For surely, they would be dark. He’d told her he would soon travel to Wales, to visit with his son. He’d then go perhaps to his father’s estate and then up north again.
He’d nearly broken her resolve with that last kiss in the forest. She’d nearly fallen to her knees and begged to become his mistress. Dismissing such a lowering thought, she took the brush and began working on her hair once again.
He’d not told her goodbye. He’d not said much at all, leaving her teetering somewhere between the afterglow of his tender lovemaking and the cruelty of their parting. It had not been heartless on his part. He cared for her, even if he did not love her.
“There you are!” Penelope swept into the room carrying all the energy Rose had grown accustomed to. “I was so happy you took the time to find amusements for yourself but then this evening I cursed myself for allowing you to go off for so long without a chaperone or anyone to protect you. I was beginning to worry.”
“Did you require my assistance?”
“Oh, no. That’s not it at all. I came to tell you everything is settled. Following the Epiphany, you are to travel with Margaret as her companion to Raven’s Park. Danbury has already sent for a separate carriage for the two of you. And then later, you will have a Season in London! Oh, Rose, I’ve wanted this for you for so long!”
Rose simply stared at her. She’d wanted to forget Penelope’s suggestion from earlier. She’d hoped Penelope would change her mind or that Lady Margaret would not be interested in spending so much time away from Land’s End.
“I have quite stunned you, haven’t I?” Penelope’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “You will not be traveling as her maid, Rose, but as her companion. You shall be treated nearly the same as her, as a guest. And you will be allowed to dance and partake of all the entertainments when you go to London! And that is not even the best part!”
Blinking her eyes in an attempt to catch up with Penelope’s announcement, a foreboding coursed through her veins.
“Lord Darlington has promised Danbury that he would court Margaret! Isn’t it wonderful? If we’re lucky, we’ll be planning a wedding come spring!”
Rose heard the words in her mind but found it difficult to process them. She cannot have heard right.
A wedding?
Between Lord Darlington and Lady Asherton?
He cannot have promised Lord Danbury that he would court Lady Asherton. He would have told her, would he not? They had shared… everything.
Darkness encroached upon the edges of Rose’s vision. She inhaled and then summoned all of her willpower to act as Penelope would expect her to at such an announcement.
“Why that’s… that’s… wonderful for her. How happy she must be.”
“She is not yet aware of it.” Penelope laughed. “But Lady Hawthorne is, and Darlington is quite handsome and even charming when he wishes to be. Of course, she will be amenable. You, my sweet friend, will be responsible for encouraging her in his direction if necessary. Oh, I am so excited for you! I have noticed your discontent lately.”
“But I am not—”
“Don’t dissemble with me, Ursula Rosamond Waring. I know you better than anyone else in the world and you have not been as pleased with life as you ought to be.” She took hold of Rose’s hands and squeezed them. “I want you to be as happy as I am. You are more than a maid to me, you know that. You are an intelligent, accomplished lady in your own right. I want the world to know it as well.”
Rose swallowed around the huge lump suddenly lodged in her throat. She knew Penelope loved her. Perhaps she hadn’t always understood her, but she always had loved her and had her best interests at heart.
Rose wished she could tell her everything that had happened that afternoon. What she was feeling—what she had done. Things that she would have told her if they’d only been friends, and if Penelope had not set her sights upon Lord Darlington for her widowed sister-in-law.
“You have never treated me as simply your maid.” Rose fought back tears. “I have always known that I am your friend first.” And this was true.
“So, you will go to Raven’s Park, and then you will go to London. I’ll send you with some of my gowns when you leave here, and you will meet with a dressmaker when you arrive in London. Promise me you will make the most of it? Please? Promise me you will not turn your back on potential husbands. Not all men are selfish. I say this with complete authority.”
How was Rose expected to respond to this? The viscount, her viscount, had promised to court and marry another woman.
The black crept in again, this time accompanied by a sharp ringing in her ears. Rose had spent all of the afternoon and a good part of the evening, learning about him intimately, sharing her most private thoughts. He’d not said one word about his promise to Danbury.
And now she was to assure her dearest friend that she would be sociable and flirt and try to attract a husband for herself next spring? And that she would encourage Lady Asherton to welcome Lord Darlington’s courtship? She blinked away the stinging at the back of her eyes.
“Of course, I will. You are very kind, Penelope. You don’t have to do any of this.”
Penelope squealed. “I’m going to convince Danbury that we must go to London for the Season as well. I simply cannot bear to miss watching you holding court at a ball.”
Foolishness.
Rose endured Penelope’s excited embrace, pinching her eyes together. Penelope was well-meaning. She always was. And yet…
Rose did not wish to think about the Season, nor about traveling with Lady Asherton. She could barely think about tomorrow. Would he leave right away? Would he treat her as though nothing had happened between the two of them?
