The Marquess’s Hand_A Regency Romance Novel

by Rosie Wynter

  “My dear, I hope you are not going to keep me waiting indefinitely. As thrilled as I am that you are taking great care and concern with your appearance, I am not especially used to being held up.”

  Rosalie smiled at her reflection. She could well take her aunt’s jibes today. Turning to the door, she called down the stairs, “That is because you live alone here, with no one to keep you company. That is why you asked me to come stay with you here, is it not, or should I tell the company we’re meeting that you really brought me to London in a bid to show my mother you are a more competent matchmaker than she is?”

  Rosalie smiled as she heard a definite chuckle from the stairwell. “My, it seems more of my sparkling wit and vivacity has rubbed off on you than I would first have thought. If only your dear mother could hear you talking back to me! Why, I dare say she would not know whether to be appalled or impressed by it all.”

  Rosalie sat a little straighter in her chair. As strange as it was to admit it, she was quite happy to be complimented this way. She had, indeed, grown quite a bit, to her mind. Her decision to stand up to her aunt regarding Mr Farrell had been quite a turning point in her life, as far as she viewed things.

  The shy, retiring girl who had spent two unfruitful seasons in London would never have done such a thing. Just thinking of this gave her a feeling of strength and reminded her, as well, of her promise to call upon that gentleman and his precious daughter when the opportunity arose.

  Dressed in a light and airy cream dress, Rosalie rushed down the stairs with a spring in her step. Her aunt did not try to dampen her spirits and seemed actually quite pleased with her niece’s attitude. This, in her view, was all for the ultimate good. If she could cure herself of her unexplained interest with Lord Wareham, keep her aunt in good spirits and secure a time to meet with Mr Farrell, then she would have had a most productive day.

  The carriage was already waiting for Rosalie outside the front door, and she quickly bundled herself inside, intent on getting the day underway in a timely manner. Lady Lynch entered the carriage in a more dignified fashion, shaking her head as she shot her niece a rueful smile. “Ah, to be young. I may have retained all the looks of youth, but I am afraid my bones and joints are already betraying me.”

  Rosalie smirked. She had the distinct feeling her aunt was putting on a show of rheumatism and did not believe, for a moment, that the woman suffered from any stiffness of the muscles. “Are you trying to make me feel even better about myself today, Aunt? Because it is not necessary.”

  “Oh,” Lady Lynch took her seat and leaned forward. “Has your new wardrobe inflated your ego so much already?”

  “No. I just do not need to feel superior to anyone else around me is all I mean to say.”

  Her aunt leaned back and tapped the roof of the carriage to signal the driver to begin their journey. “I take it, then, that you are feeling up to the challenge of trying to poach Lord Wareham from the sea of bachelors in the city?”

  “Again, no.” Rosalie was not sure if she enjoyed correcting her aunt so often or not. “I do not intend to poach anyone today. My program will be to speak to the man and see if he has anything useful or interesting to say about himself. Last time we saw him, his so-called ‘mystery’ came only from his unwillingness to offer much of himself in conversation. I am quite certain that, when cornered and forced to give account of himself, I will find him far below my expectations of what I would deem suitable for a husband.”

  “I see.” Lady Lynch’s face, a moment ago so full of humour and enthusiasm, became suddenly serious. “Are you actually hoping that you will be able to find fault with the man? Is this so that you can allow yourself the luxury of keeping your sights set on Mr Farrell?”

  Rosalie’s eyes widened, and she immediately sat forward. “I have never claimed to have my sights on Mr Farrell. I have never claimed to have my sights on any man.”

  “Maybe not,” her aunt countered. “Still, if you truly have no desire to throw yourself in the direction of Mr Farrell, why are you so keen not to allow yourself any kind of feeling or interest in Lord Wareham?”

  Once again, her aunt proved herself of keener mind than Rosalie gave her credit for, and she found herself shifting uncomfortably in her seat as she was scrutinised by that woman’s piercing, blue eyes. When she gave no answer to her aunt’s question, the woman pressed on. “Do you see yourself having some kind of future with Mr Farrell? When you take into account all I have told you of his situation, do you think of yourself as marrying into that ruined name and household?”

