The Marquess’s Hand_A Regency Romance Novel

by Rosie Wynter

  “If Lord Wareham was determined not to appear at all controlling or possessive of me, why would he then choose to bring up the matter of Mr Farrell at all? He must have known full well that I could have taken no pleasure in it, so I can only conclude his words were calculated simply to tease or else cause me undue distress.”

  Seeming to have worked out the riddle Lord Wareham had set, Lady Lynch was suddenly a picture of calm and relaxation. She did not even bother to answer her niece straight away. As they had now come into the drawing room, she took a moment to sit down and make herself comfortable. She even turned her attention to one of the servants and ordered tea to be sent up to them. Only when she was fully comfortable did she continue.

  “If I understand the situation correctly, the Marquess had a pleasing day in your company. Certainly, he seemed in high spirits when I caught sight of you both. Perhaps it was never his intention to divulge to you that he knew of your acquaintance with Mr Farrell.”

  “So then why would he so suddenly blurt out the revelation like that?” Rosalie asked, her voice cracking with frustration at her inability to follow her aunt’s logic.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Lady Lynch chuckled to herself and seemed to hold off the explanation purposefully in order to enjoy her niece’s confusion for a few moments longer. “If my guess is correct, and they usually are, I would assume Lord Wareham has found himself developing a deeper liking for you on this outing than he anticipated. Perhaps as he came to realise his feelings for you, he could not help but bring up the matter of Mr Farrell. Most likely he is simply growing jealous.”

  Rosalie found herself blushing at the thought that Lord Wareham’s outburst had come from an unchecked desire for her. Although the portents of his words were still very grave, she felt a curious sense of satisfaction and pride at the thought of being the object of Wareham’s desire. She worked hard to dispel that feeling, however, so that she might concentrate more fully on the issue at hand. “You believe that he is encouraging me to rid myself of my association with Mr Farrell.”

  Lady Lynch shrugged. She seemed to be losing interest in the matter now that she had come to her conclusions. “Do not underestimate the simple role male jealousy is likely to play in this. However, Wareham has more justification to warn you off Mr Farrell than he would any other man. It would not do his reputation any good if his intended bride-to-be were in close acquaintance with Mr Farrell. A lot of people would raise objections.”

  Rosalie nodded meekly, biting her bottom lip as she tried to think through all the implications of this. “So, you believe Lord Wareham spoke only out of jealousy? You don’t think his words had any more dire meaning?”

  Lady Lynch raised an eyebrow and leaned forward in her chair, giving Rosalie a concerned look. “My dear, the situation could be considered quite dire indeed. It is highly unlikely that the Marquess himself saw you with Mr Farrell. It is far more likely that he heard of it from some third party. That alone implies my entire circle of friends is also aware of your dealings with the gentleman.”

  Rosalie had been so caught up in her concern for Lord Wareham’s opinion she had not even considered how others would view her friendship with Mr Farrell. Hearing this gave her fresh pause. She needed to consider not only herself and her reputation. She also needed to consider the effect this would have on her aunt’s social standing. “Will your friends make trouble for you on this matter?” Rosalie asked, hardly wanting to know the answer.

  “I have been a mainstay of London society for many years now,” Lady Lynch answered, somewhat imperiously. “You might even call me a gatekeeper to London’s elite circles. I am more than confident that no one will bring me to task for your having made one bad connection during your time here.” She paused then, her eyes narrowing as though in warning. “That being said, I will warn you, now, that I will not be divulging all I know of your business with that fellow to my friends. I fully intend to exonerate myself by declaring I have no knowledge of your having met the gentleman, and I fully expect you to co-operate in this matter with me. Is that understood?”

  Rosalie had come to know various shades of her aunt’s personality in the short time she had been with her, but this aspect was by far the most intimidating. It was clear that Lady Lynch coveted the social status she held in London above almost everything else and she was not going to let anything or anyone tarnish what she had built for herself, not even her niece.

