by Romy Sommer
They worked side by side, planting the bulbs she’d ordered from London.
“This doesn’t seem the right time of year to be planting,” he said.
“They’re bulbs,” she explained. “They’ll sleep underground until spring, and then we’ll have a sudden explosion of colour. It’ll be beautiful.” Would she be around to appreciate them? Perhaps, if her plan succeeded, she’d be invited back in the spring for William’s engagement party. If he could first be persuaded to attend her party, that is, and didn’t retreat back into his shell. She bit her lip.
“Miss Rosalie.” She lifted her head at the call. Anna stood framed in the kitchen door. “You have a guest.”
Rosalie frowned. She wasn’t expecting anyone. She wiped her grubby hands down the front of her smock, leaving two dark streaks of mud.
There were voices in the hall as she entered through the garden door. Men’s voices, so perhaps it was the vicar calling.
She headed for the back stairs, needing to change her clothes before she was fit for company, but she’d barely laid a hand on the banister before the hall door opened.
“There you are, sweetheart. Come join us for a cup of tea.”
Trust her father not to notice her state of dress. But William, a step behind him, swept an all-seeing gaze over her. Telltale heat stained her cheeks.
“I brought your father some books I thought he’d be interested in.”
She hovered on the bottom step, caught between stunned triumph and confusion. Triumph won out. William had left the safety of his own four walls and come to pay a social call. Her dinner party invitation hadn’t ruined everything after all.
She smiled. “Thank you, that’s very kind.”
“Would you care to change before you join us for tea?”
If her wretched state of attire had allowed, she’d have hugged William then and there for his consideration. Instead she grinned her answer and bounded away up the stairs to her room, pausing briefly at the top to call down to her father, “Not your study, Father. Guests should be entertained in the drawing room.”
Her father shrugged and changed direction, but William cast her a speaking glance that set her laughing again.
In a matter of minutes she’d stripped off the muddy smock and stepped into one of her favourite dresses, a drop-waisted Coco Chanel creation in forest green crepe. An intricate geometric design of beads wove down the left side, and a wide sash wrapped around her hips, but if not for these embellishments it would have been positively staid. And quite possibly the sort of thing a steady and dependable man like the Commander might appreciate.
Not that she chose it for him, of course.
Glancing into the mirror, she bit her lips to bring out the colour. There was no need to pinch her cheeks. Roses already bloomed bright there.
The eyes that looked back at her from the mirror seemed almost feverish. Was William really here to deliver books? Or could he possibly have come to see her?
When she returned downstairs, Father was already poring over a book William had brought, a tome on Roman military history, she gathered from the illustrations.
William rose as she entered the room. He wore his serious face again, but his eyes were bright. Her pulse kicked up a notch.
“Have you been offered tea yet?” She indicated the tray Anna must have set ready.
William shook his head, and she moved towards the small table and poured tea into the three cups. She made William’s tea the way he liked it: strong, with a dash of milk and sugar.
As he sipped the steaming tea, William’s gaze settled on the fireplace, where the ornate Victorian mantel had been replaced by a sleeker, modern Art Nouveau one. She wondered if it was the fireplace he saw, or the letter he’d left there so many years ago.
“This room has changed a great deal.” His noncommittal tone revealed nothing of his thoughts. Did he approve of the changes she’d made? Or was the house still a stark reminder of his lost love?
Her father looked around, as if seeing the room for the first time. “Rosalie is very good at making a home for us, wherever we go.” He smiled. “And it keeps her out of mischief.”
There was laughter in the glance William cast her, and she breathed a sigh of relief.
“I wouldn’t bet on that.” The words were spoken softly and meant only for her.
Butterflies seemed to have taken up residence in the pit of her stomach, and for the first time in her memory she found herself bereft of words. She took a sip of tea and pulled herself together. “You should see the garden.”
“I’d like that.” William turned to her father. “Would you object if we took a walk?”
Her father shrugged. “Rosalie likes to walk. She’s been doing a lot of that lately.”
William cast her another laughing glance. Only with an effort did she manage to keep her face composed. Inside, her heart sang. He wanted to see her, to talk to her. They were friends again.
They set down their tea cups and she led William into the garden. She’d removed the enclosing wall that broke the view down the sloping garden to the winding stream below, and where the fussy beds of roses had once been, she’d laid turf. “I’ve based it on a Gertrude Jekyll design. There’ll be bright-coloured beds along the borders, and the view is now an uninterrupted part of the garden.”
“You know it wasn’t the garden I wanted to see. I wanted to see you. You didn’t come to ride this morning. I waited for you.”
“I was busy.”
“No, you were hurt and angry.” He took her hand. His fingers were warm and strong around hers, and made her forget that this wasn’t part of her plan at all.
She glanced back at the house. “Let’s walk.” She needed to get out of view of those windows. She could imagine what Anna would have to say about the intimacy between them, and right now she didn’t want to hear any of it.
He allowed her to lead him down the long garden, but he didn’t release her hand. She really should pull away, but her traitorous hand refused to respond to her stern admonition.
