A Bargain With Fate

by Ann Elizabeth Cree

  Her grandmother caught up with her when she reached the hallway outside the ballroom. ‘Whatever possessed you to dance with Fairchilde? Oh, dear! How could you! This is most dreadful! I never thought to see you involved in such a scene!’

  To be blamed for the whole thing was the last straw! She lifted her chin and stared straight at Lady Carlyn. ‘I would like to go home. Now!’

  Lady Carlyn’s mouth fell open, and then she closed it abruptly. For once in her life, she made no argument.

  Chapter Ten

  Rosalyn set her plate of toast and marmalade aside. Eating seemed pointless, particularly when the food refused to move down her throat. After last night, she doubted if she’d ever survive this nightmarish Season. She’d either collapse from lack of sleep or lack of food.

  What ever had possessed Michael? Nearly brawling with Fairchilde and threatening a duel. Then speaking to her as if she were at fault in front of the entire ton.

  Every time she thought of his high-handed behaviour, she cringed. How dare he? Especially after that scene with Lady Marchant, whatever that had been about! For all she knew, he had been having a rendezvous with the lady, not that it meant a thing if he was. If she had any courage, she would send his ring back with a curt note telling him their bargain was off. Except, he might think she cared what he did, which, of course, she did not.

  Well, she had more important worries than the arrogant Lord Stamford.

  Such as what to do about James. She pushed her chair back and crossed to the window, staring out at the street. Despite the sun shining through the window, she felt cold. If he was not at Newmarket, then where was he? Had he fled from his debts? She could not believe he would do such a dishonourable thing.

  Two thousand pounds. Meryton made enough to cover the mortgage and the wages of her servants, but there was not much left over. Somehow, Fairchilde must be paid. The memory of his touch made her flesh crawl. She was protected now with her betrothal, but what would happen when it ended? And what if he threatened James?

  She leaned her head against the wooden shutter. Asking her grandmother for the money was out of the question. Lady Carlyn usually borrowed heavily on her income. Not to mention the awkward questions and unwarranted advice. She’d never let her grandmother know the extent of the debt her father had left. Lady Carlyn had never forgiven Lord Frederick Whitcomb for stealing her daughter away from his older brother, the Marquis of Wrotham, as she saw it. No matter that they had been blissfully happy.

  Perhaps her solicitor could be persuaded to make her an advance on her income. Her glance fell to her wedding ring.

  She still had her jewels.

  ‘My lady! Look what has just arrived for you!’

  Rosalyn looked up. Mrs Harrod stood in the doorway, peering around a huge bouquet of pink roses she held. She beamed. ‘So lovely, they are!’

  She waddled into the room, the heavy scent of roses filling the room. ‘And here is a card and a small box!’

  Rosalyn looked at them with trepidation, praying it was not another bouquet from Fairchilde. She took the card and opened it.

  ‘Please accept my sincerest apologies.’ It was signed in Michael’s dark, sprawling hand.

  ‘And this, my lady? Shall you want to see what’s inside?’ Mrs Harrod thrust the box at Rosalyn, her face eager.

  Rosalyn gave the card back to the housekeeper. With trembling fingers, she lifted the lid of the box. Inside lay a gold brooch in the shape of a rose, its delicate petals glistening in the sunlight streaming through the window.

  ‘How lovely!’ Mrs Harrod exclaimed, peering around the bouquet she still held.

  ‘Yes, it is,’ Rosalyn said slowly. It was beautiful, the sort of jewellery she had always preferred, simple and elegant. And she loved roses. She hardly knew what to think, and then reminded herself it was only a gesture to keep a temporary fiancé in line. He undoubtedly had sent hundreds of gifts to women in his lifetime.

  ‘Shall I put some roses in here? And perhaps some in the drawing room?’

  ‘Yes, of course. That would be lovely.’

  Mrs Harrod bustled away to find a vase. Rosalyn stared at the brooch, touching the delicate petals with one finger. How ironic that, just as she had decided to sell her jewels, Michael should send her such a gift.

  She laid the brooch back in its box. She would return it to him, of course. As for now, she’d best go before she lost her courage.

