by Lavinia Kent
“No, it is not possible. The wedding must take place with all speed. Even now news of Falmouth could be on the way. We will make the announcement tonight and tomorrow we will be wed. I think I will have Tris make the toast.”
She turned from him trying to hide her feelings. What had she been thinking a moment ago about how it might have been a love match? What a fool. How could she even consider marrying a man who didn’t listen to her?
She turned back to him, and looking him straight in the eye let loose with a list of colorful and vivid curses she’d been holding back since his arrival.
“. . . and that’s what I think of our wedding tomorrow!”
A loud chuckle escaped him, surprising them both.
“Ah, yes, you will make a fine countess.”
Well, at least she could look a countess. Rose pirouetted before the mirror, trying to decide if the dark green silk did the trick. She’d had the maid pull her laces tighter than usual and although she still was far from slender she thought she’d look presentable, maybe even better than presentable.
The color did bring out a flush in her cheeks, deepen her eyes. At least she could pretend it was the color of the dress and not the past hours she’d spent thinking about marriage and all it entailed.
She brushed her palms down the front of the gown, enjoying the way the latest cut hugged her breasts before draping over her more generous hips. It suggested rather than revealed. She studied the neckline, there were some things it revealed more than adequately. Still she was an older widow, and it did fall within the realm of respectability. She’d have to ask Marguerite’s opinion.
Marguerite, she’d asked her sister to stop by after dressing so they could discuss the night’s announcement. She didn’t want Marguerite taken unaware. If they were going to put an appearance of affection it would look odd if her sister was not in the know.
As if on cue, there was a light rap on the door and her sister entered.
“Oh, dearest, you look beautiful.” And it was true, dressed in the lightest of blush pinks Marguerite shimmered like an angel. Her golden hair was dressed in loose curls and matching ribbons. The high waist, which Rose had thought flattering on her own figure, was truly stunning on Marguerite’s slender frame. Her sister was breathtaking.
“I must say the same,” Marguerite said. “I don’t know what it is about you, but the last week you’ve grown more beautiful yourself, and tonight – tonight, Sir Barton won’t be the only one with his tongue hanging out. You really will have a dozen proposals by dawn, unless . . .”
“Unless, what?”
“Oh Rose, please tell me you’ve decided who to marry. When you called me here I was convinced that was it, and now that I see the high color on your cheeks I am even more convinced. So tell me, am I right?”
Oh dear, Marguerite was so excited by this all. She practically danced upon her tiptoes. How disappointed would she be to learn that Rose had put aside all her suitors to chose Wulf. Although how any woman, or girl, could feel disappointment when thinking of those shoulders, those thighs . . . She had to get her mind out of the gutter.
“Well, yes, I have chosen.”
“Oh, how delightful.” Marguerite danced over to her. “Do tell.”
“Actually, well, I’ve decided . . . that is . . . Major Huntington has asked me to wed and I’ve accepted.”
“Major Huntington?” For a moment Marguerite’s face clouded and then a wide smile spread across it. “How perfect. He is much better than any of the others, although perhaps a little forceful.” Her brow pinched again. “Not, I would have thought, what you were looking for, but then again . . . Oh, Rose is it a love match after all? I can’t think why else you’d have chosen him. He is a bit brutish, not at all mannerly like Wimb . . . Well, he is a bit big, if you take my meaning.”
“I don’t know what you mean at all. He’s absolutely perfect. Yes, he’s been a soldier for a long while and may have lost some town bronze, but that’s of little importance. He’s a good, honorable man and that’s what counts. And as for his appearance I think you must not have looked at him closely. He’s simply very . . . manly. That’s the word. He makes a woman feel like a woman.”
“Oh, Rose, you do love him.”
“Of course, I . . . do. Why else would I be marrying the man?”
So the lies begin. It surprised Rose how easy it had been to claim the emotion. She should have just explained to Marguerite that, while she had affection for the man, she had decided he would make a suitable husband. It would have been much more within her character, but the words had flown so easily, so naturally.
