Romancing His English Rose (Entangled Scandalous)

by Hemmerling, Catherine

  “Not in the book, no, but with some special equipment and specific knowledge, one might be able to figure it out. And the author, Dr. Orfila, is here—in London! If anyone can help us prove that Caleb did indeed poison Frederick, it will be him.”

  “All right,” Simon said slowly. “I have long wondered about the sudden death of Frederick and, frankly, Caleb’s possible involvement, so let’s say this Doctor…”

  “Orfila.”

  “Orfila can help us. What makes you think he will?”

  “I don’t know if he will or not,” Rose confessed, “but what harm can it do to ask?” She gave Simon a pleading look.

  “Very well, I’ll help however I can.”

  “Oh good!” Rose said, jumping up to give Simon an obviously impulsive hug, before running to the door and flinging it open. Simon stared after her. Since when had their relationship become the hugging kind? And why did he seem to enjoy it so much?

  “Aren’t you coming?” Rose asked from the doorway.

  “Coming where?”

  “To see the doctor, silly.”

  “What doctor?”

  Rose exhaled sharply and put her hand on her hips. “Dr. Orfila, Simon.”

  “Oh, yes…Orfila,” Simon began, before adding confusedly, “We are going to see the doctor now?”

  “No time like the present,” Rose fairly chirped, as she spun gracefully around and exited the room, leaving Simon to follow her.

  “Er, Rose?” Simon said, after catching up with her in the front hall. “Are you sure Dr. Orfila will even see us this morning?”

  “Oh, yes,” Rose said, looking up at Simon with a radiant smile. “He is expecting us.”

  Simon raised his brow at that. “He is?”

  “Mmm-hmm,” Rose murmured as she grabbed her reticule and glanced in the mirror. “I sent him a note last night asking to see him this morning.”

  “You sent him a note?” Simon said.

  “Yes, well…” Rose hedged. “I sent the note…however, he may have gotten the impression that, er, you had actually requested the meeting.” At this point, Rose stopped looking at Simon.

  “Why, pray tell,” Simon said, crossing his arms deliberately, “would he think that?”

  “Ah, probably because, I…uh…signed your name to the note?” Rose supplied, raising her eyes to his with chagrin.

  “I see.”

  “I had to, Simon,” Rose explained hurriedly. “I was quite sure that Dr. Orfila would refuse to see me if he knew I was a woman…but a man, he wouldn’t think twice about making an appointment with.”

  “And if I had refused to come with you?” Simon asked.

  “Oh, I knew you would accompany me. You hate Caleb more than anyone does…except perhaps Lord Pembroke,” Rose conceded.

  Simon closed his eyes for a moment and felt rather pained. In the last few days it seemed his relationship with Rose had changed into something he didn’t recognize or understand. When had it become all right for Rose to make plans for him? And shouldn’t he be fighting this transition just a little more, rather than feeling somewhat relieved that she had stepped up to the role so efficiently and effectively?

  When he opened his eyes, he looked at her wearily and said, “Fine, we will go see Dr. Orfila. However, in the future, kindly refrain from signing my name to any more of your missives.”

  “Yes, of course,” Rose agreed readily, before adding thoughtfully, “Well, until we are married, right?”

  Simon ignored the comment and all it implied. Instead he turned to open the door for Rose and in turn followed her outside into the chilly February air. It was there he saw the Warren family carriage sitting at the curb. Simon stopped mid-step and stared at the vehicle.

  …

  When Rose arrived beside the carriage and looked back at Simon, she was surprised to see he was just standing there, still on the porch. Edging her way back toward him, she said, “Er, Simon…is something wrong?”

  “That’s one of your family’s carriages, is it not?” Simon asked, looking at it strangely.

  Rose glanced back at the vehicle in bewilderment. “Yes, it is. Why do you ask?”

  Simon quit looking toward the street and instead pierced Rose with his steely gaze. “When exactly did you inform the driver that we would be leaving?”

  “Oh…I, ah,” Rose stammered, “I may have mentioned something to Archie this morning about having it, er, ready, um, about now.” Rose looked at him confusedly before adding, “Would you rather we take your carriage instead?”