  “No, indeed I do not. I told you before I am only interested in extending the olive branch of friendship to that man. I know full well his past and his unfortunate position as a social pariah would make it quite impossible for me to form any kind of attachment to the man.” Rosalie felt her cheeks flush. All her anticipation and good feelings surrounding the upcoming picnic were gone. Instead, a strange lump seemed to catch in her throat.

  Lady Lynch turned her head languidly to the window, staring out at the city as though she had lost all interest in the matter. She took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. “Very well, then. I would have hated to go back on my word and deny you that visit you requested, for fear of your falling into an inadvisable romance.”

  The rest of the journey to the park was spent in silence. When at last they arrived, Rosalie found herself with no stomach for the rolling fields, the herds of cattle roaming the grassland or the small crowd of gentlemen and ladies who had gathered on a nearby hillside and who were waving cheerily at her and Lady Lynch as they walked briskly across the path. Her aunt, of course, was more than capable of holding her emotions in check and waved back at the gathered crowd with a cheerful smile that belied the tense exchange they had had in the carriage. Rosalie followed slightly behind her aunt, suddenly eager to draw as little attention to herself as she could.

  “Miss Curtis, you are looking very well today,” one man complimented her immediately.

  Rosalie knew that she did not look at all well, anymore. She might still be wearing a fetching dress, but her face was anything but pretty at that moment. Her lips were pursed and her brow furrowed in irritation. She had never gained the knack of hiding her emotions from others.

  “You think she looks well?” Lord Wareham, who sat in a most reclined posture on a blanket, turned to the other gentleman with an easy smile on his face. “I would say that with her face bunched up like that, Miss Curtis is suffering from a bout of hay fever. I will, however, concede that she looks very well despite it.”

  The company laughed at the Marquess’s playful joke, and Rosalie tried to offer a slight smile to him as she and her aunt joined the company and sat down.

  For a time, Rosalie was forced to entertain, in conversation, those same kinds of shapeless, forgettable men who had made the bulk of Lady Jane’s party of a few evenings previous. There was nothing altogether wrong with these people, but Rosalie found herself rather put off by the attention such men were giving her. It had not been so at the party, but now her mood was one that could not stomach listening to vain men talking about their business endeavours and fortunes in a bid to impress her. As she sat there brooding, nothing could be of less interest to her than the men sitting around her. Still, she had made promises to her aunt, and she had to listen as politely as she could, which meant nodding quietly to everything that was said to her.

  Lord Wareham, once again, seemed to circle on the periphery of conversation. A number of the women in the party had sat near him purposefully, Rosalie assumed. Still, none of these girls seemed able to draw him into conversation. Rosalie was not sure if it was her imagination or something else, but she thought she caught the man looking at her a great deal more than he had done at their previous meeting. However, just as on that previous occasion, he stared at her with an intensity that caused a flush to rise involuntarily to her face. For a while, it seemed as though all the man was going to do was stare pointlessly at her. Then, alm
ost out of the blue, the Marquess stood up, rising so swiftly it drew a stop to all other conversation.

  “I wonder, Miss Curtis, if you would perhaps wish to take a stroll around the park. My legs have gone numb from being sat down so long. If you like, I can test your knowledge of all you have learned of the other gentlemen here. I dare say you know their entire year’s business dealings and transactions down to the last penny, the way they have been wittering on.” A murmur of laughter came up from the ladies, along with a less enthusiastic set of laughs from the other single men. Lord Wareham looked to Lady Lynch at that moment and offered her a refined smile. “I trust, Lady Lynch, that if I promise not to treat Miss Curtis in the same manner I treat you on our outings together, you will not object to my escorting her through the park.”

  Rosalie frowned at the man’s odd choice of phrase and looked to her aunt, who waved a hand as if shooing the man away. “You are awful, Wareham, really.” She laughed and then looked at Rosalie. “I dare say she is in capable hands in your company, so I see no great objection.”

