Romancing His English Rose (Entangled Scandalous)

by Hemmerling, Catherine

  “Now then girls,” Lady Lancaster said, indicating the meeting had begun. “I imagine you would like to know the outcome of the trial yesterday?”

  “Oh yes!” Emily exclaimed. “Do tell us what happened.”

  “Hopefully the blasted man will be hanged,” Sarah muttered.

  “Amen,” Hope seconded.

  Rose looked at Hope rather shocked, to which Hope replied, “What? Sarah only said what we were all thinking.”

  “Yes,” Rose replied with a nod. “I just didn’t expect you to chime in quite so readily.”

  Hope shrugged. “Perhaps I am beginning to appreciate the merits of punishment for the truly guilty. It makes the allegations against the innocent a bit easier to bear.”

  Rose looked at Hope in a befuddled way, but Lady Lancaster had decided to continue at that point and Rose was not given the chance to question Hope any further.

  “Well, as it happens, the man was found guilty and sentenced to hang,” the duchess announced. “In fact, it was discovered that Caleb had poisoned Frederick and also his father!”

  A hush fell over the room.

  Emily broke the silence with a quiet, “How?”

  The duchess looked at Rose and she knew it was hers to explain. “Dr. Orfila and the magistrate had the bodies exhumed,” she said. “We knew about Frederick, but no one was aware the father, Isaac, was to be as well. His tests found the same combination of poisons in their tissues as he found in the glass of champagne Caleb poisoned.”

  “That’s incredible,” Sarah said. “We owe a debt of gratitude to Dr. Orfila.”

  “I believe seeing justice done was reward enough for the good doctor,” Lady Lancaster replied sagely.

  Rose nodded in agreement. Mathieu had said as much after multiple rounds of handshakes and hugs. The relief and giddiness that Rose had felt when the verdict of guilty was given was obviously shared by all involved.

  “When is the sentence to be carried out?” Emily asked.

  “I’m not sure. Death sentences are routinely reviewed by the monarch or his ministers. They could possibly award a free or conditional pardon, but that is extremely unlikely considering both Isaac and Frederick Collicott were very well-liked and Caleb is not.”

  “Well, I for one will not rest easy until the sentence has come to fruition,” Sarah said. “That man is as slippery as an eel.”

  “I am quite convinced he is firmly extracted from our lives, ladies. You mark my words!” Lady Lancaster forecasted.

  “So, what happens now—to the earldom, I mean,” Hope wondered.

  “What about it?” Rose asked.

  “Well, now that Lord, er, Caleb has been convicted, who inherits the title?”

  Rose sat back, stunned. She had never given the earldom a thought. What did happen to the title? She turned to Lady Lancaster—by far the most expert in the room—questioningly.

  “The title would go to the next living male heir,” the dowager said, as if that made everything abundantly clear.

  “But Caleb doesn’t have an heir,” Rose said. Her family was new to the peerage, of course, but that fact seemed irrefutable.

  With a long sigh, Lady Lancaster explained further. “You are correct, Rose-dear, Caleb did not have an heir. Therefore, the title moves back up to the next living male in the line. In this case, Caleb, the second son, took his title from his brother Frederick, who, as the eldest son, inherited it from his father, Isaac. Also, as the eldest son, Isaac inherited the title from his father, Jacob. With Caleb, Frederick, and Isaac gone, one looks to Jacob’s offspring for the next to inherit. In this case, Jacob had two sons, Isaac and Martin.” Lady Lancaster paused to look meaningfully at Rose. “Therefore, when Caleb dies, it is Martin—as the only living heir of Jacob—who will inherit the earldom.”

  “Martin…Trumbull?” Rose asked in disbelief.

  “Yes, Rose,” Lady Lancaster said gently. “Simon’s father is the next Earl of Shrewsbury.”

  “B-but…” Rose stuttered, “that means that…that…S-s-si…”

  “Simon will be an earl someday!” Sarah finished for her brightly. “Isn’t that something!”

