by Beers, Laura
And for a brief moment, nothing else mattered.
9
Roswell sat in the coach as it traveled to Lady Persephone’s townhouse. He couldn’t quite fully process his earlier conversation with Miss Bentley. After everything he did to her, she still readily forgave him. It baffled him. He had never met someone who offered forgiveness so freely.
He had been wrong about Miss Bentley. She was so much more than what he had first perceived, hardly the country bumpkin he’d thought she was. Her trials had been much worse than he had ever imagined, and yet, she still smiled. How was that possible?
Perhaps it was just him who was destined for a life of unhappiness; for he was truly miserable, and alone. He couldn’t seem to reconcile his past, and he was struggling to even continue on. But he knew he must. A stiff upper lip was required in his family, as his father had always reminded him.
Roswell watched street urchins run along as men and women attempted to hawk their goods to people walking by. He used to be happy, he thought, as the sound of the children’s laughter drifted into the coach. But that had all changed when he’d killed that man.
The coach jerked to a stop in front of a whitewashed townhouse, jolting him from his thoughts, and he exited the coach without waiting for a footman. He stepped up to the main door and knocked, removing a calling card from the pocket of his waistcoat as he waited.
The door opened and the butler greeted him with a smile. “May I help you, milord?”
Roswell extended the card to the butler. “I am here to call on Lady Persephone.”
“Please do come in while I see if she is accepting callers at this time,” the butler responded, opening the door wider.
Roswell stepped into the entry hall and watched as the butler disappeared into the drawing room, then returned only a moment later.
The butler gestured towards the door. “Lady Persephone will see you now.”
“Thank you,” Roswell said.
Entering the room, he saw Lady Persephone sitting next to her mother on a yellow settee with a book in her hand.
He bowed. “Thank you for agreeing to see me.”
“You are always welcome in our home,” Lady Walmsley said.
Lady Persephone put the book down onto the table. “May I ask what you were reading?” Roswell inquired.
“Fordyce’s Sermons to Young Women,” Lady Persephone revealed. “I am constantly reading the sermons.”
“It is true,” Lady Walmsley said.
“I’m afraid my sister does not share your enjoyment of the sermons,” Roswell revealed.
“That is a shame,” Lady Persephone stated. “I would think Lady Emma would benefit from the sermons more so than anyone, including the one on female reserve.”
“Why do you say that?”
Lady Persephone gave him a knowing look. “She is rather a hellion, is she not?”
“I wouldn’t go so far as to call her a ‘hellion’.”
Lady Persephone responded with a slight shrug of her shoulders. “She is quite opinionated, and I fear that she has destined herself to spinsterhood.”
“I would agree that Emma is rather opinionated, but that is one of her many charms.”
“Very few gentlemen of the ton would agree with that statement,” Lady Persephone remarked. “No one wants to unite themselves with a young woman who has strong opinions.”
Lady Walmsley spoke up. “Would you care to take a seat, my lord?” She gestured towards an upholstered armchair next to Lady Persephone.
“I would,” Roswell replied. “Thank you.”
A young maid walked into the room with a tea tray in her hands. “Would you like me to pour, milady?” she asked as she put it on the table.
Lady Walmsley waved her hand imperiously. “You are dismissed.” She turned her attention to Roswell. “Would you care for some tea?”
“Yes, that sounds delightful,” he replied.
“Allow me,” Lady Persephone said, moving to the edge of her seat and performing the task perfectly. After putting the teapot down, she extended Roswell a cup and saucer, their fingers briefly touching.
Roswell watched as a blush came to Lady Persephone’s cheeks, but found he felt nothing at the exchange. How was that possible?
They all sipped their tea, and a silence descended over the group. Before it grew awkward, Roswell spoke up, directing his remarks to Lady Persephone. “I remember you are quite fond of watercolor painting.”
“You have an excellent memory, my lord,” Lady Persephone said with a coy smile. “I do enjoy painting.”
“That is a charming pastime to have.”
Lady Persephone nodded. “It is.” She gestured towards a painting on the wall. “I just recently painted that scene.”
Roswell shifted in his chair to face the painting, but couldn’t decipher what it was a scene of, as he was unable to make out any one particular feature. It was blotchy and looked as if a child had painted it.
Knowing Lady Persephone was awaiting his assessment, Roswell commented, “It is lovely.”
“I had an excellent teacher who taught me the finer points of painting with watercolor,” Lady Persephone shared, her eyes lingering on the painting. “It was rather challenging to paint a windmill.”
A windmill? Where in the blazes was a windmill in that painting? He squinted his eyes, but Roswell still couldn’t see it.
“You did an admirable job,” he lied.
Lady Persephone turned her attention back towards him. “Would you like me to paint you one?”
No. “I couldn’t possibly impose,” he attempted.
“It is really no imposition at all,” Lady Persephone said. “I believe it is best for a talent to be shared, not hidden.”
He brought a smile to his face. “You make a good argument.”
“Then I shall paint you a scene of our gardens.”