  Simon cocked his head to one side. “Where is my carriage, Rose?”

  “Oh!” Rose said, feeling much relieved to have finally determined the object of his concern. “Don’t worry about that, Simon…I told Archie to ask your driver to move it around back.” She smiled reassuringly.

  “You told Archie to—” Simon started to say. Then he stopped and shook his head. “No, of course you did, why on earth would I think otherwise? Why on earth would I think that you would first ask me if I wanted to help you, then depending on my answer, why wouldn’t I think we would make a plan to meet this doctor together? Certainly I would rather you presume that I will go along and then arrange for my driver to drive my carriage around to the back of your house, and all the while a doctor who thinks I requested a visit is probably waiting on us as we speak!”

  She sent an apologetic look to her driver and maid, who were standing next to the carriage witnessing the entire event (with some amusement, Rose noted wryly), before looking back at Simon. “Are you done now?”

  Simon just looked at her in exasperation.

  Sighing, Rose decided that Simon did have a point. She had been a bit presumptuous, but honestly, it never dawned on her that Simon would have a problem with any of her plans. He always seemed so happy and easy-going; she rather thought he would jump at the chance to go on a little adventure with her.

  Although, from the moment he had arrived this morning, he had behaved in a thoroughly unpredictable way. Thoroughly unpredictable for him, that is. Rose had to admit that anyone else of her acquaintance probably would have thought she had overstepped her place, too.

  Rose blew her hair off of her forehead in frustration. Now she was going to have to apologize to the man. “You’re right, Simon,” Rose said. “I should have talked to you about all this first and then made the arrangements with you. It was not my intention to disregard your feelings; I merely wanted to move on this information quickly. However, that is no excuse for so rudely taking control of the situation.”

  …

  Simon searched Rose’s face for any sign of mockery, but he could find none. It appeared she honestly felt contrite.

  The truth was Simon wasn’t exactly sure why he had gotten so upset in the first place. Normally he was pretty unflappable and really all she had done was make a few arrangements to aid in their investigation. But her assumption that he would say yes to all of her plans irked him. He was a grown man and able to make his own decisions, damn it. He did not need her. He did not want to need her.

  “I don’t need you,” Simon muttered, as he plodded down the steps and toward the carriage.

  “What was that?”

  “Nothing…let’s just get this over with,” Simon said gruffly.

  …

  Rose frowned to herself as Simon helped her into the carriage. She was rather sure he had said he didn’t need her. But the way he said it indicated that he might have been thinking her help had been nice rather than presumptuous. Was he fighting feelings for her? Not feelings of love, certainly, but of camaraderie of sorts? She had—for a moment there—felt they had been united in their task, in their goal, to prove Caleb guilty. Perhaps he had too? The question was, why was he struggling against it? She rather thought, if they had to be married, wouldn’t it be nice to have somewhat like minds? Love need not enter into it, but being compatible would surely be a bonus. A bonus, frankly, she never before thought they would enjoy. Marrying Simon was still not
something she was looking forward to—he was a notorious womanizer after all—but maybe they could enjoy some sort of mutual understanding.

  Couldn’t they?

  Sighing, Rose decided trying to understand men, especially this man, made her head hurt.

  Chapter Five

  Try smiling; it hides a multitude of sins.

  —The Duke of Lancaster

  Leicester St. was located only a few blocks past St. James Church, just after Piccadilly turned into Coventry. In the past, it had been a rather fashionable area in which to live—the nearby Leicester House was once the residence of Frederick, the Prince of Wales—but in the past few years the area had declined and it was no longer such a smart address.

  It certainly wasn’t an area a well-bred young lady should ever venture into alone and Rose was very glad that Simon had agreed to escort her, however reluctantly.

  It wasn’t long before their carriage arrived in front of Dr. Charles Bell’s house. It was a modest row house with an unremarkable frontage that sat just down the way from the Hotel De La Sabloniere. It was clean and neat, but Rose found that that was about all she saw to commend it.