  Lord Wareham walked smartly over to where Rosalie was sitting and offered out a hand. It occurred to her that she had not actually given any affirmation to say she wished to accompany the Marquess on his stroll through the park, but she put out her hand all the same and let him help her to her feet. Lord Wareham extended an arm which Rosalie dutifully took, and he began to escort her away from the picnic blankets and down the footpath.

  CHAPTER 15

  Until they had wandered a good few yards away from the group, the Marquess chose to remain silent, and so Rosalie was forced to content herself with studying his face once more. He was even more handsome now that she saw him up close and in the light of day. His patrician features, the chiselled jaw and high cheekbones, made him look like some noble hero of Greek antiquity. His blonde locks seemed to add to this fanciful image Rosalie was building of him, and it struck her that he could quite easily be Hercules or Adonis reborn.

  “Forgive me if I kidnapped you from the party rather abruptly,” the man said, after they had made some distance from the others. “I feared that without my intervention, you might well have lost your mind listening to those men flaunting their wealth and circumstances.”

  Rosalie found herself smiling for the first time since she had stepped out of her aunt’s carriage. “Honestly, I am indebted to you for saving me as you have.”

  Lord Wareham nodded and continued to steer Rosalie down the footpath. He stared at the horizon with a contemplative look on his brow. When he turned, his eyes seemed to bore into her, and his gaze carried an intensity she had never felt from any other man. “If it is any help, I know how challenging it can be to have yourself paraded around as an object for sale, or to have a hundred and one relatives or interested parties all vying to play cupid, to find you a suitable marriage partner.”

  Rosalie bit her bottom lip and looked back up to the others, noticing that her aunt was watching them as they walked together. The smile the Marquess had earned from her remained on her lips. “Is it really so obvious that this is my purpose in being in the city?”

  Lord Wareham laughed good-naturedly and shook his head. “You have come to London out of season, so not many would guess you are searching for a husband. I might not have guessed it, were it not for the tell-tale signs your aunt and Lady Jane gave off at the party the other evening. It seemed more than coincidental that they were sure to invite only their unmarried male acquaintances to dine and to ensure that all the women were spoken for but the one newcomer to the city.”

  Rosalie laughed and shook her head. “I suppose, now that I consider it from that angle, it was perhaps lacking in tactfulness.” She studied the man’s face again, finding more and more that she liked about it. “Does your position as a Marquess help you sniff out desperate individuals such as myself? I hazard you must find a lot of single women trying various arts to win your attention.”

  “Indeed, I do,” he answered. “Still, of all the ways the women of England have tried to capture my heart, I must confess I find your method the most pleasing.”

  Rosalie’s brow knotted in confusion as she glanced at the man. “I was not particularly aware of having done anything to try and capture your heart.” She noticed the slight lift at the corners of his lips.

  “That is precisely what I like about your method. It is quite a fine thing to find myself in the company of a lady confident enough in her own self that she will not try to put on special airs or false personalities in order to impress me.” His compliment felt most gratifying to Rosalie, and she found herself looking away from him to hide that irksome reddening on her cheek that she could only assume was becoming more notable by the second.

  “In all honesty, I think I am guilty of having tried to deceive you.” She looked down at her fine walking gown, running her hand along the fabric. “My aunt has been most efficient in providing all the right aids with which to help me garner a gentleman’s attention. These clothes were all tailored to her design. I am sure that if you saw me in the sort of clothes I might normally wear, you would find me very unnoticeable and unremarkable. With this in mind, it is perhaps not quite true to say I have done nothing to try and garner your interest.”

  “I don’t know about that. Clothes are not the making of a woman, and it is important to look underneath.”

  Rosalie’s blush grew even more intense as she tried to decipher how she should interpret Lord Wareham’s bold words. “I shall assume you are referring to my personality and not something more inappropriate.” What was she saying? Rosalie had never before spoken so daringly to any man. The feeling brought up a thrill inside her that she had not felt before.

