Rosalind: A Regency Romance (The Four Sisters Series Book 1)

by Audrey Harrison

  Rosalind smiled at him and placed her hand on his offered arm. His arm felt solid and strong; Peter’s action had filled her with confidence. The ball was being held in honour of their marriage; she was entitled to be there but, more than that, she was with her husband, and they were going to dance together properly for the first time.

  That was the thought that put a serene smile on her face as they approached the door. She was determined that tonight she was going to enjoy herself and, for once, she would take notice of the looks that her husband was supposedly aiming in her direction. Yes, the evening was full of promise.

  Chapter 9

  It was obvious that all eyes would be on the newlywed Duke and Duchess as they took their place at the head of the set as the first dance started. Their height alone would have attracted attention, both almost head and shoulders above anyone else in the set. Even the most disparaging of the guests had to admit that, in good looks, they were equally matched.

  The music started and, for the second time, Rosalind and Peter danced. The difference this time was that there was no silliness to distract them; they could concentrate on each other as each movement was made.

  Peter’s heart was pounding. He was before the most beautiful woman in the room and, to all intents and purposes, she belonged to him. The irony was that he was more familiar with Mrs Adams than he was with his own wife. It seemed as each day passed, though, he wanted to get to know her more; only he had been the one to set the barriers. He smiled at her, as once again she turned to face him in the set, her eyes laughing at him playfully.

  “What is so funny, Duchess?” Peter asked, using the name affectionately.

  “I have always struggled to find someone to dance with, who I felt dainty with, but with you I have finally achieved it,” Rosalind said. The music and her partner made her less reticent than she normally would have been.

  “Perhaps having a pauper husband is not so bad after all?” Peter whispered as they passed in the set.

  “This is definitely an advantage,” Rosalind smiled playfully.

  They turned in the dance, passing each other closely. “Is it the only advantage? Am I not just a little bit appealing, oh beautiful one?” Peter asked quietly.

  Rosalind felt Peter’s breath on her ear, and it caused tingles throughout her body. She tried to pull herself together. “Are you trying to force me to give you compliments?” she teased, her heart fluttering at his compliment; no one had ever told her she was beautiful.

  “Perhaps you think I am just a little bit handsome?” Peter continued to tease, his eyes sparkling with silent laughter.

  Rosalind smiled and flushed. “I did think when we were first married that at least my father had chosen an attractive husband,” she admitted, remembering her first impressions of him when they were alone in the carriage.

  Peter chuckled, “Very considerate of him. So I am attractive, am I?” he probed.

  Rosalind smiled, but looked away. “It is not very gentlemanlike to push for compliments,” she responded.

  “Perhaps I don’t feel like being a gentleman any longer,” Peter whispered as they separated in the set. He was pleased to hear Rosalind’s surprised “Oh!” before she was forced to concentrate on the second gentleman in the set.

  When the dance returned them to each other, Peter continued. “Do you want to know how I want to behave?”

  Rosalind had tried to compose herself while away from Peter, but now he was moving once more in front of her, squeezing her hands as he spoke; she was struggling to concentrate on the steps.

  Peter smiled at the lack of response. He was encouraged by the flush on Rosalind’s cheeks and the shortness of breath, which had nothing to do with the dance. “I want to wrap my arms around my wife and kiss her like she has never been kissed before.”

  Rosalind’s eyes flew to Peter’s, widening in surprise and something else. Her heart was pounding; she wanted to be kissed just as much as it seemed he wanted to kiss her. The thought of kissing Peter removed all ability to respond to him with a rejoinder, but he did not seem to care. His eyes warmed with promise.

  “Do you want to be kissed Duchess?” he whispered as they passed each other.

  Rosalind whispered, “Yes,” before they were separated once more.

