"Here," she managed. "It is just up ahead."
Julian knocked on the roof of the carriage, and it began to slow down. Rosalinde struggled for a breezy farewell, something that the London ton would likely use, but all she could think was, Mr. Selby, you have my abiding gratitude for rescuing me from an impossible predicament of my own making…and inexplicably I feel as though I am bidding farewell to my fondest dream.
She turned her head to blink back a sudden rush of hot tears. Honestly! Next she would be fancying herself in love with the man. It was woefully obvious what she felt was merely gratitude. Gratitude that she had been safely returned home—her refuge from all the recent bad decisions, and any potential future ones. Anyone who had come along when Mr. Selby did would have garnered the same heartfelt response.
"Miss Hewitt." His voice softened. "Rosalinde."
She dashed her hand across her eyes before turning to look at him. It almost seemed as if he meant to pull her into his arms. She chided herself for the fanciful notion, for the kissing she had in mind would last much longer than was proper. Mr. Selby had not gone to great lengths to preserve her reputation only for her to destroy it on her very doorstep.
Frederick opened the carriage door, so neither of the occupants was able to say anything, least of all farewell. Rosalinde gingerly stepped out of the carriage, assisted by the coachman's strong hand. She took her time, desperate to prolong every fleeting moment, even though her heart grew heavier.
She dreaded turning around, knowing Frederick would be slamming the carriage door shut, and she would be waving farewell to a cheerily departing Mr. Julian Selby. Yet, once her feet were firmly on the ground, she could delay the inevitable no longer. She turned to thank him once again for his consideration of her travails the previous day.
"Oh!" Rosalinde's hand flew to her lips. "Are you not leaving then?"
Julian halted his departure from the carriage, hanging his head in a theatrical pose of sorrow. "Miss Hewitt, after all my previous feats of chivalry, surely you cannot believe I would leave you to face your devoted and frantic relations all alone."
Rosalinde opened her mouth to protest, for she had no earthly idea how to explain his presence to her one devoted and frantic relation. Even more difficult was explaining her residence was a vicarage.
"Truly, Mr. Selby, there is no need—"
Mr. Selby winked before completing his descent from the carriage. In the process, however, he misstepped, and Rosalinde cried out before he ably righted himself. She quickly brought her outstretched arms back to her side, hoping she had not revealed too much.
"Come, Miss Hewitt." His hand reached for hers, as if they were about to proceed to the nearest ballroom. "I shall accompany you as promised."
Rosalinde relented. It was impossible to do otherwise in the face of those twinkling eyes and that impudent smile. Mr. Selby could likely tempt a saint to do his bidding. How could she possibly hope to resist him?
She gave him a nervous smile and then tentatively placed her hand on his forearm, walking towards the cottage she had been so desperate to return to. Now she was desperate to run the opposite direction, before he could learn her secret…
"Rosalinde! Who might our guest be?"
She gasped, turning to look uneasily into the questioning eyes of her father, Reverend Micah Hewitt.
"Papa." She hesitated. If only she could remedy this with a coughing bout and her handkerchief disguise. She decided to pretend nothing was at all unusual. "Papa, I would like to present to you Mr. Julian Selby."
"Welcome, Mr. Selby. I am Reverend Hewitt—"
Rosalinde stole a glance at Mr. Selby, steeling herself for amazement, or mockery, or whatever else his reaction might be.
He did not bat an eyelash.
Instead, he bowed graciously. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
Rosalinde stared at Mr. Selby. Surely he knew he should have been shocked, appalled even, at just how indecorously she—the vicar's daughter—had been behaving. She had racked up a lifetime of sins the past day, the majority of them while in Mr. Selby's company, yet he remained completely unaware.
Her father ran a hand across the gray wispy hair barely covering his head. "I apologize for leaving you alone all last evening, dear, but Mrs. Tilley was having a difficult time of it. I could not leave her until now."