“Wonderful.” He took a sip of his drink.
Leaning forward, Lady Persephone put her teacup back on the tray. “There is a delightful spot in our gardens with a babbling brook running through it.”
“That sounds heavenly.”
“It is,” she replied. “Would you care to see it?”
“I would, but I’m afraid I must be going.”
A pout came to Lady Persephone’s lips. “Must you?” she asked. “You have only just arrived.”
“I’m afraid I am needed at the House of Lords.” Roswell put his empty teacup on the tray and rose.
Rising, Lady Persephone asked, “May I walk you to the door?”
“You may,” Roswell answered, offering his arm to her.
“I do thank you for the flowers you sent,” she said as they strolled towards the door.
“I am pleased that you enjoyed them.”
“Will you be attending Lady Elizabeth Barrow’s ball tomorrow evening?”
Roswell shook his head. “I will not, but I have no doubt that my mother and sister will be attending.”
“Don’t you need to escort them?”
“My brother, Charles, does a fine job of that.”
Lady Persephone’s lips went back to pouting. “I had been hoping to dance with you again,” she said flirtatiously.
“I’m afraid it will have to be at another time.”
He stopped in front of the door and dropped his arm. “I enjoyed our time together.”
“It was much too brief for my taste,” she remarked. “I wish you would stay longer.”
Reaching for Lady Persephone’s hand, Roswell brought it up to his lips. “I will call upon you again, and we can go visit that babbling brook you were telling me about.”
Lady Persephone demurely lowered her gaze. “I would like that, my lord.”
“Excellent,” he responded, releasing her hand.
As he departed from the townhouse, Roswell couldn’t help but acknowledge that he felt no thrill of anticipation at seeing Lady Persephone again. However, feelings were a trivial detail when it came to marriage. He w
as more concerned that his wife would be prepared for the life of a marchioness.
But doubt began to creep in at the thought of making Lady Persephone his wife.
Dressed in a white wrapper, Ellie walked down the darkened hallway with a candle in her hand. She couldn’t sleep and had decided she needed to select a book from the library. With any luck, she would grow tired as she read.
Frankly, she was much too excited to sleep. Three gentlemen had visited her today, and Cosgrove had even asked her to go riding tomorrow in Hyde Park. He was a dashing gentleman, and she had no doubt she could grow quite fond of him.
But could she grow to love him?
The idea of marrying for love had left her mind the moment Lord Worthington moved into the manor. It wasn’t that she didn’t want that, but she had to be realistic. If love did come along, then all the better, but she wouldn’t search for it. Sadly, she didn’t have the luxury of time to do so.
She stopped at the library door and opened it. Stepping inside, she saw that the curtains were closed and the fire had died in the hearth. She turned her attention to the bookshelves along the wall and brought the candle close enough to read the titles.
There were so many books to choose from, since Lord Bideford kept his library well stocked. Her eyes landed on a book of sonnets by William Shakespeare, and she eagerly reached for it. As she held the book in her hand, she heard the sound of light snoring from the opposite side of the room.
Ellie held her candle towards the direction of the noise and saw Lord Bideford asleep on the sofa. He was laying down, with his cravat undone and his white shirt hanging loosely, and he looked somewhat peaceful.
Ellie knew the appropriate thing to do was to leave the library and close the door behind her. But something compelled her to stay, and it was that something that caused her to walk closer to him. She stopped next to him and crouched down.
His soft breathing, accompanied by an occasional snore, caused her to smile. Lord Bideford was a handsome man, but he had such a gruff exterior. She had seen glimpses of a kind heart, but he kept it buried deep within him.
To her surprise, he blinked a few times and opened his eyes.
Lord Bideford stiffened. “What are you doing in my bedchamber, Miss Bentley?” he growled.
“I’m not in your bedchamber,” she rushed to assure him.
He sat up. “If you think you can trap me into a marriage, you are sorely mistaken.”
Rising, she said, “I have no desire to trap you into marriage.”
“Then why are you here?”
Ellie put her hand up. “You fell asleep in the library, and I wanted to ensure you were all right.” At least, that was the partial truth.
His eyes scanned the room, and she saw relief flicker across his face. “My apologies,” Lord Bideford said. “I’m afraid I thought the worst of you… again.”
“I would expect no less from you,” she joked. “If you will excuse me, I have some reading I would like to see to.”
“What book did you choose?”
She arched an eyebrow. “I have no intention of stealing it, if that is your concern.”
“No, it is not,” Lord Bideford replied. “I just find myself curious as to what book you snuck into the library at such a late hour for.”
Ellie held the book up. “It’s a book of sonnets by William Shakespeare.”
“I would not have taken you for a lover of Shakespeare.”
“May I ask why?”
“Some of his material can be rather dark.”
“But it can also be full of love.”
He gave her an amused look. “I daresay not for Romeo and Juliet.”
“That wasn’t the ideal ending for the two young lovers, but the story had an endearing message.”
“Only you would consider a tragedy endearing.”