  Three hours later, Rosalyn returned. As she entered the house, Mrs Harrod informed her Lady Spence had just arrived and was in the drawing room, taking tea.

  ‘She said she would wait a bit for your return,’ Mrs Harrod said, taking Rosalyn’s pelisse and bonnet.

  ‘Oh, dear.’ How could she possibly face Michael’s aunt after last night?

  But when she entered the drawing room, Lady Spence rose to greet her with all her usual warmth. She held out her hands. ‘My dear girl, I had to see how you were faring after last night. I hope you are not too overset.’

  Rosalyn took her hands. ‘I am so sorry.’

  ‘But why? It was hardly your fault that Michael decided to quarrel with Fairchilde in public. I dare say you had no idea they quite detest each other.’ She sat back down, drawing Rosalyn down beside her.

  ‘No. Oh, dear. I really did not wish to dance with Fairchilde but…’ her voice trailed off. She could not tell Lady Spence why she had felt obligated to dance with the man.

  ‘Of course not.’ She patted Rosalyn’s hand. Her eyes held a twinkle. ‘It is probably quite dreadful of me, but I must own I was rather pleased to see Michael become so angry.’

  ‘Were you?’

  ‘Oh, yes. He is always so horribly indifferent to everything, I have sometimes wondered if anything ever affects him. How splendid to see him stalk forward and threaten to call Fairchilde out! Particularly in the middle of a ball room! Certainly there was nothing indifferent about that!’

  ‘No,’ Rosalyn said weakly. The resemblance between Lady Spence and her niece was suddenly quite apparent.

  ‘And you handled him very well. I was quite pleased to see you did not let him force you to go with him. Walking away from him was just the thing to do. I have always feared he would decide to marry some meek, worshipful creature who would obey his every word.’

  ‘I…I see.’

  ‘I hope you will not be too hard on him for last night. I think he fears you may not wish to speak to him after the way he spoke to you in such a high-handed manner.’

  ‘You have seen him?’

  ‘Today. I suggested he call on you, but he wasn’t sure if you would receive him.’ She leaned forward and smiled at Rosalyn reassuringly. ‘He really does care for you, my dear. He is rather like his father in that he tends to become most overbearing with those he cares for most.’

  Rosalyn felt a deep blush cover her face. Of course, he did not, but why must he carry the charade this far? Interfering in her life, threatening duels and convincing his family he cared about her.

  She didn’t want that! Any more than she wanted to care about him. She moistened her lips, trying to think of something to say since Lady Spence was looking at her expectantly.

  ‘Of course I will speak to him,’ she finally said.

  Lady Spence smiled. ‘I had no doubt. You are a sweet girl. Michael is very fortunate.’ She leaned forward and kissed Rosalyn’s cheek, then stood. ‘Now you must rest. You look rather pale. Poor child, I fear this has all been most tiresome for you.’ She tied the strings of her bonnet, then looked at Rosalyn. ‘Oh, yes, will you be attending Almack’s tonight?’

  Rosalyn also rose, her mind a blank. Almack’s? She had quite forgotten she was to go with her grandmother. ‘I believe so.’

  ‘Very good. Then you will see Michael there. By the way, Caroline is planning a little houseparty for next weekend. Three days, I believe. It shall be a perfect time for you and Michael to be away from London, particularly in light of last night.’ After giving Rosalyn a quick hug, Lady Sp
ence departed.

  Rosalyn sank back down on the sofa and rubbed her head. A houseparty? As usual after dealing with a member of Michael’s warm, but overpowering family, she felt completely lost.

  The thought of a night at Almack’s made her groan. She supposed she must go, if only to prove to society she and Michael had not seriously quarrelled. On the other hand, she was feeling quite out of sorts with society’s dictates. She really wanted to do nothing more than curl up at home and read one of the Gothic novels she’d borrowed from the circulating library.

  Other ladies had headaches. Rosalyn had never stooped to using a feigned one in her life, but there was always time to start. Why not tonight?

  She was tired of the pretence, tired of trying to keep her life in control. Tired of worrying about James. She wanted to escape.