  Peter almost groaned as he was forced away from Rosalind. His wife had admitted that she wanted to be kissed by him, and he was unable to respond further, to keep the momentum going. Finally, they were facing each other once more. “I want to kiss you now, but I am going to wait until we are alone. I would like to dance on our own where no one can disturb us and kiss you every time we meet in the dance. Would you be interested in seeing how well we dance together when we’re alone?” he asked, smiling, his eyes warming with promise.

  Rosalind raised her eyes to his. “Oh, I think so, yes,” she said quietly.

  Peter had never wanted to grab someone and run out of a ballroom so much in his life before this evening. Unfortunately, as guest of honour, he doubted his reputation would stand the scandal, so he had to content himself with flirting with Rosalind. “We shall have to discuss this later when we are released from our duties here. I will look forward to it Duchess more than you could possibly know,” Peter said quietly, at the same time squeezing her hand.

  Rosalind smiled, she was not sure she could say anything coherent if she tried. She could not think of anything she wanted to do more than spend some time alone with her husband, and he was going to kiss her! He wanted to kiss her; he thought she was beautiful. When this change had happened she could not say, but she was glad that it had. For the first time since her marriage there was the possibility that it would not turn out to be cold after all.

  Any suggestion of intimacies at the start of their marriage would have terrified her; it had been a huge relief when Peter had assured her that he would not expect that aspect of married life. As the days passed though, she had started to see him in a different light. He was handsome; she had seen that from the start, but now that she knew him more, something had started to develop. She saw the man that he was, and she was attracted to him. He was kind, gentle, loving and good to be with, but there was more than that. More and more she was finding herself making excuses to be with him, to talk to him, to laugh with him. She acknowledged to herself that she wanted to be more than the strangers they had been and, from his behaviour tonight, it seemed that he shared the same desire.

  When the first two dances ended, Peter held Rosalind’s left hand with his left and placed his right arm around her waist. It was as if he could not resist being in contact with her, and Rosalind loved the feeling of his arm protectively around her.

  They separated when Lord Kettering claimed his dance with Rosalind, and Peter was obliged to seek out Annabelle. They were kept separate for much of the evening after their precious hour together on the dance floor, both being in demand and obliged to socialise. Rosalind eventually had time to speak to Mrs Adams, who had been watching the festivities along with a group of similar aged ladies.

  “Got time to spare for us old cronies at last have you?” Mrs Adams said good-naturedly.

  “I could feel your eyes glaring into my back for ignoring you, so I thought it best to come and say hello before a hole actually appeared in my dress,” Rosalind replied with a smile.

  “I should think so, too,” Mrs Adams responded. “I think you can safely call your first outing a hit.”

  “I hope so. I was very nervous at the start,” Rosalind admitted.

  “Yes, I thought you looked like a scared rabbit when you entered the ballroom,” Mrs Adams said with derision. She might like Rosalind, but she was not above ridiculing the young woman if she showed weakness or foolishness.

  “I was thankful to have Peter at my side,” Rosalind admitted, continuing to use the familiar term for her husband while she was with such an old friend of the family.

  “I’ve already told you that he is a good man,” Mrs Adams said, watching the young wom
an closely.

  “And I agreed,” Rosalind said, trying to deflect the confession of feelings that had seemed to develop at an alarming speed over the previous few days.

  “Ah, I see how it is. I’m old. I’ve never experienced a heart beating fast; I’ve never experienced the first flush of love,” Mrs Adams said with amusement.

  Rosalind blushed, “I am too transparent, aren’t I? Fine, he is handsome and considerate and loving, and I want us to be more than we have been. Happy now?” she finished with a humph.

  Mrs Adams laughed loudly, “Very. For you both.”

  Rosalind smiled, before being interrupted by Annabelle. “There you are! I’ve been looking for Peter or yourself and I couldn’t find either!” she said, fanning herself. “It is so hot in here!”

  “It is a little,” Rosalind admitted. “Would you like to take a walk on the terrace? The windows are open now, so we can sneak out for a few minutes’ air, if Mrs Adams can spare us?”

