by Rose Gordon
“Ah, roses, one of the few flowers that thrive in cold weather.”
Brooke took a seat on the bench and waited for Andrew to join her. “The rose is the most common flower found in New York,” she said, trying to fill the silence.
“Is it safe to say that you like roses then?”
“Of course, I wouldn’t be a true New Yorker if I didn’t,” she said in the thickest New York accent she could muster.
Shaking his head at her exaggeration of her accent, Andrew took a seat next to her on the bench. “So, dahling,” he drawled, trying to match her Yankee accent, “what color roses are your favorites?”
Brooke laughed at his imitation of her speech. “Why? Are you planning to buy me some?” She paused a second. “Oh right, I forgot you’re a pauper, you can’t buy them. Are you going to grow them for me?” She honestly doubted he’d ever given much thought to growing roses, or any type of flowers for that matter.
“I’d definitely have to grow them, as I don’t have the extra funds for one stem,” he said earnestly. He placed his fingers under Brooke’s chin and turned her head to face him so he could look deep into her eyes. “You still did not answer my question. Which color do you prefer?”
Brooke blinked a few times. Many men had touched her face, tried to hold her hand, and some had even kissed her; but she had never really been comfortable with the intimacy of it, nor enjoyed it so much. Andrew’s touch seemed to scorch her skin. She wet her lips and stared straight into his blue eyes before answering. “It would depend on who they were from and the reason for giving them.”
Her statement seemed to baffle him. “Could you please explain what you mean?”
Still looking into his eyes, Brooke took a deep breath and said, “Tell me who are they from and why they are giving me roses; and I’ll tell you what color they should choose.”
Andrew dropped his fingers from her chin and moved them to where her hands were folded in her lap. “From me. Just because.”
Brooke gasped. “Um...” she cleared her throat, “in that case, white or yellow would be the right color.”
“The right color?” Andrew questioned, lifting his brow.
“Yes, the right color.” At his look of uncertainty, she went on, “Different color roses represent different things. White roses represent purity or sympathy. They are often used for bouquets for brides to show innocence. Sometimes white roses are sent to people who are sick or who have suffered a loss to represent sympathy. Yellow roses symbolize friendship or happiness; they can also be given by a friend of either sex. Therefore, from you, a man of my acquaintance, or a friend, yellow or white would be appropriate.”
Andrew nodded. “Didn’t you forget a few colors?” he asked, smiling at her when she gave a weak nod. “What about pink or red? Why could I not give you those colors?” he asked softly, stroking the backs of her hands with his thumbs.
Brooke was distracted by his hands on hers. “In order to give those colors the relationship and the feelings would have to be different. Deeper.”
“Deeper? Does that mean that a fiancé could give pink or red roses?”
Distracted by his hands that had turned hers over and were now rubbing circular motions on the inside of her palms with his thumbs, Brooke slightly nodded. Moistening her lips, she said, “Yes; that would be appropriate. The pink ones could be given to a fiancé. Pink roses represent elegance and great appreciation or admiration. The red ones though, are strictly for love, true love. Maybe a fiancé could receive them, or even a woman you want to be your fiancé. A wife for sure could receive red roses—if you love her, that is. You really shouldn’t be giving red roses to someone that you don’t have a strong relationship with or that you don’t love for that matter. Because then she might get the wrong idea. She might think you love her, when in fact, you do not have that strong of feelings for her.” Brooke was oblivious of her rambling; she was too busy thinking about the way his touch made her skin tingle. During her ramble, his hands had removed her left glove and his fingers were dancing every so lightly on her wrist.
When his thumb grazed her wrist again, she shivered then suddenly jumped up and pulled her hands from his searing grasp. “Oh my, I think we should be going,” she insisted quickly, her words flying out of her mouth faster than a bird being chased by a cat. “It’s getting late and I don’t want Mama to wonder what has happened to us. She does worry so terribly much about us here in London. She says it is not as safe here as we’re used to back home. I don’t know if she thinks we are going to be nabbed right off the street or what, but she is ever so over cautious. Really, we must be going.”