  With great resolution, she marched to her desk in the library and pulled out a piece of stationary. Nothing was going to drag her from her house tonight.

  Michael entered Almack’s, a place he never set foot in except under extreme duress.

  The only reason he had come was to see Rosalyn. His aunt had assured him of her presence. But after scanning the ball room, then making his way through the other rooms, he saw no sign of her. He returned to the ball room. A young lady in a white muslin gown trimmed with yards of muslin and lace cast him a flirtatious smile. He scowled, and she fled.

  ‘Poor Michael!’ He looked down to see Caroline smiling up at him, mischief dancing in her eyes. ‘I never thought to see you so lovestruck. Pacing the floor, waiting for your beloved. Why, just now, Lady Jersey was remarking on how tame you’ve become, with the exception of last night, of course. She said that could only be put down to how far gone you are.’

  He raised a brow. ‘I am hardly lovestruck, my dear.’

  ‘And cross! That is another sign. Men are always cross when they’re in love.’

  No scathing remark leapt to his mind, unless he wanted to deny he was in love with Rosalyn. But since he’d fully intended to create the impression he was, he’d only be cutting his own throat. How in the devil had he gotten himself in this muddle?

  Caroline glanced towards the door. ‘Lady Carlyn has just arrived. But I don’t see Rosalyn with her. I do hope nothing is wrong, Aunt Margaret was quite certain she would be here tonight.’

  He nearly bolted from Caroline and made his way across the room to where Lady Carlyn stood with his aunt. Was she ill or merely avoiding him?

  Lady Carlyn eyed his approach with a disapproving expression. ‘I suppose you wish to know where Rosalyn is. She is at home with a headache. A headache! She has never had one in her life! I dare say it is all because of that business last night.’

  ‘She looked quite pale when I saw her earlier,’ Lady Spence said. ‘I have no doubt she is not particularly well. Although I had hoped she would be here, as I fear her absence will be noted.’ She gave Michael a cool glance. ‘I take it you did not deliver your apology in person.’

  ‘I sent her flowers and a note,’ he said stiffly. He had no idea why he felt it necessary to defend his actions.

  ‘I suppose that was a start,’ Lady Carlyn said. ‘Although I think she must be quite overset. She was not receiving any visitors when I called. Her housekeeper informed me she was resting. I have never known her to rest during the day! I remember when I visited her when John was alive. She had the most severe cold. She insisted on seeing to the household management even though it was obvious she was quite ill.’

  ‘Confound it,’ Michael said. He scowled. ‘Very well, I will call on her now and apologise. Does that please you?’

  ‘Michael! Really!’ Lady Spence exclaimed. ‘This is hardly the time!’

  ‘I only hope she will receive you,’ Lady Carlyn added.

  ‘She will.’ He gave them a baleful glance and stalked out.

  Rosalyn stared down at the pages of her novel, Bungay Castle. Unfortunately, the trials of the heroine failed to distract her from her own troubles, which seemed just as complicated as poor Roseline’s, only not quite as improbable. With a sigh, Rosalyn closed the volume.

  She glanced up at the clock ticking on the mantel. The hour was nearly eleven. Perhaps she should go to bed, but because of her long afternoon nap, she no longer felt tired.

  The rap on the door startled her. Who would be calling at this hour? She rose, setting her book aside, and pulled her shawl more firmly about her shoulders. She was dressed in an old cream gown and had not bothered dressing her hair, only tying it back from her face with a ribbon.

  She heard Mrs Harrod’s voice outside the drawing-room door, then a very familiar masculine voice. She froze. Whatever was Michael doing here? She had an absurd desire to hide, but unless she dived behind the sofa, she hadn’t a prayer. The door opened. He came into the room. One look at his dark, forbidding face made her wish she had hid.

  She stood. ‘My lord! What you doing here?’

  He scowled at her, the low light of the lamp making him look even more saturnine in his evening clothes. ‘I could ask you the same. After waiting for you at Almack’s, I was informed by your grandmother that you were so overset by last night’s ball you had taken to your bed.’