  “I understand, Aunt Lynch.” Rosalie looked down to the floor, unable to look her aunt squarely in the face. It came as a relief to her when the drawing-room door was suddenly opened and a servant entered carrying a silver tray with teapot and cups. Rosalie took these few moments to reconsider her position. Her stay in London was entirely dependent on Lady Lynch’s continued charity. She could easily imagine herself being sent back home to Bradford-on-Avon if she proved herself too great a liability or an embarrassment to her aunt. This knowledge, coupled with Mr Farrell’s warnings of what might befall her should she insist on continuing her association with him, contributed to her reconsideration of her position. Lord Wareham was not only a nobleman but a man possessed of wit and intrigue. She was quite enamoured of him and felt no desire to deny this truth. Although far too prudent to declare herself in love, she was quite willing to accept that Lord Wareham represented the first real chance of a happy and fruitful marriage. There could be no such happiness with Mr Farrell, and there was little she could do to change that. Were she to choose Mr Farrell, it could threaten her entire family’s future, and her first responsibility was to them. A marriage to the Marquess would open many doors and opportunities for her sisters. When she considered this responsibility to her sisters, alongside her own liking for the Marquess, there was only one thing to be done.

  As soon as the servant had finished pouring the tea and left the two women alone to their conversation, Rosalie took a deep breath. She held the handle of her porcelain cup tightly as she spoke. “I promise you, Aunt, it has never been my intention to hurt your reputation in any way. I cannot say I will ever fully approve of Mr Farrell having to continually suffer at the hands of those you call friends, but I am sensible that you can do little about this and that I really do know far less of the situation than I would like.”

  Lady Lynch had been stirring her tea and looking down into her cup as she listened to her niece. “Does this mean that you are finally going to follow my advice? Am I to understand that you are going to put an end to your furtive meetings with Mr Farrell, now you see the dangers that association poses for you?”

  Rosalie hesitated for a moment, with a lump in her throat; a lump that threatened her ability to speak clearly. She took a tentative sip of her tea, then spoke in a voice that didn’t seem her own. “Yes, Aunt Lynch. That is what I mean to say. After today, I will never call on Mr Farrell again. But, with your permission, I would like to write to the man and his daughter one last time.” Her aunt opened her mouth as if to speak, but Rosalie denied her aunt the chance of making any objection by quickly continuing. “I know you would prefer it, by far, if I were to simply cease any contact with him immediately, and give no reason or explanation to him. But, Aunt, please remember that he did me a great kindness on my first day in the city. Regardless of his past, he has treated me with nothing but consideration and kindness. Surely you can agree that, in this instance, I should be able to extend him the common courtesy of a proper goodbye?”

  Lady Lynch made a strange, rumbling sound as if struggling to cough or suppress a cry of annoyance. She did not seem at all happy with this one request. Even so, she could hardly refuse, when it meant extorting a promise from her niece never to have contact with Mr Farrell again.

  “Very well, Rosalie. I will grant you this one last foolish indulgence, after which I expect to hear no more of Mr Farrell or his daughter. I trust that after this, we can set ourselves wholly to the task of expanding on the pleasing progress you have made with the Marquess. Believe me, girl, if you should be so fortunate
as to secure his heart, I am certain that you will thank me, one day, for what I am making you do here.”

  Perhaps her aunt was right. Rosalie had already accepted that she had a strong liking for Lord Wareham. Should she be so fortunate as to have her budding feelings accepted and returned, it was more than conceivable that she could grow to accept the importance of forgoing her friendship with Mr Farrell. However, in the present moment, the lump in her throat remained, and Rosalie felt sick at the thought that she may have betrayed Mr Farrell and Abigail with her decision.

  For the remainder of that day, Rosalie was given total privacy and the rare use of Lady Lynch’s office in which to write her final message to Mr Farrell.