They jumped across the narrow stream, then wandered along the bank, the dry grass crackling beneath their feet. Only when they were out of sight of the house, hidden beneath an overhang of willow branches, did she pull her hand out of his, rounding on him. “You really need to stop doing that.”
“What am I doing?”
“You’re giving me whiplash. I can’t keep up with these mood changes. The last time we met, you practically threw me out of your house. And now you’re...you’re…”
“I think the word you’re looking for is flirting.” His tone was dry, but there was laughter in his eyes. “Though you’d be excused for being confused. I’m a little rusty at it.”
She should have been thrilled. This was exactly what she’d wanted: William out of his shell. William visiting his neighbours. William flirting and happy. So why was she not feeling at all thrilled? And why did she suddenly feel breathless and more than a little scared?
She sat down on the mossy bank, needing to break eye contact. “One moment you’re so nice to me, and the next you’re so...”
He sat beside her, barely beyond her reach, and leaned back on his elbows. “Rude?” But he said it with a smile.
The space between them helped her to breathe again. She managed a light laugh. “I’d settle for difficult.”
“I’m out of practice with the social niceties. I apologise if I’ve offended.”
She cocked her head on one side. “You’re an intelligent man, presentable, engaging enough when you want to be. Why did you turn your back on society?”
He shrugged carelessly, but didn’t meet her eye. “When is your party?”
“Friday night.”
“And who have you invited?”
“The Prestons, the Ferncrofts. John Hemmings, of course.”
“Of course.” His tone was dry. “The company will be a little heavy on the masculine side, don’t you think, since John is a bachelor and Ferncroft
’s wife is visiting family somewhere up in the north?”
She resisted the urge to point out that she’d lived most of her life in a male-dominated household. When her father entertained, it was usually other military men. Her introduction to the feminine world had come only when Aunt Frances had realised her age and invited her to London for her coming out. A sigh of longing escaped, before she forced her thoughts back to the present.
“There’ll be a few unattached young women present. Mr Ferncroft’s eldest daughter, and Sir Robert has a sister who lives with him.”
William’s eyes narrowed. “I had a suspicion you had an ulterior motive for getting caught in the rain exactly in the vicinity of my house. I’ll admit I hadn’t thought it to be such an altruistic one. You weren’t planning on catching yourself a wealthy husband, then?”
“Are you wealthy?”
“Would it make a difference?”
She laughed. “Not in the least, since I’m not looking for a husband.” Then, because honesty was ingrained in her. “At least, not yet.”
“Oh?”
“I haven’t yet met anyone I want to spend the rest of my life with.”
“Oh.”
Couldn’t he sound at least a little put out?
“You know I never planned to stay in Somerset permanently. As soon as Father is settled here, I’ll be heading back to London.”
“He seems fairly settled to me. So why are you still here? Aren’t you missing all the dazzling parties and your scores of admirers?”
Unable to deny it, she cleared the hard lump from her throat and forced a smile. “There’s still one more thing I need to accomplish before I go.”
He sat up, tossing away the long blade of grass he’d been nibbling on. “My marriage?” His eyebrows pulled together. “What if I’m not looking for a wife? I was perfectly happy before you came along.” If she missed the warning glitter in his eyes, his tone of voice was enough to alert her she trod on dangerous ground.
But she’d been told often enough that she was fearless. It wasn’t true, of course, but she certainly wasn’t afraid of him. She tossed her head back. “No, you weren’t. You were doing nothing more than getting through each day. You weren’t really living.”
“And you think having a woman in my home is going to bring me back to life?”
“No.” She bit back a smile. It wouldn’t go down well now, with this tension thrumming between them. “But I think having a woman in your bed might.”
Her forthrightness shouldn’t have taken him by surprise any more. Nevertheless, his eyebrows lifted. He studied her for a moment, before his eyes shuttered again, closing her out. Then carefully, quietly he said, “I see.”
She rather hoped he didn’t. Because the image that had flashed into her head and raised a flush to her cheeks was not one she wanted to acknowledge, let alone share. She swallowed. “So will you come to my party?”
“I’ll come.” He was on his feet, brushing down the grass from his trousers. He didn’t look at her as he spoke. “I trust you won’t mind if I don’t see you back to your door? Please give your father my apologies for not saying goodbye.”
She nodded, mute. William strode away, not once looking back. And as the space between them grew, so did the chasm that had opened between them.
She dropped her head into her hands. Why was every moment with William so charged with emotion?
Raised in a world of men, she’d never had a problem understanding them before. But William was unlike any man she’d ever met. He admired her, that much was clear, yet he didn’t want her. They could laugh and chatter like old friends, then suddenly those shutters would come down, and he’d turn his back on her.
Worst of all was the way her body seemed to have a mind of its own whenever he was near. She didn’t want to get emotionally involved with William, no matter how her pulse raced whenever he was around. Really, she didn’t.
Chapter Nine
Rosalie perched on the edge of her seat, unable to settle. Her sherry glass was nearly empty, yet the alcohol had done absolutely nothing to steady her nerves.