  ‘Why ever would she say that? I was resting when she called but that was merely because I slept rather poorly last night, and then I did not…’ Her voice trailed away at his raised brow. No doubt he was angry because she was not keeping up the pretence of dutiful fiancée very well. ‘I am sorry. I should have gone to Almack’s, but I was terribly tired and the thought of another assembly with everyone staring, then trying to smile and talk as if nothing mattered, was too daunting. I thought I would stay home and read.’

  He moved into the room. ‘And you did not see fit to inform me? After last night it was imperative that we be seen together.’

  ‘Perhaps, but I am not accountable to you for my every move. And I was not the one who chose to create such a…a ridiculous scene. If you are here to rip me up about that, then I would like you to leave.’

  ‘I have no intention of ripping you up.’ He took a step towards her and stopped. ‘Damn! You are right. I came here to apologise to you, and instead I behave badly. It was only…’ He paused and frowned at her. ‘Will you accept my apology for causing you such distress last night?’ he asked stiffly.

  ‘Yes, of course.’ She twisted her hands together. ‘But I don’t understand why you were so angry. I know you do not like Fairchilde, but the dance meant nothing. I have never liked him, but I did not know how to refuse him.’

  ‘I don’t want him near you. He’s dangerous.’

  She stared at him, taken aback by the harshness in his voice and face. She pushed a strand of hair away from her face, taking an involuntary step back, suddenly afraid of him, afraid of Fairchilde, and of something she didn’t understand—something primitive and completely out of her depth.

  He said roughly, ‘There’s no need to look at me in that fashion. I did not mean to frighten you. But I must know, what did he want from you?’

  ‘Nothing.’ He looked as if he could do murder. She dreaded what would happen if she told him Fairchilde had asked her to be his mistress.

  ‘Are you certain?’

  She turned away from him. ‘Of course. But this is the most insane thing! Such melodrama is hardly necessary. I could perhaps understand if I was really your fiancée, but even then, such behaviour would not be called for. I am not certain what you think Fairchilde will do.’

  ‘He is completely unscrupulous when it comes to women and to getting what he wants. He will stoop as low as he wishes without regard for anyone.’ He took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him, looking into her eyes. ‘He indicated once that he had an interest in you. I had thought our announcement would be enough protection. But if it is not, I will not hesitate to call him out. I will protect what is mine.’

  ‘This is ridiculous, my lord. I will not have you fighting a duel because of me. And I am not yours, may I remind you
!’

  ‘Yes, you are,’ he insisted, his features set in stubborn lines. ‘As long as you are engaged to me.’

  His dark, handsome face, hovering so close above hers, was rendering her dizzy. Her gaze fell to his firm lips, and for an insane moment she remembered his kiss. What would she do if he kissed her again? She heard his quick intake of breath and knew he was as affected as she. She was jerked out of his grasp, attempting to regain her senses.

  ‘If you call him out, I will break off our agreement. I will not have you putting yourself at such risk, nor do I want such a scandal on my behalf.’

  His eyes locked with hers for a moment, then a slight smile lifted the corners of his mouth. ‘I am accounted a deadly shot, my dear. But it is gratifying to know you are concerned for my neck. I was under the impression you often wish me dead.’

  ‘Wish you dead? How ridiculous. I find you extremely provoking, but that does not mean I want you dead.’ And especially not now, with him standing there, that half-smile on his face that made her heart beat much faster than it should.

  ‘I am relieved to hear that,’ he said softly.

  She cast about in her mind for a safer topic. ‘Thank you for the roses and the brooch. It is so very beautiful, but it was not necessary for you to go to so much trouble. I assure you, I was not planning to break our agreement over last night.’

  ‘Is that the only reason you thought I sent it? To placate you?’ He sounded almost offended.

  ‘No, I…I really did not know what to think.’

  ‘I wanted you to have it. I was waiting for the right time to present it to you. It is a mere trifle, but when I saw it I thought of you. I thought you might like it.’

  ‘Oh. I do. It is very kind of you.’ That had not been a particularly safe topic. She was becoming more confused by the minute. Not even John had given her such a beautiful ornament merely because it made him think of her.

  ‘Not at all. I am happy it pleases you.’ His gaze studied her face in a way that made her aware that they were quite alone.