  “Yes, something,” Rose whispered to herself. Her mind was completely awhirl. Never in her wildest dreams did she think Simon would become the Earl of Shrewsbury. It was understood that she and Simon would have a son someday that would inherit her father’s viscountcy, but this was…well…something else entirely.

  Surely Jacob, Simon’s grandfather, was rolling over in his grave. His estranged son was now the bearer of the family title. Rose grinned. It was truly unfortunate that so many good people had to die to make this occurrence come about, but really, Mr. Trumbull had to feel some vindication with the outcome.

  “Rose,” Hope trilled, “you are going to be a countess! The Countess of Shrewsbury…it has a nice ring to it.”

  “Won’t all the society matrons swallow their tongues now…our little bookish, shy, redheaded Rose is to be a countess! This is truly priceless,” Sarah crowed.

  Rose laughed. “It is an amazing thing, to be certain, but I would be just as happy as Mrs. Simon Trumbull.”

  “So, you think a wedding is imminent?” Emily asked.

  And Rose, who had not consciously hidden her left hand from her friends, found she had to remove it from beneath her skirts to show her cherished engagement ring to the room.

  “Rose!” her friends all exclaimed at once, before peppering her with questions.

  “When did he ask?”

  “How did he ask?”

  “Have you talked about a date?”

  “The ring is exquisite!”

  “Are you so, so happy???”

  Grinning wildly, Rose held up her hands to ward off her enthusiastic friends. Even Lady Lancaster was leaning over to take a look at the sparkling bauble.

  “Well, let’s see,” Rose started, once her friends had returned to their seats. Counting off on her fingers, she answered the questions in the order she had received them, “The night of the Alvanley Ball; he asked pretty much in the traditional way—ring in hand and on one knee (which was almost true, Rose thought reasonably); we haven’t discussed a date, though I suspect it will be rather soon (I could be expecting, for goodness sake, it had better be soon, Rose thought drily); I love the ring too; and I am very, very happy.”

  The girls all sighed prettily and Rose was sure at least two out of the three of them were fantasizing about their own romantic heroes proposing to them.

  Clapping her hands loudly, Lady Lancaster commanded the room once again. “This is very nice to hear, Rose. Congratulations. However, with Rose’s mission to capture the odious Caleb Collicott coming to an end, we now need to discuss the next mystery presented to us.”

  The ladies perked up at this announcement and, looking around, Rose wondered who would be called upon next.

  “You all may have heard about the rumor that Napoleon was killed. It was circling around almost two weeks ago now.”

  Some of Rose’s friends nodded in awareness, but honestly this was the first Rose had heard about it. Clearly she had been very wrapped up in her own mystery to have missed such a thing. The death of Napoleon would have many, many repercussions. Most of all it would mean the war was finally coming to an end.

  “I regret to say the rumor was just that…malicious gossip intended to stir society.”

  “That’s horrible!” Rose exclaimed. “Who would do such a thing?”

  “That is exactly the question, Rose, and Hope has already begun to look into the hoax. She has in fact made some great inroads as to who the perpetrators are, but I am reluctant to speak more about it until some other facts have been corroborated. Rest assured, however, that the problem is well in hand.”

  A look was exchanged between Lady Lancaster and Hope that Rose couldn’t quite identify and, for the briefest of moments, Hope looked as bleak and desolate as a human being could look. Rose felt a stab of concern and she made herself a promise to see
Hope as soon as possible after Hannah’s wedding to offer her a friendly ear and shoulder, should she need either or both.

  The rest of the afternoon passed by quickly as the conversation returned to the subject of the upcoming wedding. The ladies discussed, ad nauseam, what they were going to wear, what Hannah was going to wear, and even, when at a loss for more to discuss, what the men were going to wear.

  Honestly, when the meeting finally came to an end, Rose was exhausted and more than ready to go home. Unfortunately, once arriving there, she found her mother knee-deep in gowns just waiting for Rose’s opinion on which one she would like to wear to the wedding.

  Sighing, Rose sat down with her mother for what promised to be even more hours of conversing about the latest fashions and trends. A topic for which she had no talent and, frankly, little interest. She wondered briefly what Simon was doing. She hoped it was something appropriately tedious, as well.

