by Rosie Wynter
“I know that in the country people like to cling to the rigid moral code laid down by preachers in the pulpit, but things are different here in the city. We are living in the nineteenth century, for heaven’s sake, not the Dark Ages. People are far more tolerant when it comes to expressing their feelings for one another than they once were. If you think Lord Wareham’s behaviour shocking, simply trading a few innocent compliments here and there, you would likely fall into a faint if I told you of the legendary gossip surrounding some other members of the peerage.”
Rosalie understood that her aunt was trying to put Lord Wareham’s actions into perspective. When considered next to the crimes of passion of which Mr Farrell was said to be guilty, Wareham’s over-friendly banter with other women could scarcely be considered more than a trifle and not worth her indignant reaction.
“You know, if it will help you to feel any better, you should consider that you are the first young woman in whom Wareham has shown enough interest to openly court. I can guarantee that any jealousy you feel towards these women is felt doubly by those same ladies. More than a few of them only settled on their husbands after begrudgingly letting go of their feelings for the Marquess, and they likely all resent your success. Surely you can put aside your qualms when you think of that.”
Rosalie could not deny that there was a certain pleasure to be had in believing herself superior to these other women in Lord Wareham’s mind. It was not enough, though, to lessen the sting of seeing him continually seeking the attention of these other women.
“Of course, you could always set your mind at ease by rising to the challenge of preventing Lord Wareham’s attention from drifting elsewhere. After all, you can’t expect him to stand alone in the corner of the room and not seek company. Neither is it right that he should forever be the one to instigate conversation with you. Why don’t you just go over there and bring the man’s attention back to you?” It was as much an order as it was a question, and Rosalie recognised the truth of her aunt’s words. Though she was enamoured of Lord Wareham, and believed him to share the same regard, it was unreasonable to expect him to put all the effort into their supposed courtship.
Rosalie did not answer her aunt verbally but stood up and walked across the floor, trying to avoid making eye contact with the other single men who patrolled the room like sharks, and who still seemed to hold to the idea of stealing her interest.
Lord Wareham, it appeared, was aware of her presence in the room and excused himself from the couple he spoke with when he noticed Rosalie walking toward him. As he did so, the young woman he had been entertaining pouted and shot Rosalie a jealous look.
Rosalie gave a somewhat perfunctory smile as she drew beside the Marquess, unable to hide the slight annoyance which lingered in her expression. She gave him a polite nod and took a deep breath. “You seem to be very much enjoying yourself this evening, sir.” Her tone was almost accusatory. “It seems that no matter where in this city you go, there is always some woman or another who knows you and desires your ear.”
There was an edge to Rosalie’s voice. She didn’t mean there to be, but she was unable to hide it. Lord Wareham could not have failed to noticed her annoyance, but he seemed undeterred by it and gave her his usual, radiant smile. “My, my! Is it possible, Miss Curtis, that you have some objection to the company I keep?”
Rosalie was silent for a moment, unsure as to whether to be honest with Wareham or not. It was just possible that the truth might harm their budding courtship. But, on consideration, that seemed an acceptable price to pay when looking to ensure she would find the right sort of husband. Even marriage to a Marquess could prove intolerable if his attentions and desires were always focused elsewhere. “I have been taking in all that you have said to me, and all that you do, but I cannot help but notice the extra attention you appear to give to the other women of your acquaintance.” Possibly, for the first time in her knowing the Marquess, Lord Wareham seemed to falter. He glanced back at the woman he had been conversing with, Rosalie’s words taking on greater weight when it was immediately noticeable that the lady was still staring forlornly in his direction.
“Surely, Miss Curtis, you do not believe that I have any kind of design on women such as her?” he blustered. “If I am in any way over complimentary or too familiar, it is only the product of my general nature and nothing you should fear. I can assure you that I refrain from engaging the single ladies in the city in such conversation. I feel more at ease among the married ladies. With them, there is no way in which my manners can be misconstrued, nor read as anything more than simple banter and friendliness.”
Rosalie took a moment to digest his words. His answers were very much like the views expressed by her aunt. The fact that all the women he spoke to so intimately were married seemed, at least in his view, to excuse him entirely. Perhaps it was simply the culture of the city, the morality of London being that much more relaxed and tolerant of dubious behaviours and excesses. It seemed that the only true crime among the social elite was in causing offence to those of a higher social station than oneself. This seemed to be the true crime of which Mr Farrell had been pronounced guilty. Even if he had fathered his daughter out of wedlock, Rosalie wondered if he would have been so maligned if it were not for the fact that his actions had hurt Lady Georgiana and earned him the ire of her influential father.
Lord Wareham spoke again, interrupting Rosalie’s thoughts, when she failed to give him a direct answer. The way he leaned in towards her now brought her attention fully back to him and was enough to dispel the thoughts of Mr Farrell which had momentarily taken over her mind. “I can see this is an issue that bothers you, and it was certainly not my intention to appear fickle in my attention towards you, particularly when I know you have done so much to distance yourself from the other men of the city for my benefit.” While he had not specifically mentioned Mr Farrell by name, Rosalie felt that he was definitely alluding to him.
