In his kiss, she could taste the one dream she’d not allowed herself to have…the dream of children.
Rosalyn crossed her arms, suddenly cold with apprehension. “What is it about you that frightens me so?” she asked aloud.
“About whom?” Covey said from the door. She entered the room and then stopped to look around in bewilderment. “Why, my lady, you are alone. Are you starting to talk to yourself the way I talk to myself?”
“I was reasoning something out,” Rosalyn answered.
“About Colonel Mandland? Bridget told me he was here.”
“You knew he had come to call and didn’t rescue me?” Rosalyn demanded. “Covey, what sort of friend are you?”
“One who hoped the two of you were getting along well,” she answered. “He’s not a bad man. He’s brave and intelligent, handsome…. What more could you want?”
Love.
The word jumped unbidden to Rosalyn’s mind. He was right. Her refusal of his suit had nothing to do with him and everything to do with her own need. She wanted to be loved, and yet she feared and distrusted the passion behind desire.
There, she had admitted it. She wanted the one thing she didn’t believe existed. The knowledge of how needy she was shattered her very notion of herself.
She had to think, to sort everything out. She was too vulnerable, and with vulnerability came pain. She knew that. She started walking out of the room.
“My dear, are you all right?” Covey asked, taking a step after her.
Rosalyn held up a hand to ward her off. “I’m fine. I need to finish the attic. I must go.” At the door, she stopped. “Please, don’t leave me alone with him. Not any more.” She didn’t wait for a response but practically ran for the stairs.
A few minutes later, in the loneliness of the attic, she stood in front of a dusty mirror propped against the wall and saw a stranger reflected there.
Slowly, she removed the pins from her hair. The curls she took such pains to hide sprang out in joyful abandon at finally being set free.
Tears welled in her eyes as she looked into her mother’s face, the one she tried to hide. Her father had blamed his drinking on how much she resembled the woman who had betrayed his love. Her aunts and cousins had all remarked on how unfortunate it was she had her mother’s overtly sensual looks. Her mother. The candler’s daughter who had captured the heart of an earl, an earl foolish enough to marry her.
Of course, her father’s relatives had not been surprised when the lovely Ariette had run away with someone as common as a riding instructor. Hadn’t she been common herself?
“I’m not common,” Rosalyn said to the reflection. “I’m not.”
As she forced back her tears, her eyes burned. She repinned her hair tighter than ever and lifted her chin. “I am Rosalyn Wellborne, daughter of the earl of Woodford. I am not common.”
And she almost believed it. But that night, she didn’t sleep well. She dreamed of babies. Beautiful, round, laughing babies. They seemed to fall from the sky into her arms, and they all had storm blue eyes, dark hair, and slashing eyebrows.
They were all miniature Colonel Mandlands.
She woke, her heart pounding in her chest…and prayed she would never have another nightmare like that one.
So when he presented himself on her doorstep the very next morning, she was not happy.
Colin knew better than to wait until he was announced. He followed the maid into the sitting room, where Lady Rosalyn sat on the floor in front of a huge open trunk before the hearth. “I’m not receiving callers” were the first words out of her mouth, even before his name was announced. She didn’t even bother to look up at him.
He waved Bridget out of the room saying, “Hello, how are you?”
Lady Rosalyn frowned her response. She was again dressed for a day of cleaning and work. He rather liked her industriousness. In the military, he had become accustomed to and admired ladies who could adapt to their surroundings. Lady Rosalyn would have made a good military wife, although she would have to do something about her clothes. She’d also have to stop pulling her hair back so tight that it pulled at her brow line.
Today she had added a scarf, so she reminded him of nothing less than a burgher’s wife gleaning wheat sheaves from the fields.
No, he amended to himself, she was prettier than any burgher’s wife could even think of being, scarf or no.
She was packing small articles from the sitting room into the open trunk. In spite of a bit of a chill, spring was in the air and the windows were open.