Rosalinde flushed, grateful her absence had not been noted. Her father had devoted his life to God, doing so even more assiduously once Rosalinde's mother had departed to prepare his place in heaven, and his work often left her alone. It had been one more reason she had succumbed to the urge to elope, though now she felt guilty for selfishly thinking to leave her father without any assistance.
"It is of no importance, Papa. Besides," she added with a reassuring smile, "you know I am quite used to taking care of myself."
She turned at a sound from Mr. Selby, and saw he clearly found her last statement amusing. She shot him a warning glance, at the same time wondering how to explain his presence without divulging her adventure, or, more precisely, her misadventure, of the previous day.
Mr. Selby immediately took up the task. "Sir, I insisted on giving Miss Hewitt a ride home this morning from the village. When I saw her attempting to trudge through the mire, I said to myself, 'These roads are much too treacherous for her to traverse on foot. Why, what if she were to slip and land in a monstrous puddle?'"
Rosalinde could not help but laugh. "Fortunately, Mr. Selby was able to prevent me suffering such a dire predicament."
Reverend Hewitt looked at his daughter and then at Mr. Selby, who was grinning broadly. Rosalinde knew her father must be curious, for there was a visible comfort between her and Mr. Selby that did not exist between mere strangers. Yet, that is what they were, veritable strangers, and their circumstances would ensure they remained so.
Her father gestured towards the house. "Perhaps we could thank you with a cup of tea."
"Unfortunately Mr. Selby is on his way to a hunting party," Rosalinde said, "and he has been delayed already from reaching his destination."
"A restorative cup of tea would be just the thing before I set off to shoot at the odd target or two."
Biting back a smile, Rosalinde reluctantly led the way into the house, Mr. Selby and her father in animated discussion behind her.
For the next half hour, Rosalinde sipped her tea and marvelled at how Mr. Selby appeared able to discourse on almost any topic. He gave great weight to her father's opinions, and drew her into the conversation at every turn, asking her views on myriad topics, and then listening intently to her responses.
If she had not been infatuated with the man prior to his visit, she certainly would have succumbed as a result of his attentions that day. The longer he stayed, the more difficult it was to imagine him finally gone from her life. Yet what other possible ending could there be?
Still, long before Rosalinde felt herself prepared for the visit to end, Mr. Selby stood up slowly, as though he were as reluctant as she to call a halt to the social hour.
"I fear I am keeping both of you from your duties," he said. "But I cannot remember when I have enjoyed such a vigorously stimulating discussion."
He smiled as he came to stand in front of Rosalinde. He took her hand in his, and she felt the familiar flutter his touch engendered. Inanely she wondered if time could indeed stand still. It seemed the only way now to prevent his departure.
Instead of kissing her hand in farewell, he turned to address her father. "Would it be too forward to have Miss Hewitt accompany me to my carriage? I find I am having some difficulty relinquishing her attentions."
Rosalinde blushed, ducking her head at her father's wry chuckle. Mr. Selby tucked her hand in his elbow and led her out of the house. The walk to his waiting carriage seemed much too brief.
He stood directly in front of Rosalinde, and his potent regard unnerved her. What did he see when he looked at her so? She returned his gaze, doing her best to memorize every as
pect of his expression, his handsome visage, the merriment glittering in his eyes. The memories would do a great deal to warm her cold spinster heart in the years ahead.
"Marry me, Rosalinde."
Her heart pounded uncomfortably. She searched for a trace of mockery in his face, any sign that his words were a taunting reminder of her ill-fated elopement, yet there was none.
Instead, she would say the expression on his face was hopeful. What a fanciful notion! If it were left to her impetuous heart, the answer would have been a resounding "Yes!"
Fortunately, her sensible brain reminded her how irresponsibly this charmer made her behave. She had nearly forgotten that he was to be wed soon. She bit back a groan at that unwelcome reminder, wondering what other madness he would elicit from her if he tarried a moment longer.
"Your brain fever comes and goes in spells, does it not?" she managed in a teasing voice. "It is quite like malaria, though with the latter disease, I understand there are symptoms warning of its onset. Your brain fever, on the other hand—"
He tilted his head. "Is marriage to me such a horrid notion?"
