The Marquess’s Hand_A Regency Romance Novel

by Rosie Wynter

  “Will there be many men present, there?” Rosalie asked. She had not paid the least attention to the guest list before now. Suddenly, she felt a little nervous at the prospect of having a number of unknown men and women to interact with.

  “Lady Jane has put this evening together as a kind of favour to me and to give you a suitable debut to our wider circle. With so many single ladies now returned to the country, I imagine you’ll be the one lone female in a sea of hungry men of means. I am certain my friend will have seen to it that the few other single ladies in town will either not have received an invitation for tonight, or will all be more than usually plain girls who will not compete with your beauty.” Lady Lynch puffed out her chest in pride as her back straightened a little more. She was very eager to congratulate herself on her great work, even though it seemed to be Lady Jane who had been pulling all the strings for this gathering.

  Despite only living across the street from her friend, Lady Lynch had orchestrated their leaving so that she and Rosalie arrived just a little after the other guests had been permitted to enter. She had manufactured excuses to explain why they should be waylaid. The object in arriving so fashionably late was two-fold. On the one hand, Lady Lynch confessed she hated being left bored at parties while waiting for the other guests to arrive. More importantly, though, their late arrival would help set Rosalie up as a centerpiece and ensure all eyes in the room were forced to take her in and to acknowledge her. This may have been a boon for her aunt, but Rosalie herself would much rather have arrived earlier and forgone a grand entrance.

  On arrival at the door, a servant admitted the two ladies and let them know that the party was currently gathered in the first-floor drawing room. He needn’t have wasted his breath as there was already a good deal of noise and laughter to be heard from upstairs, and Rosalie felt a knot growing in her stomach as she prepared herself for the evening ahead. She had vainly hoped that the guest list for this gathering might be quite select, no more than three or four persons. By the sounds emanating from above her, this did not seem to be the case.

  As she looked up the flight of stairs and felt the colour drain from her face, Rosalie heard Lady Lynch talking to her. She looked at her aunt glassy-eyed as her nerves truly set in. If Lady Lynch was aware of how she was feeling, she did not let it show in her expression or her words. She busied herself looking over her niece’s dress one last time, then leaned in to kiss her cheek, her lips brushing close to Rosalie’s ear as she did so. “Please do make sure not to make any mention of a certain gentleman tonight, not under any circumstances.”

  Rosalie found her nervousness effectively dispelled by her aunt’s final piece of advice. She was surprised her aunt thought she would go about declaring her association with Mr Farrell so freely amongst strangers. She followed behind her aunt then and began to ascend the stairs, paying attention to the pictures hanging on the walls and the various marble busts and other sculptures that were standing on pedestals along the corridor.

  The noise from the drawing room intensified, and a loud roar of laughter bellowed from behind the closed doors as the two women waited for the servant to admit them. The man held the door handle for a few seconds, obviously waiting for the laughter in the room to abate so he could introduce the newcomers with greater ease.

  At last, the door opened, and Rosalie forced herself to put one foot in front of the other and enter the large and ornate drawing room.

  Sitting on various plush chairs, standing about by windows and leaning on the grand fireplace mantle stood a collection of the finest and most well-groomed individuals Rosalie had ever seen in her life. She was more aware of the clothes on display than the people who wore them. The elegance and tailoring of the gowns and suits were beyond compare. Not a single thread was out of place, and every shirt, every dress, every jacket looked as if it had been made specifically for this one evening. She tried her hardest not to be intimidated by the magnificence of her company and reminded herself that she was dressed exactly as they were, thanks to her aunt. Even so, Rosalie felt something of a fraud who might at any moment be found out by these great people whose company she was not fit to keep.

  “Lady Lynch and Miss Curtis.” The servant made the introduction to the room, and all eyes moved to the newcomers. The men stood a little taller and gave polite bows as Rosalie and her aunt came fully into view, Rosalie offering a curtsey.