  …

  Simon was, in fact, about to begin a very important discussion of his own, however it was not in the least bit tedious—tenuous, perhaps, but not tedious. He was having a meeting with his father and, as it happened, Rose’s father. The meeting was by his request, but honestly he wished it were over and done with already.

  Seated in a large leather armchair across the desk from his father and next to his future father-in-law, Simon was nervously replaying the speech he had memorized for just this occasion.

  “Well, son,” began the future Earl of Shrewsbury, “I suppose you are here about your betrothal to Miss Warren.”

  Simon was a bit surprised that his father had so correctly guessed the topic of his visit. “Ah, yes, sir, that is precisely why I am here.”

  “I cannot say I am surprised. Surely you have determined the importance of Caleb’s sentence to this family and therefore to your future.”

  Now Simon was confused. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I understand.”

  “Your future…as the Earl of Shrewsbury!”

  “My wha—? As who—?!”

  “Oh my, you don’t know!” his father said gleefully. “With Caleb no longer bearing the title, I inherit the Earldom…which means you, someday, will be the Earl of Shrewsbury!”

  “Good Lord,” Simon breathed. He hadn’t particularly thought about where the title would go after Caleb. And now to find out that he was going to be the Earl of Shrewsbury someday? No, that couldn’t be. He wasn’t Frederick. Frederick was the one groomed for the earldom. Frederick was always the hope of the family’s future, the responsible cousin…not Caleb…and certainly not Simon.

  Lord Holderness reached over and slapped Simon on the back. “Congratulations, son! Imagine…my daughter the future Countess of Shrewsbury. More than I ever hoped for the gel!”

  Rose, Simon thought frantically, she is my saving grace. She would be the perfect countess and she would know—if through reading and observation alone—how they should act, what they should do, and she would ensure he did not embarrass the ancestral history and, most importantly, live up to the expectations of the ancestral future. His body flooded with relief and Simon found he was again able to breathe. He turned a thankful smile upon Lord Holderness. Thank God for Lord Holderness…five words he never thought he would string together, but were true nevertheless.

  “Now, now, hold on a moment, Holderness,” Simon’s father said slowly. “I would hold off on making any such assumptions.” Both Simon and Lord Holderness looked at Mr. Trumbull with some measure of suspicion. What is the old man on about now? Simon wondered.

  “As we are all aware, the main purpose of creating the marriage contract for our children was to ensure a title in the Trumbulls’ future lineage. Well, that has now been achieved…and without resorting to a bothersome arrangement.”

  “Bothersome arrangement?” Lord Holderness blustered, clearly insulted on a variety of levels.

  “Yes! Simon has made it abundantly clear that he has no desire to marry your girl, Holderness, and I see no reason to uphold the contract now.”

  “No reason? What about Rose? Doesn’t it matter what she wants?” Lord Holderness shouted.

  Simon’s mouth was hanging open and for the life of him he couldn’t bring himself to follow the sharp right turn the conversation had taken. Was his father actually suggesting that he not marry Rose?

  “I have not seen any indication that your daughter harbors any feelings—amorous or otherwise—toward my son. The breaking of the contract would not only free my son of this obligation but will also allow your daughter the option of finding herself a husband she could care for.”

  And now his father was suggesting that Rose marry someone else? Oh, that definitely was not going to happen. Just the thought of his Rose with someone else was enough to move Simon to violence.

  “Noooooo!” he roared, rising up to his feet to tower over the still seated fathers. “Rose is mine…mine, I say!”

  Were Rose, in fact, sitting in the room watching these proceedings, the irony of his last statement would not have been lost on her, but she was not there and the two gentlemen simply stared at him as if he had lost his mind.

  “All right, son,” Mr. Trumbull said. “Just sit down and let’s discuss this calmly.”

  Simon just glared at his traitorous father as he returned to his seat muttering, “She’s mine,” under his breath.

  “I, ah, gather from your, er, outburst that you would rather not break the marriage contract with Miss Warren,” Simon’s father said rather unnecessarily.

  “That is correct,” Simon growled. “And I am absolutely sure she does not want the contract broken either.”