His voice almost sounded wistful, making Rosalinde shake her head at such foolishness. "Of course it is not a horrid notion." She grinned. "You would never have won the future Mrs. Selby if it were."
***
Julian smiled wryly. He had no idea of what to do next in his bid to win Rosalinde's heart. Her maddeningly practical heart. His had been the same, until the fateful moment he had fallen instantly in love with her. Now it was as if that man had never existed.
"I wish you safe travels," she said.
"Perhaps I shall see you in London one day."
"One never knows what might happen."
Julian knew he had his work cut out for him. He had to persuade this delightful woman, not only that he had fallen in love instantly, but that his life would not be complete without her, or her heart.
Yet how could he persuade her when she resided in the country, and he in London? He could send her letters declaring his love, but there was no guarantee that she would return his feelings. Even if she did, it would take a great deal of time, posting letters back and forth, waiting for a response…
"I shall bid you farewell, then," he said, hoping for some sign that his quest was not a hopeless one.
Not surprisingly, there was no such reassurance.
He had to fight off the urge to pull Rosalinde into his arms, kissing her breathless, sweeping her into the carriage with him. Instead, he gazed once more at her, drinking in every detail before reluctantly turning away. He waved Frederick away from the open door, signaling him to resume his perch atop the coach.
If only it were as easy to have Rosalinde do his bidding.
"Goodbye, Mr. Selby."
He spun around and caught the fleeting glimpse of regret on Rosalinde's face. There was yet hope, if she did not wish him to depart. At the same time, her unbending demeanor stated she would do nothing to prevent his leave-taking.
He almost wished he had never found his one true love. It was indeed a curse if he could not marry her and spend the rest of his days with her. Yesterday he had been overflowing with optimism. Now it seemed he might never experience such a heady emotion again. Not when she thought his marriage proposals were the height of folly, or evidence of an incurable brain malady.
"Goodbye, Miss Hewitt."
He reluctantly lifted his foot to step inside the carriage. All at once his other foot slipped in the mud, his knee hitting against the carriage frame with a resounding thud. He bit back an oath, but it was more annoyance at his clumsiness than any real pain.
"Mr. Selby!" Rosalinde rushed to his side, clasping his arm. "Are you all right?"
"Yes," he began, touched by the genuine concern in her eyes.
An unholy notion floated into his brain. He knew it was shameless, utterly and completely, but how could he pass up this opportunity? He was a man in love, desperate to win this woman's heart.
"I am fine." He winced as he put weight on his leg. "Once I am inside…" He grimaced, hopping closer towards the carriage before nearly falling headlong into it.
Rosalinde looked uncertainly at him. "But to endure a long carriage ride, in your condition—"
"I shall manage." Julian clung to the floor of the carriage, half in and half out. He added a soft moan, hoping it sounded realistic, and thus convincing.
"Wait just a moment while I fetch Papa."
"What?" he whispered, as if dazed by the pain.
"Stay there," she insisted, racing towards the cottage. "I shall return straightaway."
As soon as she left, Julian tilted his head back and grinned at Frederick. "Perhaps you shall not precede me to the altar after all."
The coachman snorted and then warned, "The miss is heading this way again," before jumping down from his perch.
Julian produced another groan, causing Frederick to roll his eyes heavenward.
"See, Papa! Mr. Selby has quite injured himself. We must bring him inside while Dr. Bentley is sent for."
Julian's eyes widened. His impulsive scheme had not included being examined by a physician. "Surely that will not be necessary."
Frederick coughed. "Shall I be fetching the doctor then, miss?"
"Oh, could you?" Rosalinde missed the warning look Julian shot his coachman. "Or perhaps you had best assist Mr. Selby inside, as you are the strongest of all of us. And Papa, you could fetch Dr. Bentley while I put the kettle on and prepare the spare room. Mr. Selby, once you are settled in, we shall send Frederick to notify the host of your hunting party that you shall be delayed."