  “Of course, although hurry up and get back onto the dance floor. You have both outshone the rest of the idiots tonight; I enjoy watching their jealous stares,” came the wicked response.

  Rosalind and Annabelle weaved their wave through the crowds until they reached an open window and stepped through. The cool air on their skin was a welcome relief to both of them. They walked towards the balustrade at the edge of the terrace.

  “I’ve danced far more than I expected,” Annabelle admitted. “Everyone has been welcoming.”

  “See, a pretty face and a large dowry, and you have turned into the belle of the ball after all,” Rosalind teased, but she was pleased that her sister was enjoying her outing.

  “Long may it continue,” Annabelle said with a smile. “Oh, I wish we could see the view,” she said as they reached the balustrade, and the land fell away before them. The only indication that the house was on the top of a hill was that stone steps led down from an opening in the balustrade, and continued into the darkness.

  Both women stood for a moment, enjoying the coolness of the breeze while still being able to hear the noise and the music from the ballroom. They were disturbed by voices below them. Rosalind stepped back away from the balustrade and was about to pull Annabelle back, when her hand stilled in mid-air. She had recognised the voice of her husband.

  “No official promise was ever made, Joan, you know that as well as I,” Peter said, his tone firm.

  “It was promised when we were alone; of course, it was not done officially! It was when we were being passionate, I admit that; but it does not alter the fact that I should have been the next Duchess. It is a breach of promise that I am not,” the clear, higher-pitched voice of Lady Joan said.

  Annabelle turned to her sister with a look of horror on her face, her eyes filled with tears of compassion, when she saw the same look of mortification on Rosalind’s face. Neither moved, both compelled to hear what else was said.

  “None of this was my doing. Joan, you must let this go. There is nothing that can be done to change things; there is no breach of promise to answer to. I cannot alter my situation as you well know,” Peter said, sounding frustrated.

  “I am owed some recompense, surely; I’m sure we could come to some arrangement that would suit us both. We have known each other for so long, why should we not be happy? I can make you happy.” Lady Joan’s voice had gone from demanding to teasing.

  “Joan, don’t say things like that; it does not help. You know my situation,” Peter responded, but his tone was gentle.

  “Yes, you are married to an upstart: someone who could never be a Duchess if she held the title for a hundred years! I cannot believe you are putting her above me!” Joan snapped.

  “Joan…” Peter started, but before he had a chance to say anything else, the pair were interrupted by Rosalind, who had managed to walk on shaking legs to lean over the balustrade.

  “Lady Joan, at least have the decency to criticise me to my face. I consider talking behind someone’s back the height of cowardice. Luckily for me, I was able to hear your derogatory remarks. At least morning visits don’t need to be so stiflingly polite in future!” Rosalind said, her cheeks burning red with rage. She moved away from the edge of the terrace and turned gripping Annabelle’s arm for support.

  “Rosalind!” Peter shouted, as he ran up the stairs.

  Rosalind paused and slowly turned to face her husband, she could see his face was a deathly white under the light that spilled from the torches around the terrace. “Yes?” she asked, her tone stiff and unwelcoming.

  “It isn’t what it seems,” Peter said, moving towards Rosalind. He faltered when he reached out his hand and Rosalind stepped back as if burnt.

  Rosalind looked him fully in the face and felt desolate. She had never thought she knew him fully, but she had been excited and pleased that they seemed to have been progressing in their relationship. For the last few days, it had been as if she had not been married for convenience, but some attraction was developing; and she had hoped it could lead to happiness. It had been reinforced by the conversation they had shared on the dancefloor. Oh, how different things appeared now!

  She squared her shoulders. “Being alone in the darkened gardens at a ball with a woman who is not your wife can only mean one thing. Please do not treat me like a fool. The conversation was loud enough for anyone on this terrace to hear; she wanted to be Duchess and wants some sort of liaison with you. That much was perfectly clear.”

  “But…” Peter said.

  Rosalind interrupted once more. “Why would you separate yourself so much from the company with her of all people, risking all sorts of gossip and speculation?” she asked quietly.