Ellie smiled. “My father used to read to me at bedtime, and he loved Shakespeare. I suppose I have a different take on it because the books bring back such a flood of wonderful memories.”
“My father used to read to me, as well.”
“He did?”
“Yes,” Lord Bideford answered, smiling. “He would read the letters from his stewards and ask how I would handle the questions from our tenants.”
“That sounds rather…” Her voice trailed off as she tried to think of the right word.
“Boring,” he said, finishing her sentence.
She giggled. “Yes, boring.”
“My father was a kind, loving man, but he was very serious when it came to business,” he said. “He knew that one day it would all pass to me, and he wanted me to be prepared.”
“And were you?”
Lord Bideford shook his head. “Even though I knew the day was coming, I was no more prepared for it.”
“I am sorry to hear that.”
He sighed. “I would give everything I have just to spend one more day with my father.”
Ellie bobbed her head. “I feel the same way.”
He gave her a sad smile. “I suppose we don’t get everything that we wish for.”
“No, we don’t.” Ellie paused, then took a step back. “I should be heading back to my bedchamber.”
Lord Bideford rose and extended his arm. “Allow me to escort you back to your room.”
“That is not necessary, my lord.”
“I know, but I want to ensure you arrive safely.”
Knowing it would be rude to refuse, she placed her hand on his arm. “Thank you.”
As they walked out of the library and headed down the hall, Lord Bideford inquired, “May I ask you a question?”
“Is it about how I steal right out from under you without your knowledge?”
“No,” he replied, his brow furrowing, “and I do hope you are just teasing.”
Ellie grinned. “I am, but I just like to remind you that you called me a thief.”
“I did no such thing,” he said in a hushed but stern tone.
Patting his arm, she replied, “I find it is rather enjoyable to goad you. You do get rather defensive.”
He glanced over at her. “Are you ever serious, Miss Bentley?”
“All the time.”
“I hope to see it more.”
With a laugh, she inquired, “What did you wish to ask me?”
Ellie watched as Lord Bideford’s face grew solemn, then asked, “Why is it that you laugh so freely and unconstrained?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“You have had many great tragedies fall upon you, and yet, you still smile,” he said. “Why is that?”
“It wasn’t as if I could give up.”
“No one would fault you if you did.”
“I would fault myself.”
Lord Bideford stopped in front of her bedchamber door and turned to face her. “Why aren’t you more angry?”
“I was, for many months,” Ellie revealed. “I was mad at my father for dying and leaving my mother and I to our fates. I hated that Lord Worthington was such a despicable man and was attempting to force my hand.”
“What changed?”
She met his gaze. “It was something my mother told me.”
“Which was?”
A wistful smile came to her lips. “She said that a heart filled with anger has no room for love in it.”
“That is some sound advice.”
“I thought so, and it has resonated with me since,” she said. “I could be angry, but if I am, then I lose a part of myself, and that’s something that I’m not willing to do.”
Lord Bideford seemed to consider her words for a moment before saying, “I find myself in the awkward position of envying you.”
“You envy me?” Ellie asked, surprised.
He grinned. “It seems ironic, since you are practically destitute.”
“Thank you for that reminder,” she muttered.
“But you have something that I want.”
She eyed him curiously. “Which is?”
“Y
ou have found a reason to laugh, despite all of your burdens.” Lord Bideford spoke so softly Ellie had to lean in to hear him.
Feeling bold, she asked, “What brings you joy, my lord?”
He winced slightly. “I’m not sure. At least, not anymore.”
“You first need to decide what brings you joy, then focus on that.”
Lord Bideford’s expression was downcast as he admitted, “It has been so long since I have felt joy.”
“Then we must remind you what it is that brought you happiness before.”
“I fear I am a lost cause.”
His look of soul-deep sorrow touched her, and Ellie found compassion stirring inside of her for him. “No one is a lost cause, my lord,” she assured him. “I would be happy to help you, if you would but allow me to.”
“Why would you wish to help me?”
To lighten the mood, she joked, “I find that I have an ample amount of time to myself as I search for a suitor.”
“Allow me to think on it.”
Ellie gave him an encouraging smile. “The greatest fighters are the ones that keep getting back up, no matter how hard they get hit.”
“Are you a philosopher now?” he asked with a mildly amused expression.
“Why not?” she asked. “The world could use more female philosophers.”
Lord Bideford opened the door for her. “Good night, Miss Bentley.”
“Good night, Lord Bideford.”
After the door was closed, Ellie walked over to the bed and put the candle on the table, then sat on the bed and opened her book. But she couldn’t seem to concentrate on the words; her mind kept straying to Lord Bideford.
There was so much pain and anguish in his voice. She had been in earnest about finding a way to help him, but she wasn’t quite sure where to start.
10
Roswell was in an irritable mood after a fitful night of sleep. He couldn’t seem to fathom why he had been so vulnerable with Miss Bentley the night before. His emotions were usually firmly tucked away, never surfacing. So why had he confided in her about what he was feeling?