  “My dear Isabelle, it is so good of you to join us.” Lady Jane glided across the room as though she were a cloud. You could not even hear her feet connecting with the floor.

  Lady Lynch extended her arms, her gloved fingers meshing with the blonde-haired lady’s as they smiled warmly at one another. “You did not think I would miss an opportunity to visit my dearest friend in London?” The two kissed each other on the cheek before Lady Lynch pulled away and left Rosalie in the centre of everyone’s view. “We would have been earlier, but my dear niece was fretting over what to wear. I do believe she is most eager to make a good impression.”

  Rosalie blushed. Her aunt truly had invented a devious reason for being late. She could not contradict her, however, without appearing impudent and so offered a vaguely apologetic smile as she waited for her aunt or someone else to introduce her properly.

  Lady Jane seemed to be well aware of her function in Lady Lynch’s plan and immediately moved from her friend, kissing Rosalie just as intimately as she had her aunt. To the assembly, they must have looked like firm friends already as the woman took Rosalie’s arm and pulled her further into the room.

  “Yes, everyone, you must meet Miss Curtis.” She led Rosalie to a group of men, the oldest of whom Rosalie had to assume was Lady Jane’s own husband. The woman continued to conduct the introductions on Rosalie’s behalf. “Miss Curtis has come up from Bradford-upon-Avon to stay as a permanent guest of her aunt, Lady Lynch. I think it is perfectly sweet of the girl to wish to know her extended family so well.”

  “Oh indeed,” Lady Lynch agreed, coming closer. “Living alone has its own unique charms, but it is wonderful to find myself in the company of family again.” She sounded quite genuine in her words, but Rosalie was convinced her aunt was putting on a show.

  “Indeed, that is a very kind thing you are doing for your aunt. I can’t think of many young women who would give up the pleasures of the countryside for the stifling heat of the city in summer.” One of the younger men was already paying her a compliment. Rosalie smiled, failing to take in the man’s face as she felt quite overwhelmed by the attention she was receiving at that moment. Still, even if no man talked to her for the rest of the evening, Aunt Lynch could boast of having achieved more in one evening than her own mother had over two seasons in London.

  This was the first time Rosalie had been the centre of attention among a group of eligible young men, and also the first time she had been complimented by such folk; that is, if she excluded Mr Farrell.

  For the two hours prior to dinner’s being served, Rosalie found herself the talking point of the whole assembly. Her ears burned as she heard her name spoken in every corner of the room. Lady Lynch was busy talking about her with a pair of young men who stood by Lord Fitzroy’s side. Meanwhile, three other men seemed to be discussing her with some interest in the far corner. Rosalie was thankful for not having to speak with any of these men herself. Instead, she was invited to sit with the two other young women in attendance. Both girls were exceptionally pretty, but married, and thus of no great interest to the single men present. As Lady Lynch had predicted, her friend had seen to it that Rosalie was the only single young woman in the party. This made her feel quite vulnerable, though the two married girls she sat with did an admirable job of keeping her nervousness to a minimum. Speaking to the men in the room was also easier with these two young women present, and Rosalie soon found herself listening to a few of the assembled bachelors telling stories of themselves and their businesses, all while commenting on how fetching she looked in her dress.

  Only one ma
n in the assemblage remained unknown to Rosalie before the party sat down to dinner. She had garnered his name through the general introductions and conversation but had not had opportunity to hear the man speak for himself. He was, she was told, the Marquess of Oakham – Julian Wareham. He was a tall man of somewhat slender build and had a noble bearing that suited his rank. He had a head of light brown hair that was like summer wheat and which he had suffered to grow quite long. With the rest of the men all having exceptionally short and dark hair, this alone set the Marquess apart. Though he made no effort to introduce himself to Rosalie, she noticed his eyes alighting on her a good deal. There was a certain intensity to his gaze. His green eyes stared at her boldly, never retreating whenever their eyes locked. His lips curled in the slightest of smiles, but he made no effort to leave his position in the farthest corner of the room.