  The Marquess grinned back at her, his own face seemingly undisturbed by the turn their conversation had taken. He seemed to take it in his stride, and Rosalie felt goose bumps rise on her skin as he made a show of perusing her form appraisingly. “I most certainly was referring to inner beauty, though I am not averse to admiring physical beauty when I see it.”

  Rosalie tried to resist biting her bottom lip or to be seen to be taking in too deep a breath at his implied compliment. He certainly had a way with words, and she found it almost unbelievable that she was the subject of his admiration. Almost reflexively, she tried to find some excuse or reasoning for the man’s attention to her. “I am sure I am quite plain,” she said. “I am just fortunate that at present there are no other unmarried ladies to whom I can be compared.”

  Lord Wareham raised an eyebrow, the smile on his face becoming more benevolent. He stopped and turned about, directing Rosalie’s gaze back to the hillside. “If you look at the company we have been enjoying these last hours, I count five other women I might use to draw a comparison with you. I do not see how the wedding bands on their fingers should deter me from recognising their beauty when I see it. Mrs Finch, who sits near Lady Jane, is most fair; a beauty of elegance and swan-like refinement with that long neck of hers. Mrs Combes possesses a most healthy glow to her and round saucer eyes that seem to look out with wonder on the world.”

  Rosalie was interested to see the attentiveness Lord Wareham paid to the individual charms of all the women in their company. At the same time though, it left her feeling somewhat jealous. “And with such beauties surrounding you and vying for your company, just how do I compare? Is my one redeeming feature the lack of a wedding band on my finger?”

  Lord Wareham steered Rosalie about and continued to walk. “You must forgive me, Miss Curtis, but I think it is better to leave you in suspense on that matter for now.”

  “Why ever so?” Rosalie tried to keep her tone light-hearted, but she was honestly a little disappointed to not receive an answer from the man.

  The Marquess flashed her a smile that was both captivating and teasing. “Obviously, it is so I can keep you in suspense and have something I can use as leverage to persuade you to meet with me again the day after tomorrow.”

  Rosalie laughed and looked at him
in mock horror. “Bribery! To think a man of your standing in society would stoop to such nefarious means to secure an audience with me. I should be appalled.”

  “Maybe you should,” he agreed, the smile not leaving his lips as he ran his free hand through his blonde hair. “Still, I am hoping you will, in fact, be flattered that I would go to such great lengths to ensure I have the opportunity to see you again.”

  Rosalie could see just why the other women in their party seemed to compete for this man’s company. Aside from the fact that he did not seem to put any energy into boorishly boasting of his life’s achievements and honours, Lord Wareham certainly knew how to charm a woman’s ear. “Perhaps I am a little flattered, though maybe more confused than anything else. We barely spoke on our first encounter.”

  “I did not wish to overwhelm you when you had other men vying for your attention and company. More crucially, I wished to get a measure of you.” He was surprisingly frank.

  Rosalie unconsciously found her body drifting closer to his side as they walked, their voices now reduced to a conspiratorial kind of whisper. “May I know just what you learned of me, on that first meeting, or are you going to hold back that information, as well, to bribe me with in the future?”

  Lord Wareham laughed and stroked his chin, making a show of debating the issue. “I suppose I should be kind and grant you this little trifle.” His gaze became more serious as he locked eyes with her once more. “I wished to see what kind of unmarried woman you were. In my experience, there are only two kinds of single women in London. The first is the desperate sort. These are women for whom finding a husband is their only priority and interest, women who will throw themselves at the first passable-looking man who shows them any form of regard.”

  “I hope you have not found me to be in that category,” Rosalie said.

  “Certainly not. While I can easily gather that you have been brought to London to search out a husband, it is quite clear that you are unwilling to compromise your own ideals or desires in order to achieve a quick and easy marriage.” The man took a deep breath. “Such behaviour makes you something of a rarity among the women who travel to London, and I cannot help but wish to know you better.”