by Sandra Heath
“I’m quite all right, truly.” But she resorted to her fan.
He observed the fact, and then glanced out onto the dance floor. “No doubt you were keeping a wary eye on the Fast Lady of France,” he murmured.
“Who?”
“Dane’s partner for this dance.”
“Is that what they call her?”
“Not without cause. She’s only been in England since Waterloo, but has apparently been doing all she can to conquer the conquerors. I’m told there are wagers at White’s Club as to her final tally, but I shouldn’t concern yourself, for Dane’s name won’t figure on the list. He has become that most dull of things, a faithful husband.”
“Has he?” She thought of Elizabeth.
“Yes. Surely you don’t doubt it?”
She didn’t know why, but suddenly she wished to confide in him. “I don’t want to doubt it, but what else can I do when he never tells me he loves me?” she replied quietly.
“Do you need to be told? Surely his actions say all that’s necessary?”
“Actions don’t always speak louder than words. I’m afraid I’m one of those foolish female creatures who need verbal reassurance.” She looked away, toying with the dainty wrist chain of her fan.
“Would it help if I told you he’s confessed to me that he loves you?”
Her eyes swung back to him. “Has he really said that? Or are you—”
“I’m not the sort to tell white lies,” he interrupted quietly, putting his hand briefly over hers. “I was with him for a few minutes a little earlier, and we watched you dancing that allemande. Dane told me how much he loved you, and you may count upon it that he meant what he said.”
She lowered her glance to hide her confusion. It was what she wanted to hear, but at the same time she didn’t really know what interpretation to put on it. Was it the new Rosalind that Dane loved? Or the old one, the unfaithful one whose heart had always secretly belonged to Thomas Denham? And then there was Elizabeth ... Oh, God, she, Kathryn, was in such inner turmoil she didn’t know what to think. Except that she wanted Sir Dane Marchwood to love her for herself.
The doctor was surveying the ballroom. “I believe this will be my last Cheltenham ball,” he said suddenly.
“Oh? Why is that?” But she remembered what the librarian had told her about his sudden departure for America not long after the duel.
“I have an opportunity to go to Boston. That’s the one over in Massachusetts, not here in England,” he added quickly.
She smiled too. “And you mean to go?”
“I think so. It’s short notice, but the offer is very advantageous, and I’ve always had a secret desire to visit America. If I decide to go, I will be taking my leave of you and Dane within a month.”
“Gloucester’s loss will be Boston’s gain,” she murmured.
The minuet was drawing to a close, and the doctor prepared to leave her. She thought of the duel again, and as he got up from the sofa she spoke quickly. “May I ask you something?”
“Certainly.”
“You know Dane to be an honorable man, don’t you?”
He looked at her in surprise. “What an odd question. Yes, of course. Oh, I know he has a certain reputation for being dangerous and hotheaded, but the truth is different. I don’t profess to know the reason for all his duels, but I do know I have complete faith in his integrity.” He searched her face again. “Something is wrong, isn’t it, my dear?”
“No. No, of course not.”
The orchestra played the final note of the minuet, and he looked at her again. “You may rely upon my discretion if you wish to discuss something. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do.”
It was true. He meant every word he’d said. Suddenly she got up and hugged him. “We’ll miss you when you go to Boston.”
He laughed at her exuberance, but then corrected her. “I haven’t finally decided yet.”
“Oh, I think you have,” she said more seriously. He was going to Boston; it was a historically recorded fact.
She watched him wend his way toward the supper room, and then something made her look up at the large Tompion clock next to the orchestra. It was five to midnight, and she felt compelled to keep the tryst on the footbridge. It wasn’t something she wanted to do, but fate left her no choice. She looked around for Dane, and saw that he’d been drawn into conversation by a small group of gentlemen, including the Duke of Beaufort. He didn’t see her gather her skirts to hurry out of the building into the cool shadows of the summer night.