Colin didn’t wait for her to invite him to sit. He knew she wouldn’t. He pulled up a chair by the trunk and seated himself.
“I’m very busy,” she said pointedly.
“I won’t disturb you. In fact, I’ll help.” He picked up a porcelain shepherdess from a side table and offered it to her.
“Some sorts of help one doesn’t need,” she answered, but she took the figurine from him.
“What nonsense. Everyone needs help.”
Wrapping the figure in a soft rag, she murmured, “I’d like to help you out. The door, that is,” she added so he could not mistake her intentions.
“You are prickly this morning. You must not have slept well.”
Her glance flew to his in alarm, as if she was afraid he knew something she did not want him to know.
“What?” he asked.
She frowned and dropped her gaze to the task at hand. “Nothing.”
Colin rested his elbows on his knees. “Well, it must have been something. You looked as if I had read your mind.”
“It was nothing,” she said with the right amount of testiness, and he knew she lied.
“Did you dream about me?”
The rag-wrapped figurine slipped from her hand into the trunk. There was a small, foreboding breaking sound. With a soft cry, she pulled the shepherdess back out and unwrapped it.
“I broke the staff.” She raised distressed eyes to Colin. “It’s Covey’s. Her husband gave it to her as a wedding gift. She’s always doted on it.”
At that moment, there was a sound in the hall, and then Mrs. Covington appeared. She wore one of her lace caps and an apron with a streak of dust, a sign she had also been packing. “Bridget said we had company,” she said pleasantly. “How good it is to see you again, Colonel.”
Colin came to his feet and made a small bow. “Thank you, Mrs. Covington. I don’t know if you will be so happy once you know what I’ve done.” Colin didn’t know why he was taking the blame, but it felt right. “I broke this shepherdess piece.” He swooped the porcelain out of Lady Rosalyn’s hands.
“I broke her little crook,” he said, walking up to the older woman.
Mrs. Covington took the figurine out of his hands and, taking a moment to reach into her apron pocket and put her spectacles on the end of her nose, she inspected the damage. Her fingers trembled as they lightly touched the beloved item. “It’s not such a bad break.” She drew a breath and said, “Perhaps it can be repaired.”
“Yes,” he agreed.
She smiled, but the expression didn’t reach her watery eyes. She handed the shepherdess back to him. “On another thought, perhaps she should stay here. Alfred gave her to me when we first moved in to Maiden Hill. We barely had a shilling to our name, and he knew I’d secretly coveted this piece, which set in Highson’s shop. I was so surprised by the present.” Mrs. Covington walked over to set the figure back on the mantel. “Here, this is her home. Perhaps she should stay? You would not mind, would you, Colonel Mandland?”
“I’d be honored,” Colin said, knowing without looking that Mrs. Covington’s words were like darts to Lady Rosalyn’s heart. He looked back at her and was surprised to see he was wrong.
She sat unmoving by the trunk, but her face carried no expression. No regret, no sadness, no emotional turbulence of any sort.
And yet he knew she felt keenly.
Lady Rosalyn rose. “How kind of you, sir,” she said quie
tly. “Covey, I must help Bridget. Would you be so kind as to entertain our guest.”
She didn’t wait for an answer but walked out of the room as if her knees were frozen.
There was a beat of silence, then Mrs. Covington said, “My lady broke the figurine.”
“I thought to spare her, and it was my fault.”
“You can’t protect her.” Mrs. Covington turned the shepherdess on the mantel so she could look out the window. “No one is harder on my lady than she is on herself. But I think you understand how that is? Are you not the same way?”
He was. One of the reasons he had taken risks in battle, leading his men himself and always volunteering for the difficult assignments, was that he didn’t want anyone to think later that he had not carried his own weight. It was a point of honor to him.
“I believe Lady Rosalyn was upset because she knows how much the piece means to you,” he said.
Mrs. Covington made a shush of aggravation. “She means more than a piece of pottery, and she knows that. She’s also rarely clumsy. What did you say to her before the figurine broke?”