“I am glad you understand my position,” she answered diplomatically.
“I do, Miss Curtis, and I think your honest words do you great credit. Although I had never noticed it, I can see how you could have misconstrued my manners and actions. It pains me to think that I have caused offence or left you in doubt of my affection and high regard for you. Although unorthodox, perhaps it is time for me to make clear to you, and to the world, my intentions in a way that no one could mistake.”
Rosalie’s eyes widened in shock as the meaning of Lord Wareham’s words became clear. In the presence of the whole assembly, and with several ladies looking on in envy, Lord Wareham stepped back from Rosalie and bent down on one knee before her. Rosalie gave a panicked look toward her aunt. Lady Lynch appeared just as surprised as Rosalie by this sudden turn of events but was far quicker and more accomplished in recovering her faculties. She nodded encouragement to Rosalie, her eyes seeming to prompt her niece to focus her attention on the Marquess.
Of course, it was not just Rosalie and her aunt who were caught off-guard by the unfolding events. The entire room had been brought to a standstill, and everyone fell silent as they watched expectantly. The men wore knowing smiles, while the expressions on the ladies’ faces seemed to vary greatly, some appearing disappointed, others angry, and still more simply confused by the Marquess’s sudden and unexpected move.
In many respects, the sight of Lord Wareham on bended knee did more to unsettle Rosalie than provide those feelings of happiness or joy she really ought to have experienced at such a moment. Wareham took his time, looking around the room before speaking, as if checking that the entire audience was ready for him. “Miss Curtis, over the last few weeks you have enchanted me with your keenness of mind, your singular beauty and your unspoiled goodness. You are a marvel and a wonder to me. Although we have only known each other for a short time, I feel I must obtain an answer to my desires before some other man should threaten my happiness and steal your heart. With that in mind, would you consent to make me the happiest man in Lon
don, nay the whole country, and agree to be my wife?”
These were words Rosalie knew she should have longed to hear. For weeks now, she had put herself to the task of winning Lord Wareham’s heart and knew that she desired his affection. Yet, being asked so suddenly, and in front of so many people, to marry him was enough to banish the feelings she held. Instead, all she could focus on were the eyes of the others watching her, their expectant glances variously positive and resentful. Something about the proposal being made so publically bothered her greatly, and she found herself completely unable to enjoy the moment.
The silence in the room held as both Lord Wareham and the assembled crowd looked to Rosalie for an answer. The more she focused on the eyes of the spectators, the more she struggled to answer the question. Her face was growing hot and flushed, and she bit her lip as she tried to summon the words to say. Unprepared as she was, there was no hope of her saying anything so eloquent as Lord Wareham, although, in all likelihood, she would be forgiven for keeping her answer simple. Rosalie closed her eyes and took a series of deep breaths. The Marquess’s proposal had come earlier than she could have ever anticipated and was being offered in a way which she truly did not care for. Even so, the important thing was that she had secured a proposal from the one man in London her family had permitted her to like.
Rosalie’s eyes were closed, yet she felt someone reach for her hand and caress her skin tenderly. It was a most intimate touch and one which brought her fully back to her senses. She opened her eyes to look down at the Marquess. He looked up at her with hope in his eyes and a smile on his face. As always, his confidence triumphed, although Rosalie thought she noticed a slight quivering as he held her hand in his.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Rosalie!” Lady Lynch broke the hush in the room. “I am sure you are trying to savour this moment, but please, do not leave us in suspense!”
The crowd erupted into a somewhat forced chuckle as all the onlookers tried to fill the void Rosalie had created through her silence. She knew Aunt Lynch was working to buy her time, making her delay appear not at all suspicious. She could, however, wait no longer. She forced a smile, trying to put all the spectators from her mind, and focused only on Lord Wareham himself.
“Of course I will marry you.” She spoke in a deliberate and slow manner, her voice quiet enough that some of the gathered spectators could not be quite sure if she had spoken. The Marquess had heard it, however, and immediately rose to his feet, wrapping his arms around Rosalie in an embrace before lifting her off the floor and spinning her around. This action took her completely off guard, and she let out a squeal. What happened next somehow seemed to make the whole ordeal worthwhile.
As Lord Wareham brought Rosalie back down to the ground, he leaned in and kissed her. It was not at all a chaste kiss. His lips pressed against hers with a certain urgency and hunger. It was Rosalie’s first kiss, and it took her as much by surprise as the proposal itself. It felt wonderful, and, for a moment, she was able to even forget the spectators in the room as she let herself enjoy the sensation of her first kiss with her fiancé.
CHAPTER 20
One of the strangest expectations that befell Rosalie, as a newly engaged woman, was the common belief people held that she did not need to see her fiancé. In the days following her very public acceptance of Lord Wareham, Rosalie noticed a sharp decline in the hours she could spend with the Marquess each day. She had thought being newly engaged to the man would entitle her to even more time in his company. Instead, her engagement had made her something of a celebrity, and she suddenly found herself inundated with invitations to meet, dine and speak with other members of London’s upper echelons to whom she had not yet been introduced.