  Simon lifted her down and offered Rose his arm. She smiled at his gallantry and took his arm gratefully, and together they made their way up the steps to the front door of the house.

  At Simon’s knock, the door was opened by a harried looking gentleman whose hair was standing all on end and who was missing his cravat altogether.

  Rose tried not to appear too scandalized by the man’s unkempt appearance, but it was rather hard to do so. Generally speaking, a gentleman did not allow himself to be seen by others unless perfectly coifed.

  “May I help you?” the man said.

  “Er, yes,” Simon replied. “We have an appointment to see Dr. Mathieu Orfila.”

  “Hmmm? Orfila, you say?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I see. Very good. Come in, come in,” the man said, waving them into the small cramped front hall.

  Simon looked at Rose with a raised eyebrow. She shrugged and followed the untidy man into the house. She wasn’t going to allow a little lack of convention to keep her from meeting Dr. Orfila.

  Rose and Simon followed the gentleman a short way down the hall. As the man passed by a hanging mirror, he happened to take a look at himself. He stopped abruptly—nearly causing Rose to run into the back of him—and began to run his fingers through his hair in a useless attempt to get it under some sort of control. Finally, he just hung his head and looked back at Simon and Rose. “I must apologize for my appearance. I was working on an experiment earlier today, when the, er, subjects…managed to get away from me. I find rats most difficult to catch once loose, don’t you?”

  Rose gasped in horror and glued herself to Simon’s side while searching the hallway for any signs of the foul creatures. She would have jumped on his back if etiquette had allowed such a thing.

  Simon, on the other hand, just nodded at the man and said, “Well, yes, they are quick little vermin.”

  “Precisely!” The man smiled, clearly taking Simon’s understanding as acceptance of his apology. “I’m Dr. Charles Bell, by the way.”

  “Mr. Simon Trumbull,” Simon replied, shaking the doctor’s hand. “And this is Miss Rose Warren.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you both. Now then, this way…I believe Mathieu mentioned he was expecting you.”

  Rose breathed a sigh of relief to be on their way. The hallway was becoming rather confining and she was beginning to feel a little frantic.

  “Are you all right?” Simon whispered.

  “If you leave my side for even one second, I will kill you,” Rose vowed.

  “What,” Simon asked in a teasing tone, “you don’t like rodents? They play such an important part in the sciences.”

  “Yes, but not in one’s house!” Rose retorted, trying not to laugh. She could scarcely believe Simon was able make her smile in such a situation. Rose was beginning to think she liked the man!

  …

  Smiling cheerfully to himself, Simon found he kind of liked that Rose was so uncomfortable with the loose rats. Of course, he would be the first to admit his enjoyment was a bit vindictive, but he rather thought she deserved it after the morning he’d had.

  Simon also quite liked playing the role of her protector. To a lesser extent, to be sure, he told himself, but it was nice nevertheless.

  Feeling positively light in the step, Simon followed Dr. Bell into a small room at the end of the hall, with Rose attached firmly to his side. The room was dark and the style dated, but it was clean and the furniture looked in good condition—worn, of course, but well cared for.

  In one chair, placed near the warmth of the small fireplace, there sat a young man reading a book. The man looked up when the trio entered and he smiled. Getting to his feet, he said in very precise French, “Ah, you must be Mr. Trumbull.”

  “Yes, sir, Simon Trumbull,” he replied in French as well.

  Simon stepped forward to shake the gentleman’s hand. He was surprised to find that the man, who he assumed was Dr. Orfila, was of a similar age to him—maybe twenty-six or twenty-seven years old.

  “Dr. Orfila, may I please introduce you to my fiancée, Miss Rose Warren.” It felt a little strange introducing Rose as his fiancée and Simon realized it was the first time he had ever done so.

  Rose appeared a little taken aback by the introduction, as well, or perhaps it was Simon’s fluency with the French language. Most of London high society knew enough conversational French to manage well enough, but for some reason most people did not expect such proficiency from Simon, though he was never sure why not.

  Rose recovered herself quickly and said, in her own impeccable French, “How do you do, sir?”