“All right, I shall return you at once. We wouldn’t want to risk being robbed sitting here in this vacant part of the park,” Andrew joked, taking to his feet.
Brooke gave a light smile. She knew he probably thought she was a ninny; but the truth was that he was too distracting by far, and she needed to go before she embarrassed herself. She had never felt this way when any of the other gentlemen had touched her. What’s worse, he’d barely touched her in comparison to what some of them tried to do. With other gentlemen it tickled, or if they had calluses, they’d scratch her skin. But Andrew’s touch was different, it was hot and searing. It felt perfect.
So perfect, she knew she might do something she shouldn’t if she didn’t put a stop to his touching at once.
The ride back to her residence was for the most part filled with companionable silence. “I enjoyed our ride today. If you are agreeable, I would like to go for another tomorrow or the next day,” Andrew said, breaking the silence.
“That would be lovely,” she murmured. The she smiled wryly and added, “It will have to be tomorrow or in two days, because the day after tomorrow is Thursday, and I have my appointment at the modiste.”
Andrew shook his head. “You may want to wait a bit on that, at least until I grow you a pink rose.”
Most people would be embarrassed by his direct mention of their gaffe, but Brooke was not one of them. In mock irritation she exclaimed, “You, sir, could not be so lucky. I will be waiting for a red one!”
“A red what?” asked a voice from the door.
Both Brooke and Andrew turned to see Liberty standing in the doorway, her hands firmly on her hips. “Oh nothing, Liberty,” Brooke said trying to turn the attention off of them. How had they gotten back here so fast? “What are you doing outside on the steps?”
“Waiting for you,” she stated flatly. “You’ve been gone for more than an hour, without a chaperone I might add.” She sent a blistering stare at the couple. “See, even Lord Townson agrees, he’s nodding his head.”
Andrew was in fact nodding his head, but Brooke highly doubted it was because he agreed with what Liberty was saying.
Ignoring Liberty, Andrew helped Brooke down from the curricle.
“Lord Townson, I did enjoy our afternoon together and I look forward to going again sometime,” Brooke told him as a goodbye before this nonsense with Liberty could continue any further.
“I also enjoyed our afternoon, and I shall call upon you again in the near future, Miss Banks,” Andrew said, taking his cue and climbing back onto the curricle.
“Wait!” screamed Mama, running outside and looking all out of sorts. “Before you go, I wanted to invite you to dinner tomorrow night. I would be absolutely delighted if you would come and join us for our evening meal.” Allowing Andrew no time to agree or refuse, she quickly added, “We eat at eight sharp. You’ll need to be here a little early. Quarter till should be sufficient. We look forward to it.” She waved to Andrew and stepped back into the house. “Come girls!” she chirped.
***
Andrew blinked at the door the Banks women had just gone through. Without hinting or flat out asking, he’d just secured another approved meeting with Brooke.
At his townhouse he ate a brief dinner then retired to his study. He had all he needed there to keep him completely occupied, for about a half hour.
&n
bsp; He glanced at his account books; still in debt.
He picked up the newspaper; only crime and social scandals, nothing of interest there.
Ah, a stack of correspondence that had been collecting for more than three months and was about eight inches high. With a sigh, he thumbed through the stack. With the exception of a couple of letters from his mother, it was a bunch of nonsense.
He read the letters of interest and discarded the rest, then sat staring into the fire when he heard a knock at the door.
All too eager for the distraction, Andrew ran over to the door and swung it wide open to find a disgruntled Addams on the other side with his mouth agape. “Sir, I do believe it is the job of the butler, which currently is me, to open the doors.”
“Addams,” he snapped, “this is still my house and I will open any door in this house I wish. Now, what did you want?”
Stiffening his spine, Addams said proudly, “Sir, you have a guest.”
“Who is it?’ Andrew asked impatiently.
“His Grace, the Duke of Gateway,” Addams announced with all due pomp and circumstance.
Andrew groaned. Then quickly tried to cover it up when he caught sight of Gateway not five feet away.
