s hand go to the back of her chair. And when she turned to look up at him, she saw her stepson glaring at him too. He’d placed his other hand on the back of Rose’s chair and taken up such an aggressive posture that not even Rothersthorpe could fail to read the warning signs.
Oh, no. It looked as though there was going to be some kind of scene after all.
But at least it would not be of her making.
Not that Lord Rothersthorpe looked in the least bit daunted.
‘It has been a long time,’ he persisted. ‘Too long,’ he said with a rueful smile and thrust out his hand.
Lydia’s heart thundered in her breast while Robert stood quite still, looking at that outstretched hand. It was only when Robert finally took it, saying, ‘Yes, yes, it has’, that she realised she had been holding her breath. It slid from her in a wave of guilty disappointment. She hadn’t wanted Rose’s evening ruined by a scene, she really hadn’t. But a part of her would still very much have liked to see Rothersthorpe flattened by her stepson’s deadly right hook.
‘I cannot believe our paths have not crossed in all this time,’ Robert was saying as though he truly liked Rothersthorpe. When she’d been relying on him to dismiss him, the way he’d dismissed one penniless peer after another, during the few weeks Rose had been attending balls.
‘I do not spend much time in town these days,’ replied Lord Rothersthorpe. ‘And when I do come up, it is not to attend events such as this.’ He looked around the glittering ballroom with what, on another man’s face, she would have described as a sneer.
‘I have made a point of avoiding the company of most of the set I ran with at one time,’ he drawled. ‘A man has to develop standards at some point in his life.’
Standards? He had always laughed at people who claimed to have standards.
What on earth could have happened to make him sneer at his younger self?
And now that he was standing so close, she could see that there were subtle changes to his appearance which she had not noticed from a distance. Time had, of course, etched lines on his face. But they were not the ones she might have expected. Instead of seeing creases fanning out from his eyes, as though he laughed long and often, there were grooves bracketing his mouth, which made him look both hard and sober.
‘So, the rumours about you,’ said Robert, ‘are all true, then? You have reformed?’
Lord Rothersthorpe smiled. In one way, it did remind her of the way he’d used to smile, for one corner of his mouth tilted upwards more than the other. But although he’d moved his mouth in the exact same way, it was somehow as though he was merely going through the motions.
Annie Burrows Page 2