Julian admired how easily Rosalinde took charge, efficiently dividing up the chores and setting everyone to his appointed task. As Rosalinde scurried inside the house and Reverend Hewitt hastened to find the doctor, Julian threw his arm around Frederick's thick neck and hopped towards the doorway.
"How fortunate that your bride-to-be has a father who can perform the ceremony," Frederick commented. "Once she discovers you're a duke, and not betrothed, and not even injured."
"Frederick, I begin to think you are enjoying my predicament. I would have hoped for some sympathy with this dashed curse business."
Frederick merely grinned and continued towards the cottage.
Chapter 5
"So, where is this patient of mine?"
Julian watched the unsmiling doctor stride into the bedchamber. He felt a momentary stab of nervousness as he caught the doctor's keen eyes looking him over. How could he hope to deceive the country surgeon with this imaginary ailment?
He nearly groaned when he saw the softening in Dr. Bentley's expression as the doctor looked at Rosalinde. She was obviously a favorite of his, and he would not look kindly upon this feeble ruse. Indeed, once the doctor had diagnosed him as a complete fraud and exposed his villainy, there would be no hope of Rosalinde looking favorably upon his proposal.
He would be fortunate if she looked upon him at all.
Julian opened his mouth to exclaim how his knee had miraculously healed and he should just be on his way, but too late. Dr. Bentley's unwavering gaze pinned Julian to the bed. He also shooed Rosalinde and her anxious father out of the room.
"It is much easier to conduct an examination when the patient feels no constraints due to visitors," the doctor added unsmilingly.
Julian grinned weakly as the door closed behind his hosts. Nothing to do but brazen it out as best he could.
"So, lad, what ails you?" Dr. Bentley placed his bag on the floor before sitting down with a heavy sigh in the chair next to the bed.
"I can't quite call it an ailment," Julian answered, hoping to melt the doctor's stern countenance. "It is more of a condition."
"A condition, eh?" Dr. Bentley scowled at his decidedly healthy patient. "And what would you propose as a cure for this, um, condition?"
Julian decided he might as well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb. "I would say a fortnight of bedrest—complete and total
bedrest—and in this very household, would suit my condition admirably."
Dr. Bentley tilted his head. "You believe there would be dire consequences should you return to your own abode?"
"Oh, most definitely! In fact, I shudder to think what might happen in that case."
Dr. Bentley reached for Julian's left knee and carefully examined it. Julian winced once or twice for effect, smiling bravely when the doctor glanced up at him. The doctor commenced the same routine on the right knee, and Julian bit back an oath at what he suspected was deliberately ungentle treatment.
Dr. Bentley finally looked up, and spent the next minute gazing with narrowed eyes at his hale and hearty patient. "Perhaps," he said evenly, "I could prescribe a more precise course of treatment if you were to confide your plans to me."
"Plans?" Julian attempted. He clasped his hands in his lap and waited for the doctor's pronouncement. To his utter amazement, the doctor's stern face broke into an engaging grin.
"Young man, I have seen a great deal in my day. And it is next to impossible anymore to fool this old fool. You are not the first young man I have seen in the throes of love."
"Is it so obvious?" he croaked.
"Only to me," the doctor answered with a reassuring laugh. "Only to me."
Julian sighed with genuine relief. It was the first sign that perhaps the Fates meant to assist him in his quest after all.
"I mean to make her my duchess," he confided.
Dr. Bentley gasped.
"Ah," Julian replied with a grin, "so it is possible to fool you after all."
Dr. Bentley wagged a finger. "I do not care for that knowledge to be bandied about, hear? You shall make me lose the respect of all my patients," he added with no visible fear of such an occurrence. "Is Rosalinde aware of your title?"
Julian's grin faded. "I thought it best to omit that information at present. At least until she looks upon me—and my proposals—more favorably."
"Micah and I have spent many an hour pondering why such a treasure has remained unwed." He shook his head slowly. "And have not yet come up with a suitable answer."
Falling for His Duchess (The Curse of True Love Book 3) Page 4