Carriages were still arriving, although she couldn’t believe more guests could possibly squeeze into the ball. She could see the Well Walk. The double avenue of elms and limes rustled softly in the light breeze. Lanterns shone between the branches, and people strolled to and fro quite close to the upper end, but further down the avenue, toward Cheltenham, there was hardly anyone to be seen. The town had retreated across a meadow, and was visible as some twinkling lights in the distance as she began to walk down toward the little rustic bridge at the far end of the avenue.
She heard the splash of the Chelt as she neared the bridge, which was adorned with a slender wrought iron arch from which a suspended oil lamp cast a poor light over the footway. She wished she’d been able to resist coming here. What was she going to say to Thomas? She couldn’t be Rosalind for him; there was too much Kathryn Vansomeren in her for that.
She was still deliberating as she reached the bridge, but almost immediately she heard a step behind her. She turned, and saw Thomas. He wore a purple velvet evening coat and white silk breeches, and the gold pin in his neckcloth shone a little as he came to take her in his arms and press his lips passionately over hers.
Chapter Sixteen
For a moment she was immobile with shock, for she hadn’t expected him to embrace her without saying anything first. She didn’t experience any of the fire and excitement such intimacy would have aroused if it were Dane. Instead, she was again reminded of Richard. Everything about this man was like a reflection of her modem New York husband.
Her immobility ended as his hand moved to caress her left breast through the soft silk of her gown. She didn’t want such intimacy from him, he was the wrong man! She pulled sharply from his arms and glanced nervously toward the Royal Well buildings. “Th...this is very foolhardy.”
His brown eyes were warm. “There’s no one here except us.”
“Can we be sure?”
“Everyone we know is either at the ball already or still to arrive.”
“I still feel uneasy about meeting you like this.”
“We’ve done it before,” he reminded her.
“And have been lucky to get away with it.” You’re not going to be lucky tomorrow if you persist, and the day after that you’re going to be dead! She suddenly felt an overpowering urge to warn him about the duel, but the words wouldn’t come. Something stifled them on her lips, and she knew it was because nothing could prevent what was to happen on Lammas Day.
He smiled. “Well, right or wrong, you’re here now, so let’s make the most of these few minutes together.” His voice was soft as he reached out to pull her toward him again.
She resisted. “No, Thomas.”
Her reaction took him by surprise. “What is it?”
“I... I shouldn’t have come here.”
“But you did, and we both know why. Rosalind, it’s too late to change things now. What’s done is done, and we have to decide about our future.”
What future? You don’t have one! The words screamed silently through her, but again didn’t reach her lips. She had to do something, though; she couldn’t just stand idly by and let things roll inexorably toward dawn on Lammas Day. “Thomas, I shouldn’t have kept this assignation because I don’t love you anymore. I love Dane, and want to stay with him.”
He was incredulous. “You love Dane?” he repeated.
“Yes.”
“Rosalind, I don’t know what’s
brought this on, but I do know I don’t believe you. You’re trying to protect me, aren’t you? Why? Has Dane found out about us?”
“No, but he suspects. Thomas, please believe me, I really don’t love you anymore.”
“You can’t possibly stay with him! It’s madness!” he cried.
“It’s what I want.”
“But, you’re carrying my child!”
She was thunderstruck. Child? Rosalind was pregnant? So that was what he’d been told last night just before the first transition took place! Why hadn’t she guessed? They’d played with fire and been burned, and things would become obvious before long. Of course they would, for advancing pregnancy had a way of showing!
Thoughts tumbled wildly through her. The real Rosalind might be carrying a child, but Kathryn Vansomeren wasn’t, and she was sure Rosalind’s body wasn’t pregnant now she was in it. She remembered how she’d felt when she first knew she was expecting Richard’s child. It was a weird feeling, like she wasn’t really there, and it had persisted right up to the day she lost the baby. She didn’t feel like that now, and intuition told her the body she was in now definitely wasn’t pregnant. So what did that mean? Had Rosalind’s unborn child traveled with her into the future? Did Kathryn Vansomeren’s body become pregnant when Rosalind took it over?