  It was not an easy letter to write, and Rosalie found herself laying down her quill more than once and rolling half-finished drafts into paper balls in her irritation. Try as she might, she could not find the right words to say that would justify her actions and give her peace of mind and confidence that she was doing the right thing. Equally important was her desire to stress to Mr Farrell that this decision had not been made lightly. She wanted him to know that she still held him in high regard, and, were it not for the circumstances set against them, she would never consider passing up on the opportunity of deepening their friendship. No matter how she tried, the words never seemed to come quite to her satisfaction.

  One draft, in particular, was worse than the rest. She had been quite unguarded while writing, and the words and sentiments poured out on the page surprised her as she read them back.

  “It seems monstrously unfair that the short time we have spent together has been coloured so greatly by how others view you. I must confess that the deeds of your past have played greatly on my mind over these last weeks, and I wish that you might have trusted me with the truth of the matter, or at least your account of the events in question. I desire so greatly to think as well of you as I did when you and your daughter first came to my rescue in Hyde Park. You were a knight in shining armour to me, and your deeds and actions forbid me from ever thinking you capable of the crimes others have laid at your door. Nothing could have prepared me for my aunt’s reaction when she saw me in your company that first day. Although girlish and naïve of me, up to that moment, a part of me was enraptured by your kindness and attention. I remember thinking, even then, that I would be extremely lucky to marry any man of your quality...”

  It was at that point that Rosalie threw down her quill and was forced to rise from her chair and walk away from the desk. What she was saying, what she was confessing, was close to a declaration of love. She could not allow herself to write of such feelings for Mr Farrell, not when she had the attention and interest of a Marquess. As she stared at her own words, Rosalie told herself she was perfectly happy with Lord Wareham’s affection. She had always prided herself on being a woman of sense, and nothing was more sensible than an advantageous marriage to a duke’s son. So why, she asked herself, knowing all these truths, did she still find it so difficult to write the letter?

  The answer was simple: a part of her heart had grown too fond of Peter Farrell.

  CHAPTER 19

  Over the next three days, it became clear to Rosalie that her aunt had entered a new phase of operations. As long as a romance with Lord Wareham remained a distinct possibility, all outings that could be cancelled without causing offence were cancelled so that Rosalie could devote more of her time to the Marquess. During those engagements that could not be avoided, Rosalie was instructed to distance herself from the young men in their company, unless of course, Lord Wareham should be present. In this eventuality, she was to stick to his side as faithfully as his own shadow. Rosalie found no hardship in obeying either of these orders. Her regard for Lord Wareham had continued to grow over the past few days, and she certainly had no interest in any of the other men who tried to solicit her company.

  For the first time since coming to London as her aunt’s pet project, Rosalie found herself quite content to obey the edicts of her Aunt Lynch, since they married so nicely with her own perceived wants and desires.

  On the matter of Mr Farrell, it seemed that all in Lady Lynch’s circle were nothing but keen to ignore the matter. No one made reference to it in conversation, either to Lady Lynch or to Rosalie, and it seemed as though the whole issue was being treated as some unfortunate accident to be politely forgotten.

  What saved Rosalie, in the matter, was her ignorance when it came to the city and its people. Folk accepted that she could not have been expected to know of Mr Farrell’s nefarious past, and she was, therefore, able to earn herself a pardon for having fallen into his company. Rosalie knew she should be content with how matters had turned out. However, it was the very lack of conversation or acknowledgement of her dealings with Mr Farrell that left her feeling uneasy. The attempts by her aunt, by her friends, and even by Lord Wareham to ignore the issue simply brought the matter into sharper relief for her.

  Beyond the matter of Mr Farrell, there was one other issue that marred Rosalie’s time with Lord Wareham. It was an issue she had noticed during her first few meetings with him and which she was disappointed to see continually displayed during her more recent encounters with the man.

