by Lavinia Kent
Not that a man with any strength of will would ever want anything to do with her anyway. Why couldn’t they finish their conversation and move on? Anna was starting to squirm, and he’d seen that look on her face plastered across many a young recruit right before his first battle. There were certain indignities that his trousers refused to put up with.
“I don’t mean to pry into your marriage, Rose, but did you tell Burberry what to do?”
Now this was more interesting.
“Well, no. Once I understood what was needed I would suggest and he would agree, most of the time.”
“Exactly, that way he got to think he was in charge and –”
Wulf imagined Rose gulping before she cut Lady Smythe-Burke off. “You make it sound so cold. I always wanted to do what was best for John. I never tried to manage John, at least not until the end, when he was too ill to . . . never mind that, what I mean is that John always wanted what was best for me; never once did he fail to put me first. If he let me run things, it was only because he knew it made me happy, satisfied me. There was no managing, either by one or the other of us.”
“Do forgive me.” Lady Smythe-Burke spoke more softly than he would have believed possible. “I know the admiral was an unusual man, a great man. I didn’t mean to imply that –”
“Let’s just not discuss it. My past marriage is over. I cannot go back to it, no matter how I might wish to. What concerns us now is finding me a new husband.”
What?
He hadn’t seen this coming, but suddenly everything made sense.
“Yes, of course, my dear Rose. So tell me, what do you think of Mr. Williams? I would confess to knowing little about the man, a most unusual thing, but I’ll try not to hold that against him.”
“He actually struck me as much more suitable than I had thought. He seems genuinely to care about his land, without taking it for an obsession. He was very ready to take my advice, and didn’t seem taken at all aback that it was a woman offering it.”
“Always important, but men can change.”
“He loves this shire, was drawn back to it by his boyhood memories. I don’t know his exact situation, but if he’s just purchased holdings he must be fairly comfortable.”
“What about family? I’ve seen many a perfect match spoiled by an ornery mother.”
“I don’t recall that he said. We were interrupted, you know.”
“Still say I did the right thing.”
“My biggest concern is Anna.”
Wulf felt the small body in his arms stiffen. He had to admit a certain frigidity had settled over him as well. He was afraid he knew where this was heading.
“The child?”
“Yes, I want to be sure I find a good father for her.”
Not a chance. She’d stolen his child and given Anna to another man once, and he’d die before he let it happen again. A half-hour before, he’d been prepared to leave – but now he’d held, talked to her. Anna was his, and he would not let another moment of her life be stolen from him. The thought caught him off guard, and he was still reeling from its implications, when Anna launched herself from his arms and out of the bushes.
“No. I don’t want another papa. You can’t make me take one. You can’t.”
Rose reached out to grab her daughter, but Anna was off, running back towards the house.
“I don’t want a papa. Papas are mean. I’ll hide and not come out ‘til he’s gone.”
Rose’s skirts twirled as she took off in pursuit of her daughter. “Please give my excuses to my guests. I’ll return as soon as I’ve attended to this.”
“Humpf. She spoils that child, I daresay. Just watch out. The little one will grow up not at all a typical society miss. She might even develop a mind of her own.” But Lady Smythe-Burke was at all distressed by the prospect.
She turned and started back towards the lake to rejoin the rest of the party.
Then she paused.
“Oh, Major Huntington, you’d best head back to the house yourself. You wouldn’t want anybody else to catch sight of that muddy boot and wonder what you were doing in the bushes . . . particularly with Lady Clarington still missing. I imagine that’s one bucket of worms you don’t want to tip.”
Chapter Seven
Rose settled on her wide, plump bed. She let her legs dangle over the edge so her feet swung two feet above the floor. She released a loud sigh and lay back on her elbows, staring up at the wide canopy. She didn’t say anything, just continued to stare upwards.
Finally she heard the rustle of petticoats from below.
“Are you going to tell me why you don’t want a new papa?”
No answer.
“I thought you’d be happy.”
“I am not.”
“So, you are going to talk to me.”
“No.”
“How can I know what you want, if you won’t tell me?”
“I don’t want a new papa. I like things the way they are.”
“I understand that, but I don’t know why.”
“I . . . do . . . not . . . want . . . one.”
Rose sighed again, but this time softly to herself. “Don’t you think fathers are nice?”
“No.”
“I am sorry, I can’t hear you.”
“No.”
“Still can’t hear you.”
There was movement beneath the bed and then, with a wiggle and a squirm, a mop of blond curls appeared.
“No.”
“That’s a little better.”
Slithering like a snake, Anna, made her way out from under the bed. She edged away and sat with her knees drawn up to her chest, refusing to look at her mother.
Rose slid off the bed until she sat on the floor beside her daughter. She was careful not to touch.
“I want you to be happy, my poppet. I just don’t understand why you don’t want a papa. Was somebody mean to you?”
“No.”
“Then why don’t you want a father? All of your friends have one.
“I . . . don’t . . . want . . . one.”
Rose had always thought Anna would welcome having someone else to love and care for her. It had been one of Rose’s principal motivations to remarry. She reached out and lightly stroked one of Anna’s loose curls.