“I’d asked her if she’d dreamed about me.”
A light came on in the older woman’s eyes. “What was her answer? She was very out of sorts this morning.”
“She didn’t answer. The porcelain slipped from her hand.”
“That is an answer,” Mrs. Covington said, her face a wreath of smiles. “My dear, dear colonel. You are an answer to my most secret prayers.” She took his hand. “I know you seek your own gain, but my lady is a wonderful woman. She has so much love inside her, and yet she holds it back. Please, save her.”
Colin shifted uncomfortably. He had never been one to play Lancelot. Sir Galahad, yes. “Our marriage would be a good investment for us both.”
Mrs. Covington frowned. “Bah to investments!” She released his hand. “Perhaps you aren’t the right man,” she said, her voice more disdainful than anything Lady Rosalyn could have used. “Good day, sir.” She turned and walked out of the room.
He stood there, alone, puzzled over how he’d ended up that way. He looked to the shepherdess. “Did you understand any of that?”
Her painted smile mocked him.
Colin knew when he’d been dismissed. He left, but as he mounted Oscar, he knew he would be back.
Rosalyn assumed she’d not have to deal with Colonel Mandland again. He was gone, probably for good. Men were not known for courting difficult women—and she had been difficult. She could tell, because Covey pointedly did not mention his name again.
Then Rosalyn surprised herself, because she was the one to say his name. She couldn’t help herself. Over dinner, she said, “The colonel’s horse has ruined the rosebushes. Do you think he will notice?”
“A few men dote on flowers,” Covey answered.
“He doesn’t strike me as the type.”
A sly smile appeared in Covey’s eyes. “I think you are right.”
So Colonel Mandland surprised them both the next afternoon when he arrived with a rosebush.
“Where did you get this?” Rosalyn asked.
“Aren’t you going to say thank you?” he prompted.
“Thank you,” she said, still stunned. The plant was healthy, although dearly needing to be planted. And it dawned on Rosalyn that no one had given her a gift in a very, very long time.
“I must confess, Val suggested the gift,” he said. “I told her Oscar has eaten a good number of your flowers, and he and I should make amends before you send us out the door.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to remind him she had done exactly that more than once…but the tart words died in her throat. A gift. And such a thoughtful one…“Do you know what color it is?”
“The roses?” He smiled. “Red.”
Even Covey was impressed, and the colonel knew he’d done well.
“We should plant it now,” he said. “If planted this early in the spring, Val said it could bloom this summer. I actually know very little about flowers except that Oscar seems to have quite a taste for them.”
The minute he talked about planting, it struck Rosalyn what his motive might be. He probably thought she would want to stay at Maiden Hill and see the roses bloom. Clever, clever Colonel Mandland…because he was right.
“We could plant it right outside this window,” he suggested. “That way the shepherdess can oversee its growing.”
Covey glanced at Rosalyn, who couldn’t help but smile. Who would have thought a gentleman could be so fanciful? Or successfully woo two women at once.
“Yes,” Rosalyn agreed. “We should plant it there.”
Old John was called in to supervise the planting. He was happy to have a new rose. The four of them—John, the colonel, Covey, and Rosalyn—had a little planting ceremony, which ended in laughter.
No mention was made of the upcoming move…and there was more than one moment when Rosalyn felt in perfect accord with Colonel Mandland. More than one moment when their eyes met. More than one moment when they exchanged asides for their benefit alone.
At one point, they could hear Lord Loftus’s hunting dogs barking and baying in the distance in pursuit of “his” fox. “The man is possessed,” the colonel murmured, and Rosalyn was startled because she’d just had the same thought.
It was on the tip of Rosalyn’s tongue to invite him to stay for dinner, and yet she was shy. As it was, he took his leave, making a grand show of ordering Oscar not to nibble on the rose’s tender leaves.
Rosalyn went into the house but stood in the sitting room window and watched him ride out of sight.