  “Very well, thank you. It is lovely to meet you,” Dr. Orfila said, raising her hand for a chaste kiss.

  “Oh, the pleasure is all mine. I am a great fan of your work,” Rose replied.

  Dr. Orfila raised his brows slightly, as he motioned for them to have a seat on the sofa across from him. “Really? I was not aware my work was so, er, readily available in England.”

  Simon thought that was a rather tactful way of implying the doctor was not aware that a woman would have access to his work.

  Rose must have thought so too, though she didn’t appear to take any offense. “My father is a great collector of scientific works and he procured a copy of your Traité des poisons just recently. I must admit, I found your conclusions very intriguing.”

  “Your father is a man of science, too?”

  “No-o-o,” Rose replied. “I wouldn’t necessarily say that.”

  Rose glanced at Simon, who was having trouble keeping a straight face. Lord Holderness a man of science? The science of hoarding, perhaps. She glared at him and then quickly switched to a pretty smile as she turned back to Dr. Orfila.

  The doctor appeared a bit confused. “Why then does your father collect such works?”

  “Ah, well…” Rose began. Simon watched as Rose took a deep breath and began her explanation. “My father enjoys the books but doesn’t have much time for reading…”—which was true; Lord Holderness didn’t have time for much more than procuring more books—“however, he fully supports my interest in the subject”—well, he was supportive in his own way, Simon supposed—“therefore I have taken advantage of his collection myself. I am quite well-read on many areas of science, including, though not limited to, biology, chemistry, and human physiology.”

  Rose smiled broadly, clearly hoping that her confidence would be enough to sway the doctor into accepting her explanation. Simon thought the doctor would either laugh heartily in her face or accept her for what she was, just another person interested in the sciences.

  “Well, now…that is just splendid!” Dr. Orfila exclaimed. “It is an honor to meet such an, er, unusual supporter of the sciences.”

  Rose nearly sagged in obvious relief. She smiled triumphantly at Simo
n, who raised an eyebrow and nodded once in a silent salute.

  “Thank you, Dr. Orfila. As I said, the honor is all mine,” Rose replied.

  Dr. Orfila smiled and then turned to include Simon in the conversation. “I gathered from your note that you are in need of my help?”

  “Yes, sir, we are,” Simon said. He paused for a moment, not quite sure how to proceed. “To be honest, Doctor, I am not sure how to say this.”

  “I find that being straightforward is always best.”

  Simon thought that was probably a good idea. The topic of discussion would not become any less distasteful no matter how he eased into it. “In that case…Rose and I are here because we believe my cousin was, well, poisoned.”

  Nodding, Dr. Orfila said, “I had a feeling it was something like that. So tell me, did your cousin survive the suspected poisoning?”

  “No, sir, he did not.”

  “I am terribly sorry to hear that, Mr. Trumbull. You have my sympathies.”

  “Thank you. It happened some time ago, but he was a good man and a good friend, in addition to being my cousin.”

  “If you don’t mind my asking, just how long ago did it happen?” Dr. Orfila queried, clearly concerned as to what the answer may be.

  “Oh, a little more than a year ago, or thereabouts,” Simon replied, before adding, “Why do you ask?”

  Dr. Orfila grimaced slightly.

  “Is something wrong, Doctor?” Rose asked.

  “Well, yes.” Dr. Orfila admitted. “Poisons are extremely difficult to detect in human tissue, though as you may have read, I have discovered a way to identify certain types. Unfortunately, many toxins do not remain in the system for very long. Add to that the fact that your cousin has most certainly been interred by now, I don’t see much hope of my being able to help you.”

  But Rose was clearly not ready to give up. “Isn’t there any other way to prove a poisoning?”

  “There are other ways yes, but first, why don’t you tell me why you believe this man was poisoned.”

  “We believe he was killed for his title, Doctor…by his brother.”

  “Yes, that is a common reason, as we are all aware,” Dr. Orfila agreed readily, “but, no, what I meant was, what behavior did he exhibit prior to his death? I assume it was suspicious in some way?”