Romancing His English Rose (Entangled Scandalous)

by Hemmerling, Catherine

  For the last two days, her mind had been full of Simon Trumbull. She had replayed the events in the carriage in her head so many times she was sure she could recite everything that had been said word for word.

  Sometimes she found her ability to recall the most minute of details a curse, but in this case she thought perhaps it was a blessing. For in hindsight, despite her initial reaction, Rose began to think that perhaps Simon hadn’t been laughing at her, per se, but was rather enjoying her…er, enthusiastic responses to him.

  It certainly made more sense, given the way he had looked at her a few times earlier in the day. Truthfully, considering the glances, the kiss, and even their last dance together, Rose was beginning to suspect Simon was not as inured to her as she once thought. It was rather unbelievable, that. But now she needed to be even more careful. She was not a light skirt to be seduced, despite her unexpected response to Simon’s advances. Frankly, her behavior astounded her. She should have been outraged, but instead she found she had just wanted more. One would think she had feelings for the man. How unwise would that be?

  So, after all of her examination and theorizing, Rose decided her fanciful hypothesis should remain as such for now and she should just carry on with her mission. Surely, if she and Simon continued to spend time together over the next few weeks, the mystery of his feelings for her—and indeed her feelings for him—would work itself out.

  However, having decided on a course of action with Simon did not make seeing him again any less nerve-wracking, and Rose truly hoped she would be able to remain focused on their task for the evening, knowing he would be so nearby.

  As the door opened, Rose mentally reviewed her appearance: fashionable blue dress that set off her red hair becomingly, the same upswept hairstyle that Simon had noticed at the Sunderland ball, and pretty little slippers that exactly matched the blue of her dress and were adorned with jeweled clips that she couldn’t actually see sparkling beneath the hem of her long gown, but made her smile nonetheless.

  Rose handed her pelisse and reticule to the Trumbull’s butler.

  “Mr. Trumbull is in the Great Room, Miss.”

  “Thank you, Millar,” Rose replied politely, dismissing him with a nod of her head.

  Most of the Trumbulls’ servants already treated her as one of the family, giving her—in all practicality—free reign of the house. Simon was afforded the same freedoms in the Warren household, as well. There is something to be said for being promised to one another so young, Rose thought as she made her way to the Great Room unaccompanied.

  Rose stopped just outside of the room’s doorway. In mere moments she would be face to face with Simon. She almost wished she could have made a fashionably late entrance after everyone was already there, but as the hostess of the affair, etiquette dictated that she arrive early enough to greet their guests—even if that meant leaving her alone with the host until the guests arrived.

  Taking a deep breath, Rose walked into the room in what she hoped was a regal manner and found her gaze inexorably drawn to Simon. He was standing by the large fireplace at the end of the room, holding a brandy snifter and staring thoughtfully into the flames.

  Rose felt her breath catch in her chest and her heart started to beat double-time. She seemed frozen in place, completely unable to look away from him.

  …

  Simon felt a shift in the atmosphere around him and he knew, as well as he knew his own name, that when he looked up he would see Rose standing there. Slowly he turned his head and met her gaze.

  She was wearing her hair the same way she had at the ball a couple of weeks earlier. He wondered if she had done it on purpose because he had commented on it that night. He shook his head weakly. Surely only he had the events of that night etched into his memory; Rose would never be so foolish.

  Pulled to her by an unexplainable magnetism, Simon found himself in front of Rose. He bowed gallantly and kissed her hand, all the while holding her gaze. He felt as if he were drowning in her very presence. Everything around him faded to cloudy nothingness and all he could see—all he wanted to see—was Rose.

  Ugh, Simon thought with disgust. This will not do. While Rose was proving to have charms beyond his initial beliefs, he did not want to forget what she meant in his life. She was his future fetters, his unwanted responsibility, the end of his freedom.

  “Hello Simon,” Rose whispered, looking up at him over the rim of her glasses and through the fringe of her thick dark lashes.

  Simon felt the sweet passion of her gaze all the way to the tips of his toes and something tightened in his loins. The urge to sweep her into his arms and off to the nearest bedroom was overwhelming and it took everything in him to release her hand and to step carefully away from her intoxicating presence. This was not good.

  A second later, much to Simon’s relief, Millar appeared to announce the arrival of David Rochester and Alexander Bredon, Simon’s best friends. David was Hannah Rochester’s older brother and Alexander was William Bredon’s younger brother. With the betrothal of Hannah and William, the two were on the verge of becoming brothers-in-law and they were even more inseparable than ever.

  Before the butler had even finished speaking, the two young gentlemen bounded into the room exuberantly. Alexander slung his arm around Simon’s shoulder jauntily and turned to greet Rose. “Rose Warren…as I live and breathe. How are you this evening?”

  He bent to give her the prerequisite kiss on the hand, but before he could complete the task he found himself being shoved out of the way by David, who grabbed her hand away and proceeded to give her quite the buss on the knuckles.

  “Ah, my fair Rose, how I have longed to see you!” David enthused, giving her a lewd wink.

  “Hey, I saw her first,” Alexander insisted, attempting to push David aside while reaching for her hand again to finish his interrupted greeting.