  “Not to be difficult, son,” his father said bravely, “but how can you be so sure?”

  Simon speared the man with his steely gaze before deigning to say, “Because I proposed to her not four days ago and she accepted.”

  “Oh, splendid!” Rose’s father exclaimed, obviously unimpressed by Simon’s deadly stare. “I cannot wait to inform Lady Holderness. She will be beside herself with wedding plans.”

  Mr. Trumbull smiled and reached out to shake the still irate Simon’s hand. “I apologize, son, I did not realize you had developed a tendre for the girl.”

  Simon reluctantly shook his father’s hand. Now that the misunderstanding had been straightened out, he could feel his temper sliding away, but not before he said, with no room for argument, “It is more than a fondness, father. I love Rose very, very much.”

  Now beaming, Mr. Trumbull tugged on Simon’s hand to pull him in for an awkward hug over the desk. “That is even better news, my boy. Trust me on that!”

  “Oh, excellent, excellent!” Lord Holderness agreed. “This will greatly please my wife. She had hoped you two would eventually be a love match.”

  Perhaps Lady Holderness was wiser than Simon had ever suspected—or at the very least a great romantic, which Simon admitted was probably more likely.

  After the three men had settled back down in their chairs to smoke the celebratory cigars Simon’s father produced, Mr. Trumbull apparently remembered why they were all together in the first place. “Why then, did you call this little meeting, Simon?”

  “Oh, right,” Simon said, straightening. “I would like your permission to marry Rose—”

  “Well, of course, son,” Lord Holderness interrupted. “Thought we just established that!”

  Simon gave Lord Holderness a quelling look before continuing, “As I was saying…I would like to marry Rose in a small intimate affair rather than at a large church event.”

  “Small?” Lord Holderness echoed.

  “How small?” Simon’s father asked suspiciously.

  “Very, very small,” Simon replied firmly.

  He then spent the rest of the afternoon convincing his father and future father-in-law of the wisdom of his plan. And as the discussion moved on to one of when the marriage should occur, Simon had an excellent reason for holding the ceremony as soon as possible. It had not escaped his notice that Rose could
very well be pregnant and that knowledge made his argument all the more compelling.

  After all was said and done, Simon thought the meeting had gone quite well. He now had their fathers’ permission to carry out his non-traditional, but imminently preferred, wedding plan and when Simon finally returned home that evening it was with quite the sense of accomplishment.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  If you want to be loved, be something worthy of love.

  —The Duke of Lancaster

  It was the morning of Hannah and William’s wedding and Rose was dressed and waiting restlessly for Simon to arrive. He was going to join Rose and her parents for the ride to St. George’s church, located in the middle of Mayfair.

  Lady Holderness seemed even more concerned over Rose’s appearance than usual and, for some inexplicable reason, the woman seemed to be crying over the smallest things. Rose was almost at her wits end and she truly hoped Simon would appear soon and serve as a buffer between her and her clearly insane mother.

  “Rosebud, let me straighten that bow again. It just does not want to sit right,” Lady Holderness said.

  “It’s fine, Mother,” Rose ground out, not even looking at the bow in question. She was quite certain the bow was as straight as an arrow without even looking at it. Everything on her body was straightened, pressed, twisted, and curled within an inch of its life. Rose was afraid to sit down, for God’s sake, for fear of putting one little detail out of place.

  One would think it was my wedding! she thought in exasperation.

  However, she did like the dress her mother had chosen for her. It was an antique white silk gown with an absolutely fabulous lace overlay. Honestly, the dress was fit for a bride and Rose hoped Hannah wouldn’t be too upset with her for wearing white, but she could not for the life of her talk her mother out of the choice— though, to be honest, she probably didn’t try as hard as she could have—it was a truly magnificent dress, after all.

  In addition to the intricate lace, Rose’s gown was adorned with small delicate bows at the empire waist, at the edge of the gloriously puffed sleeves, and along the scalloped hem. Matching ribbons had been clipped in her hair betwixt and between large loopy curls pinned in a deceptively simple-looking arrangement near the crown of her head.