  The Marquess spent a good deal of time speaking to Lady Jane, and Rosalie noticed when one of the married young women, who had been sitting with her, drifted over to engage him in conversation. He seemed to be an object of fascination for all the women in the room, married though they were. He had to be quite a character as laughter and smiles always seemed to follow his words. As Rosalie understood from her new acquaintances, the Marquess was a bachelor, but, unlike the other young men who surrounded her, he did not seem overly concerned with making an impression.

  As the evening drew in and darkness finally fell, Rosalie found herself quite content in the company of Lady Jane and the rest of her aunt’s friends. Finding herself the centre of attention was not as unpleasant as Rosalie might have assumed. Unlike the parties she had attended during the London season with her mother, there was no need for her to exert herself in order to make conversation with any of the fine folk at the table. All of Lady Lynch’s friends treated her as if she were some exotic curiosity; all were eager to learn of her life in Bradford, her sisters and her own passions and interests. If, at any point, Rosalie wished to fade out of the company’s view, all she had to do was eat a little of what was on her plate and the others would leave her well alone, until she put down her cutlery once more.

  Of course, along with having to reveal all the minutia and details of her life, Rosalie had to pay attention to the gentlemen when they spoke of their lives in London. As she listened to their stories, Rosalie understood far better why her aunt had elected to bring her to London out of season.

  The men were all engaged in trade and kept their offices in London. Most remained in the city at the behest of their fathers and were subsequently robbed of their friends and company, while the vast majority of gentlefolk made their annual migration back into the countryside. Such small parties as the one Lady Jane was putting on were a meagre source of entertainment for such shackled gentlemen, and this made them far more eager to capitalise on any new company. Indeed, over the course of dinner, Rosalie found herself receiving multiple offers of company if ever she wished to explore the city. Two of the men even spoke of calling on her at her aunt’s home, if such a thing was agreeable to her.

  The only gentleman of the company who did not jostle for Rosalie’s attention was the strangely quiet Marquess. Rosalie did not know what to make of him. He did not seem at all uninterested in what she had to say. In point of fact, he seemed by far the most attentive of the young men at the table. It was his somewhat intense stare that suggested to her that he was carefully listening to her every word. She noticed he afforded all other speakers the same courtesy. He listened to the other men as they shared their exploits and was sure to make the occasional comment that kept him actively engaged in the conversation, even if he was only on the periphery of it.

  What was most enlightening for Rosalie, when examining the Marquess, was not how often he spoke but how often others chose to speak to him. After a short time of studying the ebb and flow of the conversation, Rosalie realised that the women in the party always seemed to direct their conversation in the Marquess’s direction. They were not inattentive to the other men, but his words and thoughts seemed to hold some special fascination for them. Even her aunt did not seem entirely immune to this behaviour. More than once, Lady Lynch made a special effort to seek the man’s good opinion and seemed to covet his compliments on her clothes above those of other men.

  It was just as the hour was approaching midnight that Lady Lynch made her farewells to her friend. Most of the other gentlemen and guests had already left, allowing the two women to congratulate themselves on a most promising debut for Rosalie. For her part, Rosalie was unsure just how she felt the night had gone. It was certainly a far more pleasant experience than she had anticipated, but she still felt a wave of relief to know it was over.

  As they stepped out into the slightly cooler night air, Lady Lynch wrapped her arm around her niece’s and leaned in conspiratorially. “Well then, my dear, I am most interested to know what you made of the young men presented to you this evening. They certainly seemed most interested in you.”

  Rosalie bit her bottom lip, unsure just what she was meant to say. “All, perhaps, except for the Marquess.” It seemed like a suitably neutral answer and one which didn’t commit her to having a strong opinion on any of the men she had met that evening.

  Lady Lynch laughed, the sound loud and echoing off the silent houses as they walked across the square. “Oh dear! So, it is Lord Wareham who has most caught your eye is it?” Her aunt shook her head as a cat-like grin set on her features. “Well, I suppose it is to be expected. Lord Wareham was by far the most handsome man there present, and I dare say this liking gives some comparison with your fascination with your Mr Farrell.”