It was an incredible thought, and should have been deeply painful, but Kathryn felt oddly detached.
Thomas took her arms to shake her slightly. “Answer me, Rosalind!”
She struggled to find a response. “I... I’m going to tell Dane and beg his forgiveness,” she said at last, but it sounded lame and unconvincing, and she knew it.
He released her swiftly, and ran his fingers agitatedly through his hair. “His forgiveness? Dear God, have you taken leave of your senses?” He shook her again. “What is this, Rosalind? One moment you run gladly into my arms and whisper everlasting love, the next you tell me you not only want to stay with him, you’re also going to tell him you’re carrying a child that cannot possibly be his. It lacks all logic! Your condition has made you irrational.”
“It has nothing to do with my condition.”
“There’s no other explanation,” he answered.
“Please let me go, for my mind is made up.”
“I don’t accept your decision!” He didn’t loosen his hold.
“You have to accept it. It’s finished between us, Thomas. I’m Dane’s wife and I intend to stay that way.”
“Stay that way? When you expect my child? Dane won’t have you! For God’s sake, Rosalind, you have to see sense on this!”
She could see the desperation in his eyes, and hated herself for hurting him so, but it was all she could think of doing. If she could just instill a little doubt in his mind, if he could be made to think she’d never go to him, maybe she could turn fate on its head after all, no matter what Alice might say. So she pressed on. “I don’t love you, Thomas! I love Dane, and I always will!”
“No!” His face contorted distractedly, and his voice choked on a sob. “No, I won’t believe you!”
“Let me go!” She wrenched herself away and gathered her skirts to flee from the bridge and along the lantern-lit walk.
“Rosalind!” His distraught voice followed her, and she could feel his anguish reaching out after her. Tears stung her eyes, but she didn’t look back. She’d placated her conscience by doing what she could; now she needed to find Dane, to feel his arms around her again. No, what she really needed was to be able to confess all this to him! But she couldn’t, it was almost too incredible for her, and so was bound to be to him. The tears welled down her cheeks as the thoughts spilled dejectedly through her, and she felt dangerously close to flinging herself hysterically into Dane’s arms and blurting out everything.
But common sense returned as she neared the line of carriages. She couldn’t do anything as rash as that; besides, she probably wouldn’t be able to! She’d already tried altering the course of things, and it hadn’t gotten her very far. No, better to compose herself and behave rationally—well, as rationally as possible under the circumstances.
Knowing her present tearful state would cause a stir, she paused beneath one of the trees to smooth her gown and pat her hair. Having applied the brakes to her wild impulse to tell all, she soon brought her reckless impulses under control, but when she glanced toward the bridge again a few moments later, she saw Thomas hurrying up the walk. Renewed dismay washed through her, and she gathered her skirts to run on past the line of carriages to the brightly lit ballroom.
The warmth inside the building was almost stifling after the cool air outside, and as she reached the edge of the dance floor, Kathryn looked anxiously around. She desperately wanted to be with Dane now, but where was he? He wasn’t with the Duke of Beaufort’s party now, nor could she see him on the dance floor. She might never find him in a press like this! The whole of Gloucestershire seemed to have attended, for every sofa was now occupied, every corner was filled with people talking, and every inch of space around the edge of the dance floor had been taken up with guests who were either watching the minuet now in progress, or threading their way toward someone they knew.
At last she saw Dane. He was dancing after all, and his partner was a pretty brunette woman in peach gauze and plumes, who smiled flirtatiously at him from beneath fluttering lashes. Every glance told of availability should Sir Dane Marchwood wish to take advantage.