“Oh, you silly goose. Of course, you love him. I was worried with all this talk of lists, but I should have known that love would win. Isn’t romance wonderful?”
Marguerite twirled away. What had come over the girl? Rose would have to be sure that Lord Simon hadn’t pressed his intentions to far, clouding Marguerite’s thoughts.
“Yes, dearest, romance can be delightful, but be careful. The dreams of a moonlit night are not always real.” Neither were the dreams of a sunny afternoon.
“Don’t be such a spoil sport. I thought you’d be happy.”
Rose pasted a smile on her face. “Of course I am. As you said what could it be but a love match?”
“I am so glad. You had me worried for a moment. Was there anything else?” Marguerite inched towards the door, still prancing on tiptoe.
“No, dearest, that’s all. I’ll see you downstairs.”
Marguerite left and Rose sagged into the chair. She hadn’t realized how difficult lying would be. It would be so much easier to explain if they pretended to marry for convenience. It wouldn’t even be pretense, but the simple truth. A truth that could not be told.
How could she go down those stairs and smile and act like she’d never been happier? How could she ignore that a boy lay at deaths door and his father screamed silently in pain? But how could she not? She had a party to host and a commitment to uphold.
She lifted her chin and firmed her resolve. She forced a full breath into her lungs and stood. She glanced once more in the mirror, fingered the gold and peridot locket John had given her when Anna was born. She wrapped her fingers around it until the stones bit her skin. Life had been so simple then.
She nodded at the strong, proud woman who stood in the mirror and then turned and headed for the door, head high.
Eight tries and his cravat wasn’t right. Normally he didn’t care. A simple knot was more than good enough and if it wasn’t perfect, well, neither was he. Pasting on feathers didn’t turn a pigeon into a parrot.
He fumbled with the knot again. He only had one more length of starched linen left. Damn. His hands had five thumbs.
Not that he was nervous. It would be a straightforward event to announce his betrothal and smile. He would accept congratulations, and then get on with his life.
Nothing had to change.
Except he’d have a wife and a child.
He didn’t know which prospect was more terrifying. Yes, he’d had a wonderful time with Anna this past week. He’d never felt the contentment he knew when she was wrapped tight in his arms or leading him off to some new adventure. He couldn’t picture his life without her.
Even as he fretted over Peter and mourned the son he had never known, she filled his life with joy. Which all led him back to Rose.
He didn’t understand her. In so many ways she acted as predicted, the perfect lady, ready to wed him the moment he stood to inherit a title.
That didn’t sit right, though. He’d seen too many hints of something else, something deeper. He couldn’t forget the way she’d looked in the garden when she described her marriage with Burberry, or the expression of loss on her face after their fight in the library, and last night . . . he’d have sworn that she’d looked on him with utter compassion when he first explained about Peter. As he’d poured out the story of Clarissa, she’d given the impression that it was her heart breaking.
“Here, let me do that for you.”
Wulf spun as Tris entered the room.
“Don’t you ever knock?”
“Don’t you ever answer? Short of kicking the door down I am not sure I could have been louder. Lady Smythe-Burke glanced out twice. It seemed more appropriate to just turn the handle. I knew you were in here – alone.”
With a couple of deft twists Tris knotted the cloth into a series of cascading folds.
“Where on earth did you learn that? I’ve never known you to do without your valet – even if I gather you somehow misplaced the man in your hurry.”
“Ah, the sacrifices I make for friendship. As for the knot, well a man has to have some secrets. There are times when requiring a valet could prove most inconvenient.”
“If you say so.” Despite his previous mood, Wulf cocked a grin.
“I do, indeed. I must say that color suits you.” Tris brushed and imaginary fleck from Wulf’s sleeve. “I was afraid I’d find you in deepest black.”