  “I beg to differ, my good man,” David replied, not giving his friend an inch.

  “You will be begging for mercy if you don’t move.”

  “Begging whom? Certainly not you, I’m sure.”

  “Oh, really? I do believe that is a challenge.”

  “It is your prerogative to take it as such,” David allowed grandly.

  “Why, thank you,” Alexander returned with affected politeness. “I believe I shall.”

  Rose, who was trapped in the middle of the farcical conversation, burst out laughing. Both men looked at each other, apparently affronted by her laughter.

  “I do believe our affections are not returned by the lady, Mr. Rochester,” Alexander intoned imperiously.

  “I concur completely, Mr. Bredon,” David agreed with a haughty sniff. “Perhaps we should call a truce and depart from her company forthwith.”

  “A splendid notion, my friend,” Alexander replied, bowing. David returned the bow and the two wandered off in the direction of the bar, which had been set up in one corner of the room.

  Watching the two men walk away, Simon muttered, “I cannot believe I name those idiots among my friends.”

  That made Rose giggle all the more and she laid a hand on Simon’s arm, as if needing his support to remain upright.

  Simon glanced down at the hand and then up into Rose’s amusement-filled eyes and suddenly he found himself smiling, too. “They really are idiots, you know,” he said drily, but there was a certain fondness in his tone.

  “Yes, but very charming ones,” Rose allowed with an endearing smile.

  “I suppose,” Simon replied, as he looked over at his two best friends, who were apparently now arguing at the appropriate amount of brandy to be poured into their glasses.

  Under normal circumstances, he would be over there joining in their ridiculous debate, but for some reason the trivial mocking of each other and those around them seemed juvenile and silly.

  Is that how he appeared to people, as well?

  All this time, he and his friends were quite sure they were thought of as charming and amusing by the ladies o
f the ton and, according to Rose, Alexander and David’s behavior just now was charming and clearly amusing, but suddenly Simon realized that in their attempts to be what they considered charismatic and witty rakes, they ended up looking like idiots—charming and amusing idiots, to be sure, but idiots nonetheless.

  When Simon had decided, at the wise old age of ten, to rebel against his parents’ plans for him, it was not with the intention of becoming an idiot. He wanted to be his own person—his own man—but he was quickly coming to realize that was not what he had become at all.

  So the question remained: Now what?

  Chapter Eight

  Good friends will not only credit you for using all your brains, but will offer to loan you some of theirs, as well.

  —The Duke of Lancaster

  A couple of hours later, the dinner guests had moved back into the Great Room following a delicious meal and were gathered around the fireplace to discuss the purpose for which they were all together that evening.

  It wasn’t a large group of people, just the ladies from the Garden Society—Hannah, Emily, and Sarah—and Simon’s friends, David and Alexander; and Hannah’s fiancé (Frederick’s best friend), William Bredon, the Earl of Pembroke.

  Certainly there had been other guests at the fateful dinner party where Frederick fell ill, but Rose knew she and Simon trusted everyone in this room more than anyone else in the world. This group of friends would happily aid in their investigation and also make every effort to keep Caleb Collicott completely unaware of their actions.

  Noticeably absent, however, were Hope and Lord Lichfield.

  Rose wondered if they could be somewhere together, but it seemed unlikely. Had there been some other ton event planned for that evening, she would not have scheduled the dinner party for the same night; and really there was no other acceptable place, other than some sort of society event, for Hope and Lord Lichfield to be…together that is.

  Rose was aware that there had been some uproar regarding the Stock Exchange over the last couple of days and Hope, being interested in such things, had been quite troubled by it, so Rose assumed her absence had something to do with that. And if that were indeed the case, she and the rest of the ladies would undoubtedly hear about it at the next Garden Society meeting, so Rose wasn’t overly alarmed about Hope’s nonattendance.

  And as far as Lord Lichfield was concerned, Rose did not know much about the man, except that Hope was rather smitten with him. She supposed she could question Lord Pembroke about him—he was his closest friend after all—but she didn’t feel it was her place to do so. Therefore, she decided to proceed with the matter at hand without drawing further attention to their friends’ lack of attendance.

  Rose caught Simon’s eye and nodded. Nodding back, he cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention.

  When all eyes were turned toward him, Simon said, “First of all, Rose and I would like to thank you all for coming tonight. As some of you may know, she and I have been working on a way to prove irrevocably that Caleb killed Frederick and, through some rather ingenious research on her part”—Rose blushed at Simon’s reference—“Rose discovered a treatise describing different ways of detecting poisons, as developed by Dr. Mathieu Orfila. We had a chance to meet with the doctor and we think we may have determined a way to prove Frederick was poisoned.”

  Everyone looked back and forth between Rose and Simon, clearly encouraged and impressed by the significance of what Simon had said.

  “What exactly do you need from us?” William asked, his arm protectively wound around Hannah. It was apparent from his posture and tone that if they needed him to wrestle the poison vial from a hungry tiger, he would be more than willing to do so. He and Hannah had been through a lot recently due to Caleb Collicott and anything they could do to see justice done would be done.

  Simon looked at Rose, and with the raise of an eyebrow and a quick motion of the head, he indicated that the floor was now hers.