In spite of her anxiety after the meeting with Thomas, Kathryn was stung with jealousy, and had to look away for a moment. She was angry with herself for reacting like a stupid teenager. A man like Dane was bound to get “come hither” looks by the score! Quelling the feeling, she looked at him again, and without warning he met her eyes. Suddenly it was as if they were alone. All sound seemed to die away as his glance caressed her across the crowded room. He smiled, and her jealousy faded into oblivion.
“I love you,” she whispered, knowing he’d read her lips.
She willed him to whisper the same words back, but his attention was drawn back to the dance.
It seemed an age before the minuet ended and he escorted his partner to her friends by the entrance of the supper room. The flirtatious woman tried to detain him, but he resisted and returned to his wife, leaving the lady to gaze wistfully after him.
Kathryn’s heart quickened as he raised her gloved palm to his lips. “So, sir, I turn my back for a moment and in those minutes I find you being reeled in on a hook,” she said teasingly.
“I’m too wily a fish for that,” he replied, gazing into her eyes and smiling. “Where have you been?”
“I... I went out in the fresh air for a while.”
“You felt unwell?”
“I was just a little hot, that’s all.”
His glance moved beyond her and darkened a little. Without him saying a word she knew he’d seen Thomas. She spoke quickly. “Perhaps you’ll honor me with the next dance?”
He met her eyes again. “Did you know Denham was here tonight?”
She managed a light laugh. “No, I didn’t, but I must say I’m not surprised. The entire county’s here.”
“I’m not concerned about the entire county, just him.”
“Dane, I swear your fears are unfounded. I’m not in love with Thomas Denham; no other man has meant anything to me since I met you.” Oh, how true that was.
The master-of-ceremonies announced a waltz, and she took Dane’s arm. “Please don’t talk of disagreeable things, my lord. Let’s waltz instead,” she pleaded.
To her relief, the smile returned to his lips. “The wicked waltz?”
“The wickeder, the better,” she murmured, suddenly remembering the newspaper report she’d read at the library. What had it said? Something about Sir Dane and Lady Marchwood dancing the waltz with particular distinction?
“You’re incorrigible, madam,” he said softly, bending his head to kiss her on the cheek.
She pretended to tap his sleeve reprovingly. “La, sir
, is it done for a man to kiss his wife in public?”
“Hardly, but then you are no ordinary wife, my lady.”
“I trust not, sir.”
He searched her face. “Would that I understood you of late, but I fear I don’t. Every time I think I have your measure, you confound me.”
“A lady should retain a certain mystery, sir.”
“She should indeed.” He put his fingers to her cheek.
“I adore you, Sir Dane Marchwood,” she whispered, again yearning for him to say the same to her, but again he didn’t. Instead, he took her hand and led her onto the floor where the dancers were gathering for the waltz.
She lowered her glance. Twice in the space of only minutes she’d confessed her love for him, and twice he’d failed to reciprocate. George Eden had tried to reassure her, and Dane certainly appeared loving, but he didn’t tell her, and she needed to hear him say it.
Was Elizabeth the reason for his reticence? She was suddenly so conscious of the chain around his neck that it was almost as if she could see it beneath his rich clothing. She wished she knew what bitter legacy his first wife had left him, but Elizabeth remained enigmatic behind a cloak of impenetrable mist.
The waltz began, and he whirled her around the floor. His hand was warm against her waist, and his fingers curled over hers in a way that made her aware of everything about him. Their bodies didn’t touch as they danced, but she felt as if they did. He captured her gaze, and again it was as if they were alone in the room. She wanted him to kiss her passionately on the lips in front of everyone, and, as if he knew her thoughts, he suddenly pulled her closer. She raised her lips instinctively to meet his.
They continued to dance with their lips joined. Their bodies touched now, and a secret shiver of delight passed through her. She closed her eyes as desire began to flare in her veins. The music swirled seductively around them, and she didn’t care that everyone was looking on with shocked disapproval.
At last he drew back slightly. “We’re causing a stir, Lady Marchwood.”
“Not as great as the one we’d cause if we did what I want to do right now,” she replied.