“Don’t act so happy to see me, Townson,” Gateway said with a mocking smile.
“I’m always just ecstatic to see you,” Andrew said without any undue sarcasm. “Come on in.” He gestured vaguely into his study. He really didn’t want to invite him in, but it appeared he didn’t have a choice, the man was already in his house.
Gateway wasted no time. He made his way into Andrew’s study, poured himself a drink, and then sat down on a leather divan with all the grace of a hippopotamus.
Watching from the doorway, Andrew mumbled under his breath, “Just make yourself right at home, why don’t you.”
“I think I will,” Gateway smugly replied.
Andrew sat behind his desk, crossed his arms across his chest, leaned back in his chair, and just to show the duke how much he respected him, propped his feet up on his desk, with the soles facing the direction the duke was sitting. Finally, when he was comfortable, in a voice dripping with sarcasm, he drawled, “What do I owe the pleasure of your company to?”
“Miss Banks,” was his only reply, but it was enough for Andrew to know what he wanted to talk about.
“Yes,” Andrew said, raising an eyebrow and making a rolling hand gesture to urge Gateway to continue. When it was clear that Gateway wasn’t going to indulge him by saying anything more, Andrew offered, “I met her, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Good.” Gateway nodded in approval. “And?”
Andrew contemplated what to tell Gateway. First, he needed to figure out what Gateway was doing here. Was he here just to know that Andrew had started his work or was he here fishing for details? “I found her well,” Andrew answered with a sardonic smile.
“Cut the bull, Townson,” Gateway bellowed, leaning forward in his chair. “Do you think you’ll be able to pull this off or not?” His face had gone slightly red from rage and he looked as if he were ready to leap across the desk to strangle Andrew for his insolent manner.
“I do,” Andrew stated evenly. Years ago he might have been a little uneasy at Gateway’s manner, but not now. He learned fifteen years ago that Gateway was nothing more than a bully. But ten years ago, he realized that by himself, Gateway wasn’t one. Gateway enjoyed giving off the impression he was tough and in control, but really without an accomplice, he was harmless.
“Good. How soon?”
Andrew steepled his hands up by his chin as if he were in deep contemplation. “Hmm, I don’t know. Within the month, I hope. Perhaps sooner. Depends on how quickly I can get her to trust me. I know you want this done as quickly as possible. However, it won’t do for her to be unwilling. If I try to compromise her, which we both know is what it will take,” he said casually, leveling a murderous glare on Gateway, “too quickly, it will not be viewed as she was a willing participant. I don’t want this to look like I’m forcing her. Then, neither of us would get what we want.” Andrew didn’t want to rush because then it would be most likely viewed as a rape; or an attempt to rape anyway. Even though he was an earl and a peer of the realm, he was not above the law. Nor did he want rumors circulating that he was the kind to force himself on a woman.
Gateway’s eyes took on a new spark, a rather scary spark as it were. “So who is the lucky, or should I say unlucky, chit?”
“Miss Banks,” Andrew answered mockingly. He didn’t like this whole arrangement, and he didn’t like dealing with Gateway even more; so he had to take his fun where he could, and for now that was intentionally irritating Gateway.
“I know ‘Miss Banks’,” Gateway snapped, his eyes burning with fire. “Which ‘Miss Banks’?”
Andrew looked straight at Gateway and with a monotone voice said, “Miss Brooke Banks.”
Much to Andrew’s surprise, Gateway began to hoot and snort with laughter. This drew Andrew up short. He had never seen Gateway behave this way. What could he possibly find funny about Andrew’s selection? “Pray tell, what has you laughing like a villain in a bad play?”
“Oh, you’ll see. You will see!” was all Gateway would say. After he regained his composure, he added, “I suppose you’re going to start ‘courting’ her, then?”
“Yes, I am. I met all the Banks women yesterday. And I took Brooke on a ride in Hyde Park earlier today.” He leaned back in his chair to get a better look at Gateway’s face. “Oh, and did I mention that I have plans to go eat with the family tomorrow night?”