How could he not?
She would be mortified if he treated her any differently in front of any of the guests or servants, and her heart would break when he avoided being alone with her as he surely must.
But she had made her choice. She’d made love to him knowing full well that it would end this way. And she did not have any regrets.
She did not.
When Penelope finally left her alone, Rose curled up on the bed feeling numb.
Incapable of feeling.
Or crying.
Chapter 16
Impossible
As Rose awakened, her first thought was that it was the third day after Christmas. If she was to depart with Lady Asherton on the Epiphany, only nine days remained before their departure. Penelope and Danbury would attend a variety of parties, not all of them to be held at Summers Park, and Rose would remain in this chamber for most of that time. She would clean and press gowns, she would shine jewelry, she would write letters to her brother and her mother and do anything possible to keep from dwelling on Viscount Darlington.
She could not imagine him remaining at Summers Park much longer.
Frivolous entertainments would not distract him from his concerns for Wesley.
Climbing out of bed, her muscles twinged in odd places. Moving more purposely, soreness plagued her, but it was her heart that begged for relief.
Nine days.
She took up her normal duties, sending for Penelope’s tea and laying out the clothing she would wear that day. All was the same and yet everything had changed.
And of course, Penelope would organize Rose’s life for her.
“Lilly is having easels set up in the conservatory today so that we might try our hand painting flowers––with oils, I believe. You know I’m worthless with anything artistic, but I mentioned you had some talent and she insists I allow you to participate. So long as you don’t show everyone up.”
“That’s not necessary, Pen,” Rose tried to protest. Although she loved to paint, such opportunities often proved to be more than a little… awkward.
“But of course, it is. Especially if you’re to act as Margaret’s companion this spring. Best you get used to mingling with your betters.” And then she quickly corrected herself. “I mean with Society.”
Only she hadn’t been incorrect.
There were days Rose wished she could shake Penelope. Not every person viewed the world the same as Penelope did. In the eyes of most ladies, Rose was, and would always be, a maid. It did not matter that Penelope allowed her to join them, Rose was still a maid.
Perhaps if the ladies had not already known Rose’s relationship to Penelope, she could attempt to fit in, but here, at Summers Park… Rose merely shook her head, knowing the futility of arguing the matter.
“Stop worrying. You do far too much of that,” Penelope added.
And later that afternoon, Rose wondered if her friend might be right, in part, anyhow.
The duchess had provided more paints and canvas and brushes than the small group of ladies could ever use, all of the highest quality. She’d also hired an instructor to be on hand.
What with a multitude of flowers and trees and fruits to paint, Rose could almost forget her troubles as she sat down to paint a particularly intricate cluster of blossoms.
“I wish I had inherited my mother’s talent.” Lady Asherton had set up her canvas nearest to Rose’s. “She was a master with oils.”
“Your mother was a master with more than paint.” Rose smiled in the other lady’s direction. The late Lady Danbury had practically held court within Society. She knew everything going on around her, about everyone who mattered, likely manipulated half of it and boldly set her own fashion with elaborate feathers wherever she went. “She will be greatly missed, I daresay, in London.”
Lady Asherton nodded as she began dabbing the brush on her empty canvas. “Penelope has been gracious to allow you to travel with me this spring. I’m relieved that I won’t have to make the journey alone. Also, that I shall make it with an affable companion.”
“They have not forced me upon you, have they, My Lady?” Rose was only half-joking.
“Of course not and do call me Margaret,” the other woman offered warmly. Rose had always liked Lady Asherton. She would not make Lord Darlington unhappy. Likely, she’d prove a comfortable wife for him. Rose blinked away some dust when the canvas before her blurred.
“I look forward to it, Margaret.” Rose dropped her gaze to mix the colors on her palette.
“My brother has high expectations for me. Oh, he hasn’t said so outright, but they all anticipate that I will land a second husband. Can you imagine? I’m nearly thirty!”
But she was beautiful. And she was a viscount’s daughter and an earl’s widow.
“I can imagine it quite easily.” Rose blended the colors on the upper half of her canvas. “There is more to a lady than her age.” Although many would disagree with her on that matter. She fought the heat rising in her neck at the thought that apparently age was not a discriminating factor with Lord Darlington. Not where physical matters were concerned anyhow.
She herself was not far from thirty. Penelope was deluded to believe that Rose could find a gentleman to marry her.
“What do you think of Lord Darlington, Rose?” Margaret surprised her by asking. “You’ve known him longer than most, what with his and Penelope’s long acquaintance.”
I think he is incorrigible, stubborn, and compassionate, and I love it when he kisses the spot just below my ear...
“He will make a dependable husband,” Rose ventured. She wondered if Margaret had loved her first husband. “He is not as inclined to mingle in society as other gentlemen, but I imagine that might be considered as much an attribute as a fault.”