That night, she dreamed of babies again…and she was afraid. This was the sort of obsession for one person that had claimed her father’s sanity and life. In the darkest hours of the night, Rosalyn lay awake, staring at the ceiling, and she knew she must do all to protect her heart.
Chapter Six
The next day was Sunday, and a more perfect spring day would have been hard to find. Who could avoid attending church on such a lovely morning?
Rosalyn was kneeling in prayer before the Sunday service when the hairs tingled on the back of her neck.
Colonel Mandland had arrived.
She couldn’t resist stealing a look at the door, and she hoped no one noticed; if they did, she would be embarrassed. Her days as a green girl were gone. A woman should be more sophisticated in her interest…
He caught her looking at him and grinned.
Hot color flooded her cheeks. She knew everyone must have seen him smile at her. She bowed her head and forced herself to return to her prayers…until he slipped into the pew beside her.
He was a big man and took up most of the narrow space. If they hadn’t seen him smile at her, then certainly, everyone in the church noticed him sitting beside her. Rosalyn could feel their speculation, and she could catch the rarest hint of whispered comments travel through the congregation. Some were probably laughing at her, while others would suggest it was a pity Lord Loftus had to buy her a husband. Or that she was brazenly throwing herself at the colonel.
It was the pity that hit her hardest. Well-bred had no use for pity. She could recall her father saying that.
Colonel Mandland leaned close to her bonnet. “I almost didn’t recognize you without a dust rag in your hands.”
If he’d meant it as a compliment or a joke, she didn’t take it as such. She was too conscious that everyone watched them.
He knew immediately he had upset her. “I was jesting.”
She ignored him, keeping her eyes on the pew ahead. She didn’t like the awkwardness of being singled out. It reminded her of the days when she’d had to move into a new household where everyone, including herself and the servants, wondered what her status was.
Before Colonel Mandland, everyone respected her. Now, considering the number of stares and nudges she saw in the sanctuary, she wasn’t so certain.
Covey had no such insecurities. She leaned around Rosalyn and welcomed him
with a smile.
The service started. This was good. Rosalyn could pretend Colonel Mandland wasn’t standing by her side—except that he wanted to share her prayer book, a gesture almost more intimate than a kiss.
Reverend Mandland liked singing. He incorporated it in the worship service, usually before the sermon. He had a strong, fine voice, and the parish enjoyed singing with him.
Colonel Mandland was not as gifted as his brother. Yes, his voice was strong, but off key. Still, he sang with enthusiasm and knew the hymns by heart.
If no one had noticed them before, they certainly couldn’t have avoided noticing them now.
Perhaps if she and Colonel Mandland had been a love match, Rosalyn could have handled all the attention. She would have looked up at him with adoring eyes and thought his flat-noted singing endearing.
Instead, she wished he would mouth the words the way she did so as not to draw undue notice.
She barely heard the sermon, which seemed to be a homily directed at the colonel about how one should have a better goal in life than ambition.
Meanwhile, inside herself, she struggled with what seemed to be a thousand demons. She was too conscious of him, of his thigh that brushed against hers, of his arm that bumped hers, of the scent of him, of the sound of his breathing, of every detail and nuance.
Colonel Mandland’s mercenary pursuit for her hand and the Commons seat was threatening her sanity. She longed for the days—a mere week ago—when her life had been orderly and exactly as she had arranged it.
Was it the incense in the church or his presence that made her a bit dizzy?
When the service came to an end, she wanted to shoot out of her seat—except he was blocking her exit. Nor was he in a hurry to leave. He took his time, greeting the other members of the church, giving the impression to one and all that they were decidedly a couple.
Rosalyn wondered what he would do if she were to climb over the pew trying to get around him. It wasn’t fair of him to threaten her this way. A call at Maiden Hill was one thing. Being courted in public was another. She was too old for such nonsense. She keenly felt her age when she caught sight of a number of children avidly watching her, as if she was going to be the topic of many a table conversation in the evening.
The Seduction of an English Lady Page 7