She really had no need to be so anxious. Her guests chatted and laughed, completely at ease as they sipped their drinks. All but one. The one who hadn’t yet arrived.
Beside her on the sofa sat plump Lady Preston, her soft kind face animated as she chatted. Rosalie couldn’t even remember what they were talking about. She jumped as the doorbell rang, shedding droplets of sticky sweetness over her hand.
“I’ll get that.” She leapt to her feet, ignoring the look of surprise on poor Lady Preston’s face.
Sucking the spilled sherry off her hand, she swung the door open, and her breath caught in her throat. She’d only ever seen William dressed in casual country wear. In an evening suit, he was devastating.
“Hello, William,” she managed.
“Rosalie.” He nodded a curt greeting. The look he gave her was hardly friendly, but at least he was here.
She led him into the drawing room. Lady Preston gave an audible gasp. Mr. Ferncroft’s bushy eyebrows disappeared under his hair. Even John Hemmings looked stunned to see William.
“This is Commander Cavendish.”
Her father, oblivious to the atmosphere of astonishment, shook William’s hand. “Pleasure to see you again, William.”
“The pleasure is all mine, Major Stanton. Thank you for inviting me.”
He may have turned his back on society for nearly five years, but his manners remained impeccable, she had to grant him that.
The tension broke. Sir Robert stepped forward and offered his hand to William. “It’s been a long time, William.”
William shook his hand. “Too long.”
Rosalie performed the introductions. When he was introduced to the two unmarried women, Rosalie was almost sure his mouth quirked. At least he hadn’t lost his sense of humour, though there was no evidence of humour in the fleeting look he cast her. Only hardness.
“Would you like a sherry?” The butterflies had started dancing in her stomach again, knocking against her ribs almost painfully.
“Thank you,” William replied. But he didn’t look directly at her. Anger stilled the butterflies. She’d spoken nothing more than truth when they’d last met, and he hadn’t denied the merit of her plan. The fact that he was here suggested he even agreed. So why was he still upset with her?
She moved to the drinks tray and poured his drink mechanically, topping up her own glass at the same time. No one noticed. Father had resumed his conversation with Sir Robert. The vicar and Mr. Ferncroft discussed parish business. And William... William was surrounded by women.
Rosalie pasted a smile on her face and carried the glass to him. He laughed at a comment whispered to him by Penelope Ferncroft as he took the glass. No hostility there, she noted bitterly, retreating to the opposite end of the room.
He was different tonight, and it was more than the elegantly tailored suit. He was a stranger. While his greeting to her had been cold, among the circle of women he seemed to have come alive. She’d never seen him so full of energy, laughing, chatting, smiling. Relaxed and effortlessly charming, as he’d never been with her. She frowned.
Why could he flirt so easily with her neighbours, but not with her? Could he not see past her resemblance to Julia to the person within? For the first time ever, Rosalie cursed her face. If only she’d been blonde and voluptuous like Deidre Preston, perhaps William would be smiling at her instead.
“Penny for your thoughts.”
She faked a bright smile for the vicar. “I was thinking of returning to London the week after next.”
“You’re leaving so soon?”
“The house is finished, the gardener knows what to do, and Father has friends here in the neighbourhood. He even has you and William to play chess with when he remembers to emerge from his books. My job here is done.” And William clearly had no more need of her. Her gut wrenched as he laughed again.
“You’ll be mi
ssed.” John glanced across the room at William.
“I doubt it.” If her laugh sounded brittle, John didn’t appear to notice. “I think it’s time we go in to dinner.”
Candles lit the dining room, bathing the room in a warm glow that harsh electric light could not imitate. She’d slaved all afternoon to make sure the room looked perfect. The silver on the table gleamed, the flowers brought all the way from the greenhouse at Hestercombe, and Rosalie had arranged them herself. The starched napkins, folded to resemble swans, had taken her the better part of two hours to create.
And it was perfect. Looking down the long dining table to her father beaming affably at the far end, she should have felt a great deal more satisfaction than she did.
Sometime between the soup and the main course, it hit her, much like the sledgehammer that had hit the old fireplace. How could she have been so blind?
Further down the table, Penelope Ferncroft and Deidre Preston battled over William, each trying to outdo the other to impress him. It would have been comical, if she hadn’t wanted to scratch out their eyes.
Which one of the two William preferred, Rosalie couldn’t tell. He flirted equally with both of them.
She gritted her teeth and forced down another mouthful. The dish, one of Anna’s greatest triumphs, tasted like cardboard in her mouth.
Then William glanced up and caught her eye. He cocked an eyebrow at her, his dark eyes amused, and for a brief moment the William she knew was back. The sardonic, dry-humoured, prickly man she loved.
She sucked in a breath. There. She’d admitted it.
She loved him.
But did he love her back?
Could he love her, or would the spectre of Julia always be between them?
For the remainder of the meal, she smiled and laughed, flirted a little with old Mr. Ferncroft who sat beside her, and thanked years of making small talk with her father’s friends that she was able to be the perfect hostess while inside she felt as if she were dying.
After dinner, she served coffee to the women in the drawing room while the men remained in the dining room to drink their brandies.