  “Her of all people?” Lady Joan screeched. “How dare you! My rank will always be above yours, no matter what your title is!” she spat.

  “At the end of the day, I am the Duchess,” Rosalind said holding her head high and staring at Lady Joan. There was no fear in the look, only a challenge. “You will give my rank the respect it deserves or you will suffer the consequences.”

  “Are you threatening me?” Lady Joan asked, sounding incredulous.

  “Definitely,” Rosalind responded. She turned away, but her step faltered when she saw Miss Latimer, Lady Kettering and Mrs Adams standing outside, watching the confrontation.

  Rosalind moved towards the group and stood before Lady Kettering. “Please excuse me; I have a headache and need to return to Sudworth Hall.” Everyone in the group noticed that she did not use the word ‘home’.

  “Of course. I’m sorry your evening had to be unexpectedly cut short,” came the quiet reply from Lady Kettering, but her eyes never left her daughter.

  “My carriage is at the front,” Mrs Adams interrupted. “I had come to find you in order to take my leave. I will see you home; it will prevent you waiting for your own carriage.”

  “Thank you,” Rosalind said and followed Mrs Adams.

  The older lady stopped before she re-entered the house. She looked at Peter, but spoke quietly. “You are a bigger fool than your brother or your father. You had everything and threw it away. I expected more of you Peter.” She turned and entered the house with Rosalind and Annabelle following.

  Chapter 10

  Peter was drunk. He knew he was drunk because every time he laughed, he cried. He never cried, not even when his mother died; he would have been ridiculed by Robert if he had shown such weakness. Well, maybe he had cried in his own bed at night, but that had been the last time. Now he could not seem to stop the tears flowing.

  He had been motionless and speechless like the cowardly fool that he was. All he could focus on had been Rosalind’s face. He would never forget the look of horror and hurt no matter how long he lived. He felt as if he were being kicked every time he thought about it.

  How could he defend himself? He had taken Lady Joan into a darkened garden. Good God, if they had both been single, he would have been married to her by now. The thought made him shudder. He had known Lady Joan
for most of his life, and she would never change; she was always looking out for herself and not caring about another human being.

  He cursed himself: why had he been so stupid? He should never have agreed to her request. She had played him like the fool he was. She knew he was soft-hearted, and she had come over to him all tearful and upset, saying that she needed to talk to him in private. He had suggested going to one of the rooms near the ballroom, which would have been bad enough, but not in comparison to taking a walk in a darkened garden.

  Lady Joan had been spiteful to Rosalind; he had known that. When he had been in her company, he flinched when Joan uttered her vindictive comments, but Rosalind had always stood up to her. Even Mrs Adams had had a quiet word with him, suggesting that he should speak to Lord Kettering about Lady Joan’s behaviour, but he had not. He foolishly presumed that, by holding a ball for them, Joan would finally start to soften towards Rosalind and accept her as part of their group. He was a fool.

  How could an evening that started so well have turned out so wrong? He groaned when he thought of Rosalind flirting with him. The night had been full of promise; he was going to kiss his wife, that much he had determined. As for the rest he would have let Rosalind decide how far they would go, but now, now things were worse than when they had both stepped into his carriage after their wedding ceremony. He laughed; that had been pretty bad but nothing compared to this.

  When the footman opened the carriage door, he paused. He had never seen his master in such a dishevelled state, and he had known him man and boy. The Duke was passed out on one of the seats, a bottle of some sort rolling about on the floor, spilling the little alcohol contained inside. The footman wisely decided that he needed to seek additional help.

  *

  Rosalind did not cry; she refused to, and if her eyes stung with unshed tears, she ignored the pain and the lump that she could not remove from her throat. She had been an idiot of the highest order. Her husband had promised to be honest with her and, in reality, he must be laughing at her. Lady Joan had obviously had some sort of liaison with him in the past: so much so that she thought there had been an agreement between them.