“I wish you could tell me why. I only want you to be happy.”
“I am happy now – very, very happy.”
“Well, you don’t look very happy.”
It was hard to picture a more pitiful sight than Anna, her knees drawn up and forgotten tears still shimmering on her cheek.
“I am so happy. I am a princess. I have to be happy.”
“Oh. And why do you believe having a papa would make you unhappy?”
“You wouldn’t play with me, then.”
“Why, but of course I would.”
“No, you wouldn’t.”
“Oh, Anna, I will always have time for you.”
Anna kicked at the bedpost.
Rose frowned. “Why do you think I wouldn’t?”
“Because you didn’t before.”
“When? I’ve always made time to play with you!”
“When my Papa was still here. I cried and cried at night and Nanny said you were too busy, that Papa needed you. But, I needed you. You should have come. Papa kept you away. He wouldn’t let you come.”
“Why, Anna, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I was scared. There were monsters in the room. I called you. You were supposed to come and save me, and you didn’t.”
Rose closed her eyes and struggled with her feelings. She had always instructed Nanny that she should be called if Anna needed her, but those last days before John died had been so chaotic. She’d hardly slept at all, and, to be honest, she couldn’t remember now how much time she’d spent with Anna then. Had Nanny been trying to spare her, to grant her some little moment of peace in the midst of all the pain?
But Anna was only four now, a
nd it had been over a year since John died. How could she remember? How traumatic had her nightmare been, that she remembered it after all this time? Had it only been one night, or had there been many?
She inched closer to her daughter and began to stroke her back. At the first sign of softening she pulled the small girl into her arms. Almost instantly, Anna turned into her chest, burying her face as renewed tears began to flow.
“Shhhh, everything will be fine, my poppet. I won’t let anything hurt you. I didn’t know you needed me, or I would have come.”
“It was because of Papa that you didn’t.”
“No, my love. That’s just not true. Don’t you remember all the times we played together? You’d climb up on Papa’s bed and he’d read you stories. Don’t you remember beautiful Helen, and all the men who fought over her? And the maps? Papa would take out his treasures, his maps, and let you look at them with him. I am sure you must remember that. You liked the sea monsters that swam in the oceans.”
Anna was silent for a moment. With her face pressed into Rose’s bosom, Rose could not read her expression, but the sound of her thoughts was almost tangible.
“I do remember sea monsters. They weren’t like the ones in my dream.”
“You used to like to rub them with your fingers. Papa was always scared that the ink would smear, but he never stopped you.”
“He said I was pretty, like Helen.”
“Yes, poppet, Papa always said you were as beautiful as Helen, but he thought it was your temper that would start the war.”
“The prettiest.”
“Yes, you are very pretty.”
“I want to see the monsters.”
“Maybe tomorrow I’ll bring out the maps again. I know just where Papa kept them. I’d enjoy looking at them too. I didn’t think you’d remember so much.”
“Papa loved me.”
“Yes, he did. And you loved him. He always said you were his beautiful miracle.”
“Miracle. I like being a miracle. Miracles are good, aren’t they? They always sound good in church.”
Anna shifted in her mother’s arms and then just lay there, still. Rose knew she should return to her guests, but could not bear the thought of leaving her daughter. Anna had already learned that her mother might not always come. It was not a lesson Rose wanted to reinforce. Even after Anna’s breaths turned steady and the gentlest snort of a snore emerged from the rosebud lips, Rose continued to sit on the floor, cradling her daughter and trying to see the best road out of this mire.
There was nothing for it. He was going to have to marry the woman – the lady. Wulf bridled at the thought, although without quite the fury he would have expected.
He was not going to let his daughter call another man father. Twice now, he had lost the chance to love a child, his child. He would willingly die before he would let it happen again.
Grim determination churned in his gut. He would marry her. There was no other choice. Today, tonight, he would confront her and propose. If she were so eager for a husband, she’d certainly consider him. He might no longer have a title, or even the expectation of one, but thanks to his uncle’s generosity, he was well set up. Perhaps he would accept Holly House, after all. His mind flashed with the picture of Anna darting out from the high trees and running up the worn brick stairs, running home, to his home.
No. He would not let one decision influence the other. He would plan this campaign in slow, careful steps.
If Rose was willing to consider that other milksop of a man, Mr. Williams, then surely she’d be grateful for his offer.
Although the true nature of the party was not lost on him, anymore. Sir Barton. Sommerton. There were probably others. She was casting her net wide. Just like a lady, to approach marriage strictly from a business standpoint. He was surprised she hadn’t just opened herself up for bidding. There’d been rumors the previous year in London about some sizable wagers over who would bring the eligible widow back to the altar. And, judging from Lady Smythe-Burke’s comments, the betting continued. He’d just never considered that Rose would enter the game herself.
She’d allowed him into her bed last night, and this afternoon she was speaking of marriage – to someone else. He paced back and forth across his chamber. This was madness.