“Good, all good, Townson,” Gateway said and nodded. “You’ll be glad to know I’ve cleared your debt on that estate in Essex. I had no idea it was so much. Nonetheless, it has all been paid. The deed is waiting for you once I get notification that the Banks’ family has boarded on the fastest ship to New York.”
“You will be the first to know when they’re on their way home,” Andrew said. He folded his hands in his lap and started to examine his nails. “Well, maybe not the first, I suppose all of London will know at the same time. When the scandal sheets tear Miss Banks apart, that is,” he amended, fighting a slight twinge of guilt.
“I look forward to it,” Gateway said curtly.
Going out on a limb, Andrew mused, “I do wonder why is it that you are so desperate to have this family gone. They seem a decent sort. Did one of the sisters cut you?”
Gateway’s face turned rigid and he sprang to his feet. “That is none of your concern, Townson. Just do what you agreed to. Charm Miss Banks out of her gown and be done with it,” he snapped, making a hasty path to the door.
Chapter 6
“I cannot believe Mama invited him here for dinner,” Brooke said, looking around the most distasteful dining room she had ever laid eyes on.
“Brooke, Mama did not invite him. She trapped him. The poor man didn’t even have a chance to deny her request,” Liberty said.
“Liberty, I’m shocked you didn’t ramble on about how Mama handled the invitation being ‘improper’.” Madison added.
All three of them burst into a fit of giggles.
“She has a point. You take the proprieties all too seriously. You should relax a bit. If you did, then you would certainly have more fun,” Brooke told her sister.
“I know. I just want to be accepted. I don’t have Madison’s good looks or your outspoken personality. Therefore, if I want to get a husband I have to be able to show that I’ll do a good job doing the duty of a wife. Men here care about dinner parties and their wives being perfect ladies out in society. If I can prove to a man that I can do those things, then I might land a husband,” Liberty said as she pointed to the mounted squirrel on the wall that she wanted the footman to haul away.
“Dearest, you worry too much about catching a husband. You’re only nineteen, you still have plenty of time to find a husband,” Brooke reassured her. Then grabbing the footman by the arm, she said, “Stop. I t
hink this room is helpless.” Even if they removed all the mounted animals, most of the decorations and found some way to cover up the table, they would still have a hideous dining room. They couldn’t cover the sixteen dining chairs, or the carpet, or wallpaper. “This room is a lost cause, let’s just leave it alone. We can set up a small table in the parlor and have a cozy dinner like we did back home.”
Mama came into the room beaming. “That is a great idea,” she agreed. With a snap of her fingers and a few directives to the footman, a makeshift dining room was created in the parlor. “Why don’t you girls go get ready for our guest?” Mama said to Liberty and Madison. “Brooke, I have just the gown you should wear tonight. Meet me in my bedchamber in fifteen minutes.” With that, the girls were on their way.
Carolina hummed a merry tune the whole way up the stairs. Smiling wistfully, she sailed into her room where Brooke was already waiting for her.
Brooke watched her mother walk behind her dressing screen and come back holding a crimson red gown that had a silk bodice and sleeves, and had eight panels of velvet that made up the length of the skirt. The bodice was medium cut, just perfect for Brooke who had little in the way of a natural bosom. Brooke stepped closer to examine the embroidery. It had little rosettes all along the hem and cuffs, alternating colors: white, pink, and red.
“It’s beautiful,” Brooke exclaimed.
“It sure is, and you’ll look beautiful wearing it. Your cream colored slippers will have to do. I don’t have the original slippers to match it anymore.”
“Original? How long have you had this gown?” Brooke asked, running her slender fingers along the fabric.
“Longer than you’ve been alive,” Mama retorted. “I wore this dress the night I met Papa. And as I always say, it was love at first sight. I hope you have the same luck when you wear it tonight,” Mama said with a quick wink.
Brooke was shocked and a little unsure what exactly her mother meant. “But I’ve already met Lord Townson.”
“Yes, I know,” Mama agreed. “But maybe tonight he’ll see you differently and fall madly in love with you; not that I believe for one second he hasn’t already started down that path. Wouldn’t that be great?”