When these invitations first arrived, Rosalie thought she was entitled to decline the vast majority of them. She had, after all, completed the task for which she had been sent to London and felt it was no longer necessary to go out of her way to accept every invitation thrown at her. Her aunt quickly dispelled that belief.
“It astounds me, my dear, that you can display an intelligent keenness of mind in some moments and still be as naïve as an infant child when it comes to matters of courtship,” Lady Lynch complained when they were both sitting in the carriage, taking their first journey out of the city to the estate of a Lord Colborne, a close family friend of the Wareham family. Here was another new personality thrust out of nowhere into Rosalie’s life.
“Now that you are engaged to such a man as the Marquess, you will find your life to be a somewhat open and public one. Right now, people are inviting you to their homes out of curiosity and to stem the boredom of summer by finding out as much as they can about Wareham’s country bride. However, do not fall into any delusion that this state of affairs will change. From here on, knowing and befriending you is the same thing as knowing and befriending Wareham himself. Any family who wishes to do business with him or attempts to make use of his connections will now look to you as leverage.”
Rosalie couldn’t help but grimace at her aunt’s words and heaved a deep sigh of disappointment. “I suppose you are right,” she owned. “I mean the very reason my father was so keen to send me back up to London was so that I might bring home a man he could tell all his business dreams to. So, why shouldn’t everyone else in the world feel free to abuse my engagement for their own ends?”
Lady Lynch grinned, seeming to enjoy hearing Rosalie disparage her father as she did. “Well, I can assure you, the vast majority of these contacts you will be making will be far more useful and far more pleasant company than your father and his idiotic wool schemes. Indeed, I will be interested to see just how the Marquess reacts to your father. I can well imagine Lord Wareham either dismissing Mr Curtis’s schemes out of hand or else throwing sums of money at your father simply to silence him on the issue.” The woman seemed to highly enjoy her private imaginings, although her smile did waver slightly when she saw her niece’s unamused expression. Lady Lynch coughed then and returned her focus to the issues that were truly bothering her niece.
“If it is any consolation, I am sure your husband-to-be is equally frustrated to be parted from your company. I promise you though, that for every meeting you have to make alone without him, there will be another party or celebration where you will be able to hang on his arm the entire evening. Just think how good that will be.”
Rosalie smiled just a little; the prospect was somewhat enticing, though she could not fully envision it. She shrugged then and looked out of the window, taking in the sight of the grand home ahead of them that was growing larger by the second. “I know it is perhaps selfish of me to complain. I should think more about my long-term happiness with the Marquess than the particulars of our engagement.” Even as she owned up to her errors, however, Rosalie found her mood would not shift from the melancholic haze that had engulfed it.
When the carriage arrived at the grand and imposing monolith that was the home of Lord Colborne, Rosalie paused to take in the view of the extensive grounds and the many windows of the property. Conceivably, such a home could house the entire population of Bradford-on-Avon, with each family given their own bed room. In her life, Rosalie had only seen such grand homes from the outside and always from a distance. Considering now that her future life would probably be spent in such grandeur, she took the time to really examine the place, trying to picture herself as the mistress of such a home. She tried to guess how many servants were employed in such a property, what their different roles were, and to what extent the lady of the house was expected to oversee their work. Even imagining it was enough to make her head spin, and she knew she would have to rely on her aunt more and more, in the future, to help her adjust to the kind of lifestyle that would be hers as Lady Wareham.
The two women were met by a livery-clad footman, who helped them out of their carriage and led them to the grand entrance. Lord Colborne’s steward then greeted them and escorted them through the long corridors to the drawing room, where the rest of the gu
ests were already enjoying drinks. Rosalie was out of step with her aunt, far less eager to join the company of Lord Colborne’s party and far more desiring to study the various paintings, statues, tapestries and other statements of wealth that hung from the walls of the grand hallways. She fancied that the contents of one stretch of the corridor in this house could probably be sold for enough money to buy a comfortable house in her hometown, with money left over. Although each painting and statue which lined the corridors was perfectly pleasing in its own right, there was something off-putting about the corridor as a whole. There was too much beauty here, too many works of art vying for attention at once, so that Rosalie did not know just where she should look. If nothing else, she hoped that Lord Wareham’s country estate did not adhere to the same extravagance as this.
The company gathered in the drawing room were of the same sort that Rosalie felt she had seen many times in London now. There was an assortment of men who all owned profitable and important businesses and alongside them their dutiful and demure wives.
One thing that Rosalie liked to do when meeting a lot of new people at once was to select one woman in the company who seemed agreeable and to stick to her for the entire evening. It was far easier and allowed her to avoid the difficulty of trying to remember too many names at once. To this end, after general introductions had been made, Rosalie attached herself to a Mrs Porter, married just a year and the same age as herself. She seemed pleasant enough in her own way, with the kind of gossipy nature that seemed to be inherently bred in women of the city. More importantly, the woman seemed to know Lord Wareham. When first introduced to the lady by her husband, Rosalie was told it was because of Wareham that she and Mr Porter had been married at all. This intrigued her more than a little, and she strove to find out all she could of Mrs Porter before the day was out. Of course, Mrs Porter was far more concerned with asking Rosalie all about herself and, in particular, the details of her courtship and engagement to Lord Wareham.