Madness. Yes, last night had been madness. He couldn’t stop his body from reacting to the thought, to the memory. He could still taste her, smell her, feel her. Only she had ever stirred his body this way. He’d tried to match these fires with others, to no avail. Something about her caused his blood to sing.
And the night had not fully satisfied him – there was still something left, some deep inner part of him, left wanting.
Blast. He’d make it clear from the start that he was only marrying her because of Anna. They would lead separate lives, except for the child. He pictured Anna, again, running wild and free at Holly House – if he decided to accept it. Well, Rose might insist on coming with the child.
That might not be so bad. He’d just have to be clear who was in charge and what he expected. He’d start now. Once they had this marriage agreed, he’d have her send all the other gentlemen on their way. He wasn’t quite sure how she’d handle it, but she was a lady, and they always had a way. Undoubtedly, she’d have them all heading home before they even realized they were leaving.
Manage. That was the word she’d used with Lady Smythe-Burke. Ladies knew how to manage. Personally, he would have used the word manipulate. Ladies were like black widow spiders, set in the middle of their webs, spinning traps around them.
She’d fooled him that first time. He sat in the corner wing chair and swung his legs up on the arm. He closed his eyes and let himself remember.
He’d actually considered marriage then, too, on that enchanted morning after. It hadn’t mattered that she was only a vicar’s daughter. He’d been only a soldier, himself. The magic of that night had been so complete that for one brief instant he’d allowed himself to indulge in fantasy.
Then he’d learned the truth.
No simple vicar’s daughter, but a lady like all the rest.
She connived, just like that other one, to get what she wanted, a night of betrayal and a child – his child.
He swung his feet down from the chair’s arm and stood. The time had come to reclaim what was his. He would not accept defeat. He strode to the door and out to the hall. He closed the door with barely a click behind him.
Rose stared around the room at her guests. Dinner had been a success – the turtle soup, delicate; the salmon, succulent; and the saddle of mutton, tender. Even the sweet, a Floating Island, had been perfection. It seemed the more courses you put before people, the better they found the food. She sometimes thought that, as long as you kept the servants circulating, you could simply have them bring back the same plates they’d taken away moments before. You’d have to give the dishes different names, though – a supreme de volaille aux truffes becomes capon aux champignon noire, a fricandeau a l’oseille becomes citrus buttered spring veal with herbs.
No, she took the thought back. It was only the difference in food that helped separate the nights. She felt as if she were reenacting the previous night. The guests had split into the same groups and the discussion had followed the same path. Horses. The weather. Town gossip. Cards. Fashion. Horses. The weather.
She’d forgotten just how dull society could be, and this wasn’t even London.
Even her headache was the same. The cause was different – last night’s had only been about Major Huntington, and tonight’s had the added joy of worrying about Anna. What should she do? It had all seemed so simple forty-eight hours ago.
Now, she’d compromised herself with a man who detested her, not without reason. She’d found little to recommend in all but one of her suitors. Well, she also hadn’t yet spoken more than a few words to Mr. Giddens. Her daughter hated her and didn’t want a new father. Lady Clarington was spitting thorns at anybody who got within ten paces of her,
and Clarington himself seemed to find the whole thing a joke.
She was of half a mind to announce that Anna had caught a severe fever, and watch them all scurry to make their excuses and leave. She closed her eyes and unwound her spine against the back of the chair.
The worst of it all was that she longed to spend another night with that dratted man. He’d lit a fire within her, and nothing she did seemed to vanquish it, not even the feeling that something that had been lacking, that degree of intimacy she remembered from before. Even as she’d sat there for an hour that afternoon holding Anna pressed to her chest, she remained uneasily aware of the bed, and all that had transpired in it the previous night.
“You seem rather distracted this evening, Lady Burberry. Not at all what one would expect from one’s hostess.” Lady Clarington had circled near, and the venom was loose.
Rose sincerely hoped that Marguerite was enjoying the company of Lady Clarington’s son, Lord Simon. It would be dreadful to have exposed herself to this for no purpose. It was hard for her to remember why she had invited them, anyway.
“Just a bit of a headache.”
“I’d ask if you’d gotten too much sun this morning, but you weren’t out long enough. Were you?”
Rose shook herself. She wasn’t quite sure where this was heading.
“I am afraid I don’t know what you mean.”
“I think you know very well.” Lady Clarington leaned close and Rose was overcome by her heavy, sweet perfume.
“I did need to return to the house to attend to my daughter. But, I’ve already made my apologies for that. I would have thought you, as a mother, would understand the demands our children place on us.”
“Yes, I would admit that a child can be demanding, but that is hardly an excuse for abandoning one’s guests. When Simon was young, I certainly never used him as an excuse to avoid my own responsibilities. Unless, of course, you had another reason for leaving us all to make do.”
Rose bit down on her tongue. She might not measure up to Lady Clarington’s exacting standards, but she refused to drawn into reciprocating a rudeness by questioning where Lady Clarington had spent her afternoon, and with whom. Her stomach clamped closed as she chanced a glance at Wulf, who stood across the room in discussion with Lord Jason Knightly.