“To be honest, I hadn’t brought any with me. I was lucky to have this. I didn’t come expecting to attend a ball. Speaking of which, where did you get that?”
Tris could only be described as resplendent. The dark blue of his jacket gleamed and his breeches of smoothest fawn showed not a speck of wear. Beside him Wulf knew his tired jacket looked like day-old pea soup.
“More of my secrets. They give a special class when you become a marquess. I imagine Westlake had even stricter lessons when he took over the duchy.”
“Yes, but I know he just leaves a complete wardrobe wherever he goes. You arrived on horseback without a single bag.”
“Secrets, secrets. I’ve never known you to even notice what you were wearing, much less anyone else.”
“Not every night a man tells the world he’s taking a wife.”
Wulf turned away, unwilling to display his confused emotions.
Tris smiled, but his eyes were somber. “I cannot deny that. Should we have a toast before we head down? We wouldn’t want to keep the ladies waiting.”
Wulf sloshed two brandies.
Tris took one and held it up. “To unusual circumstance and the ladies who put us there.”
Wulf paused before sipping. “Is that supposed to wish me luck?”
“I trust you to find your own luck. I am just always ready to toast to women.”
“You said ladies.”
“So, I did. You are wedding one, maybe you should consider getting to know her before you categorize her with all the others.”
“You forget I’ve known her for years.”
“Been acquainted with her, perhaps, but known her? I think not. I am not sure a man can ever know a woman. All we can do is try. Have you?”
Tris’ words circled through Wulf’s head as he swallowed the brandy and exited the room. Had he tried to know Rose? Did he want to?
“Will you marry me?” Rose jumped at the words. She’d had some misgivings about allowing Sir Barton to escort her on to the terrace, but this had not been one of them. She’d wanted to escape for a moment, not have a romantic tryst.
“Will you marry me?” He repeated the words more forcefully. He’d lost the look of a lost puppy and appeared more the wolfhound ready to sneak a bone from the table.
“I wasn’t expecting such a declaration.” She swallowed painfully.
His eyes widened and his tongue wet his already damp lips. He moved closer.
“I thought I’d made my intentions clear, my dear Lady Burberry.”
“Ah, well.” What was the polite way to tell one gentleman you were poised to marry another?
“I think we’d be well suited.” His eyes flicked over her low bodice following every breath, making her wish it were several inches, if not a foot, higher.
“I hadn’t considered the matter.” Rose tried to stop breathing and inched back.
“Stuff and nonsense.”
“What?”
“Stuff and nonsense, I am sure you’ve thought about it, girls always do. And there is the wager. If I win I could get you a pretty bauble. I am sure you’d like that.”
“Always do what? And what wager?” Rose had lost track of the conversation beyond knowing that somewhere soon she needed to insert a ‘No.’
“Women always think about marriage. Every gentleman they meet, they consider. It’s the way you’re made.”
He inched closer until their bodies brushed. Rose suppressed a shudder.
When it took a moment for her to reply he went on. “I know that’s what women care about, and it’s fine with me. I enjoy knowing a woman’s looking me over, while I do the same. If there’s money and sport involved it’s all the more enjoyable.”
He was staring straight down her dress now, and Rose was glad she’d worn a tight, if old-fashioned corset. It kept him from seeing all the way down.
“I am sorry, Sir Barton. I am not sure we would suit. Besides, my affections have been engaged by another.” That had been easier than she’d thought it would be.
“Sommerton beat me to it, did he? Did he offer you a share of the pot? He always was a quick one. Lucky man.”
Sir Barton drew back, turned, and marched towards into the ball without a backward glance. So much for being afraid of hurting him. He hadn’t even pretended a wound. And if there was one more mention of bets and wagers with no explanation someone was going to get hurt.
What a beginning to her ball, the dancing hadn’t yet begun and she’d already turned away one suitor. She leaned against the wall inhaling the first scent of the summer flowers. Did nothing ever go as planned? It always had before.