  Straightening, Rose took a deep breath to combat her nerves. She was not always very eloquent under pressure, but tonight was so very important and she just could not afford to let her nerves get in the way this time.

  “Well, I…er…that is, we, ah,” Rose stuttered ineffectually, before finally stopping. She closed her eyes and Simon reached over to put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Rose looked at him and then at the rest of the people sitting around her. They were all watching her attentively with understanding and patience.

  Rose had to smile. These people were her friends. She could do this. Taking one more deep breath, she tried again. “From what we understand from Dr. Orfila,” Rose started slowly, picking up confidence as the words seemed to be forming more successfully this time, “it seems that Frederick was poisoned with arsenic. Now, arsenic is easily traceable in hair and nails, but due to the very obvious complications of an exhumation”—she paused to ensure everyone understood the problems with a disinterment and judging by the number of nods she received, Rose felt comfortable continuing—“I believe our only recourse is to recreate the events of the evening.”

  Hannah’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “How will recreating the night help?”

  “Well, Simon and I believe that Caleb must have brought the poison to the dinner in some sort of vial or container and at some point in the evening slipped it into Frederick’s food or drink. That vial or container should have traces of whatever poison he used,” Rose replied.

  “So, by retracing everyone’s steps, you think we can pinpoint where and when the poisoning happened and maybe one of us will recall if Caleb had something incriminating on his person or in his hand?” William asked.

  “Yes, exactly. I know it’s a long shot, but if we can identify the vessel, perhaps Simon and I could locate it and deliver it to Dr. Orfila for testing.”

  “That is indeed a long shot, as you say. What makes you think we will be able to remember such miniscule detail now, if we didn’t catch it then?” Alexander wondered.

  Emily gave Alexander a quelling look and before Rose could even reply, she said, “If it happened that night, and Rose was there, then she will remember it. We just may have to jog her memory a little.”

  Alexander narrowed his eyes at Emily. “Jog her memory?” he scoffed.

  “Precisely,” Emily replied, glaring back at Alexander.

  “Uh, what I believe Emily is saying,” Hannah quickly interrupted, “is that Rose has a remarkable memory. She quite literally remembers everything she sees or hears. If we all talk about where we were and what we said and did, we will spark Rose’s recollection to the point that she can fill in any blanks to the smallest of details…assuming she was in the vicinity at the time.”

  Rose mouthed thank you to Hannah for her swift intervention between Emily and Alexander. It seemed that whenever the two of them were in a room together for more than a few minutes, they would begin sniping at each other. Rose didn’t understand why they didn’t like each other, because on their own they were quite delightful people.

  “That’s fascinating, Rose,” David said eagerly. “Can you really remember everything?”

  Rose shrugged. “Yes, I always have been able to, for as long as I can remember.”

  “Which, as we now know, is really saying something,” William said drily.

  Everyone in the room chuckled at the observation, including Rose. Hannah giggled and hugged William. It was easy to see the love between them.

  “So, does everyone understand what we need to do?” Simon asked.

  “I believe so, but how should we get started?”

  “Ah…well,” Simon began thoughtfully. “Let’s start at the beginning. Who was the first to arrive that night?”

  Everyone looked around at everyone else in question.

  William lifted a hand and said, “I suppose that would be me. I arrived early because I had a business dealing I needed to discuss with Frederick. Aside from his mother and the household staff, he and I were the only ones there for, oh,
about an hour.”

  “Do you remember who showed up next?” Simon asked.

  “Hmmm, I believe Baron Ritchfield and his wife, along with their niece, Miss Waterston.”

  “Oh, yes…your aunt was rather intent on making a match of Frederick and Miss Waterston, wasn’t she?” Emily asked.

  “Silly cow,” Sarah muttered softly—though not nearly as softly as she must have hoped—as every eye in the room was quite suddenly trained on her.

  “Pardon me?” Simon said coolly.

  “Oh, not your aunt, for goodness sake!” Sarah rushed to say, her face completely crimson with mortification. “I meant Miss Waterston. She made an, er, unkind comment about…um…” She glanced at David, before shutting up and looking at her feet. If a very large opening were to appear beneath her, Rose was sure Sarah would have gladly crawled into it. Sarah had been in love with Hannah’s older brother, David, for as long as anyone could remember.

  “What Sarah is trying to say,” David explained wryly, “is that Miss Waterston did not like my table manners that evening.”

  “That’s right!” Rose piped in, as recollection hit her. “You were flicking peas at Alexander throughout the meal…though you never actually hit him.” Rose scrunched up her forehead in thought. “The first one went over his head and landed in the potted palm behind Lady Pembroke—the one in the aubergine planter on the left, rather than the marigold pot to the right. The second one fell short and hit Miss Waterston on the cheek—which is probably why she took issue with you, David—and the third pea landed on my father’s plate, who didn’t even notice and eventually he ate the evidence. After that, David received a scolding look from Lady Rochester and the flying peas came to an end, with the intended victim none the wiser.” Rose sat back in satisfaction and when she looked up, the entire roomful of people was looking at her, the ladies in smug approval and the men in various states of shock.