  Rosalie blushed and pursed her lips, feeling teased by her aunt. “I did not say I liked the man, simply that he paid me the least attention over the course of the evening.”

  “Yes, and quite clearly this has left an impression on you. Now I feel as if I truly understand the type of man that fascinates you.” Lady Lynch held herself even taller than usual, radiating a sense of victory and triumph.

  Rosalie took a deep breath, unsure of whether to point out her aunt’s ridiculousness, or to let her have her moment. “Just what type of man is that, then?” She did not know if it was wise to play to her aunt’s odd ways, but she was still curious to hear just what the woman was thinking.

  “Why, you like men of mystery, of course.” Her aunt patted her arm almost consolingly, as though this were some sickness she was bearing up with. “You hold a candle for Mr Farrell because he has a dark past which he refuses to speak of and which you hope to unravel. And now, Lord Wareham has captivated you by being the only man to show some reserve tonight, when talking with you. Oh, dear Rosalie, I do not envy your situation. If only your stipulations for an ideal man could be as shallow as his eye colour and face.”

  Rosalie could feel her body tensing as her aunt spoke. She was surprised at the effect the woman’s words had on her, especially when she had just assured herself that her aunt could not possibly know anything of her heart. It bothered her greatly to consider that there might actually be a kernel of truth in her aunt’s words. Perhaps it was the mystery surrounding Mr Farrell that fascinated her most. Similarly, although she would not declare herself as enamoured of Lord Wareham, his own mystique had obviously made an impression on her. She felt as if she should say something to counter her aunt, but no words came to mind.

  “Well, moving our business swiftly onwards, I shall be sure to try and keep myself abreast of Lord Wareham’s movements over the next few days. It will be absolutely no chore, as I am more than usually fond of the young man myself.”

  Rosalie frowned. Was her aunt admitting an attraction of her own to the man, despite their difference in age? Not that it should have mattered, of course.

  Rosalie reminded herself that Lord Wareham was little more than a stranger to her. If she were to have come away with any feelings for any of the men she had spoken with that night, she ought really to have trained them on the men who had been kind enough to pay her a
ttention and who had fought for her interest over the course of the evening.

  Just as she was trying to quash the unusual thoughts that sprang to mind as she considered Lord Wareham, Rosalie found her aunt adding one last barbed remark that made her blush. “So then, now that you have found a new man of mystery to ponder over, are you still in a rush to see Mr Farrell?”

  CHAPTER 14

  Seated in her room, preparing for another day of being paraded about by her aunt, Rosalie found herself staring off in the direction of Lady Jane’s home. As she looked across the square, she bit her bottom lip. She was irritated, and she couldn’t decide who was to blame: her aunt, herself or Lord Wareham.

  Ultimately, Rosalie decided to lay the blame on her aunt. Although she had no proof to bring to bear on the matter, she felt certain that Lady Lynch had tricked her in some way. Simply by having planted the suggestion that Rosalie might have felt some interest in the Marquess of Oakham, her aunt had created a false attraction in her heart. However, even Rosalie’s justifications for her fascination with Lord Wareham did not excuse the fact that she had seemed to form some unreasonable interest in him. This interest was all the more maddening to Rosalie for two reasons: firstly, the fact that the man had done nothing to earn her interest was rather galling. More importantly, however, was the very notion that she had been in some way duped by her aunt, which grated on her acutely.

  As she arranged her hair, Rosalie tried to lift her spirits by considering that today’s picnic in Saint James’s Park would give her a chance to rid herself of her interest in Lord Wareham. As she understood it, he was certain to be attending the little afternoon venture, and this would give her ample opportunity to question the man at her leisure. She was quite certain that an hour or two in his company, drawing him out into real conversation, would reveal his mysterious facade to be nothing more than a plain and boring personality hidden behind a handsome face.