  Sitting in the corner of a crowded room, with Aunt Lynch at her side, Rosalie drew in a sharp breath and tried not to give any indication that her sights were trained on the other end of the hall, where Lord Wareham was in conversation with the wife of one of his many friends. Despite the pretty young bride hanging on to her husband’s arm, dutifully, Rosalie noted the way she seemed devoted to Wareham, taking in his every word, laughing at his every joke as if it were the funniest ever told. Rosalie could not deny that Wareham was captivating in his speech. She could even accept that it was not unreasonable for the woman to enjoy his conversation and banter. Nevertheless, something about the scene bothered her. Too often had she been forced to watch women, both married and unmarried, fawn on him.

  Feeling a weight suddenly pressing on her arm, Rosalie was forced out of her contemplation and looked to her aunt, who now lent conspiratorially into her. “You do not seem best pleased, right now. I would have thought this party would see you at your most content, what with Lord Wareham being in attendance.”

  Rosalie turned her eyes to Wareham again, her face twisting into a frown as the woman he spoke to once again burst into laughter and playfully extended a hand to lightly shove the Marquess. The woman seemed more than happy to behave in an over-familiar manner with him, and neither Wareham nor the woman’s own husband seemed to bat an eyelid.

  “I have been thinking about something you said,” Rosalie replied, after a moment’s reflection. “When we met with the Marquess for the second time, during that picnic, you implied that you were quite fond of him and mentioned that he always seemed to pay you pleasing compliments.”

  Lady Lynch looked across the room to Lord Wareham. Rosalie thought she detected a certain wistfulness on her aunt’s face as she looked at him. “Oh yes. Lord Wareham is certainly a charmer. His silver tongue alone could enrapture almost any woman. Couple that with his handsome looks and title, and he really is the ultimate threat.” Lady Lynch let out a sigh, and Rosalie wondered if, in some measure, she too had been brought under the Marquess’s spell.

  “I do not know if I like that part of him,” Rosalie admitted. She had to summon up her courage when she spoke, fearing her aunt would scold her if she displayed signs of dissatisfaction when it came to Lord Wareham.

  “Is that so?” As so often happened in their conversations, Lady Lynch’s voice suddenly and inexplicably took on an amused tone. It was as though she could anticipate the entire dialogue between them and knew in advance all that Rosalie would say. Perhaps she did. Lady Lynch sat a little straighter, using an air of business-like solemnity to full effect. “If I were to make a calculated guess, I imagine it is the fact that right now his silver tongue is being enjoyed by another woman that has you so riled.”

  Rosalie hated her aunt’s a
bility to read her so well, and she almost wished to deny the fact. However, listening to the laughter of the married woman Wareham was indulging set every one of Rosalie’s nerves on edge. Jealousy and uneasiness threatened to overtake her. “Perhaps I would not mind if it were not for the fact that this seems so frequent an occurrence. At almost every social venue, or even when we walk out together, we seem to run across some couple Lord Wareham knows, and always I find him paying pretty compliments to the lady as she, in turn, seems to forget her husband and flirt with him, as though she were still a single woman. It seems to be the way of every woman in the city.”

  Lady Lynch nodded. She put her hand over her niece’s and patted it reassuringly. “My dear, on this matter you must learn simply to develop a thicker skin. Lord Wareham is an extremely confident man and easy with his compliments to others. At worst, they amount to nothing more than innocent little flirtations. He would not risk his name and reputation by engaging with any of these women. Indeed, it is likely the very fact that these women are married that allows him to feel safe and secure in offering his compliments and taking notice of them. Likely he feels safer in their company, knowing that they will not misconstrue his compliments as something more.”

  Rosalie swallowed. In many respects, her aunt was right. Nearly all the women she had observed Wareham behaving so daringly toward were either married or already engaged. In all important respects, such flirtations could very easily be seen as harmless as they could go nowhere and were so often conducted in public and in plain sight of the ladies’ husbands. As she thought uncomfortably on this, Lady Lynch chose to continue dispensing her advice.