Prance, two, three. Prance, two, three. Wulf glared at the top of his partner’s head. What on earth was he doing on the dance floor?
“Really, Major Huntington. You should look more like you’re enjoying yourself and less like you’ve taken a mortal blow. If I didn’t know what delightful company I was, I fear I’d be much insulted.” Lady Smythe-Burke graced him with a nod.
“Forgive me, my lady. I meant no offense.”
“I am sure you didn’t, otherwise I’d never have dragged my tired bones out on the floor. Don’t know why they don’t hold these affairs in the morning when people are fresh. Never thought of it before, but really it would be most sensible. I’ll have to suggest it when I get back to town. The morning ball. I just might start a fashion. Not that I’ve needed to be fashionable.”
“I am grateful that you dragged . . . that is to say . . .”
“Quit while you’re ahead, Major Huntington. Didn’t you learn that in the army? Yes, I know you’re grateful I grabbed you before Lady Clarington did. Don’t think I haven’t noticed which way she’s been sniffing. Pity Lady Burberry disappeared before things got started. Most unbecoming of her. She should have waited until the dancing started. If I hadn’t talked to the musicians they’d have waited for her to return to begin. Don’t know what she’s thinking. You haven’t upset her, have you?”
“Me?”
“Don’t play coy with me, Major Huntington. I’ve seen you watching her. Man’s only thinking one thing when he gets that look in his eye. You’d better do right by her – regardless of what I stand to win. Still, not quite sure why she invited you to begin with. I thought the guest list fine the way it was. I could have warned her there’d be trouble if she didn’t take my advice.”
“Trouble, I hardly think . . .”
“That’s the problem with men, hardly think at all. It’s we ladies have to straighten everything out. You arrive, mess up a perfectly good plan, then when the poor woman’s moping in the garden, because a man won’t do the right thing, you dance like you haven’t a care in the world.”
Dance like he hadn’t a care in the world – the old biddy had dragged him onto the floor. And as for Rose moping, surely she was just taking a breath of air. Admittedly it was odd that she’d disappeared before the festivities started, but she should be rejoicing not sorrowful. She’d gotten
what every lady schemed for.
But, she hadn’t looked happy, not once since she’d accepted his proposal. What more could she possibly want? He would find the lady and inquire.
Rose’s eyes drifted shut as she gave in to the magic of the evening. The day’s clouds and drizzle had dissipated, leaving a clear sky above the lightly misted garden. She had stood here, in this very spot, on so many other evenings, enjoying the bounty of her labors.
She rested her head back against the cool stones of the wall, unmindful of her careful curls. She had not expected to be so tired. The emotional turmoil of the last day had left her drained. It was imperative that she rejoin her guests and push along the festivities, but it all felt like so much wasted effort.
The decisions had all been made, all that remained was the announcement. She should not dread it so much. If only Wulf liked her in the slightest. Contemplating spending the rest of her life with a man who expressed such contempt was not a joyful proposition.
Not that she had expected to find much joy in remarriage, but neither had she thought to discover biting pain. She filled her lungs with the garden air, warm, moist, full of life.
She would not give in to despair. She’d begun to admire Wulf in these last days, to appreciate the strong, secure man that he was. Surely with time he would come to see the same in her, to realize she had never acted from greed or the desire for social power.
Sommerton’s high-pitched voice intruded on her thoughts. “Excuse me, Lady Burberry. I noticed you were not leading the dancing and thought perhaps you lacked a partner. I would be most pleased to offer myself. I am most accomplished.”
She turned towards him, away from the garden. “You are correct, my lord. I have been most neglectful of my guests.”
“Glad you realize it.”
She blinked at him.
“My dear lady, I hadn’t wanted to mention it. But, it really was quite thoughtless of you to not take your proper place opening the dancing. It’s fortunate Lady Smythe-Burke was there to cover for you.”