“I quite agree.” The lovely widow stepped back from her canvas and frowned. “I’m quite content to leave the dancing and flirting to the debutantes.”
Both painted in silence, only casually listening to the hum of conversations going on around them.
“Danbury says Lord Darlington is going to court me this spring.” Margaret smiled with a wince. “Silly, and yet charming that he’s asked for my brother’s blessing, don’t you think?”
Rose’s heart splintered. She had no claim on him and he’d never pretended to make her any promises, it was just that they’d shared so much with one another at the cottage, she would have hoped he would have told her this.
“He can be charming when he wishes.” Rose continued painting as she felt Margaret turn to stare at her.
“Penelope set her sights upon him at one time, I’m told. Do you believe she has any remaining feelings for him? Or he for her?”
“No.” Rose did not even have to think to answer this question. Penelope was absolutely and completely in love with her husband. Lord Darlington had made a half-hearted attempt with Penelope shortly following his broken engagement, but it had been just that, from what Penelope had told her. “Most definitely not.”
“Do you think he’s nursing a broken heart over Lady Eliza’s defection last year? I’d hate to involve myself with a man who is pining after another lady. Not that I require another love match, mind you. I doubt its even possible for me at this stage. But if I decide to marry again, I’d want the union to have a foundation of affection.”
“He is not pining for Lady Eliza.” Rose stared solemnly at the splash of colors she was creating. It wasn’t as serene as she’d initially imagined it.
“Penelope shares a great deal with you. I hope I haven’t made you uncomfortable, Rose. I’d like us to be good friends, especially if we’re to spend so much time together this spring.”
This situation might eventually come to be unbearable. But did she have a choice? Rose turned to face the other woman and smiled warmly at her kind overture. “You have not made me uncomfortable, Margaret. I think we’ll get on well together.”
That evening, Rome was seated beside none other than the lady he’d promised to court, Lady Asherton herself. Why would he not imagine that the duchess, his sister, and Penelope would be in cahoots with one another?
He’d been unable to catch even a glimpse of Rose that day and he could not knock on her door yet again. He’d already pushed his luck by visiting her chamber on those numerous occasions before Christmas. But one day with her had not been enough. It only had managed to fuel his desire for more.
The rational side of him knew it would have to be enough, and yet she remained nearby, in the same house, performing her duties.
She slept, ate, dressed, and spent most of her days hiding in a chamber connected to that of the brother of the woman he’d all but committed himself to.
Blast and damn.
“Tell me about Harlow Point, My Lord.” The lady beside him seemed truly interested. “Why does it interest you so much more than house parties and ton entertainments?”
Her question revealed more depth to her than most. She was a beautiful woman and obviously intelligent as well. Reluctant to begin courting the woman, he answered succinctly. “It is my legacy, my home. It is my foremost responsibility until the day my father leaves this earth. God willing that will not be for several decades. It would be irresponsible of me to leave its care to others.”
She watched him with a steady, knowing gaze. “My husband, my late husband, was of a similar mind.”
He’d not really considered this woman’s experiences. That she had committed herself to a man and lived as a married woman.
“How long has it been since your husband passed? Three years?” She was not a green girl. She’d experienced loss.
“Three years, two months, and six days.” She smiled at him sheepishly. “It was a blessing for him, really. He’d been ill for a very long time.”
And now, he supposed, it was time for the lady to begin anew.
“That must have been very difficult for you.” It explained her somber personality. Although pleasant and always kind, sadness hovered in the back of her eyes.
“Seeing someone you love in pain is the worst feeling in the world,” she admitted and then stared down at her food. The Earl of Asherton had died without an heir. From what he’d heard, however, the man had never enjoyed good health.
“I am looking forward to spending
time at Raven’s Park. Your sister has convinced me it is second only to paradise.” She forced a smile as she changed the course of their conversation.
During the remainder of the meal, Rome discussed the highlights of his father’s estate, and some of the more unique aspects of Harlow Point, in a surprisingly enjoyable conversation.
He did not, however, find himself getting lost in her eyes or itching to touch her skin, if only the back of her hand. He did not find himself feeling as though his heart beat a little stronger in her presence.
She was pleasant. He found himself thinking as he wandered the empty hallways later that night. She would make a pleasant wife.
He’d received a letter from his mother that afternoon. She and his father had gotten wind of the ridiculous rumor that had begun to plague him. He’d have to take care of it soon.
And then, without having made a conscious decision to do so, he found himself outside the all-too-familiar door where he’d stood little more than one week ago.
The hour was late. She would be sleeping, and it was possible he’d awaken either Penelope or Danbury.
He stepped forward and knocked three times. His mouth went dry, his heart raced, and his palms felt clammy for no reason at all.
She opened the door and in one motion, he’d entered, closed the door behind the two of them, taken her into his arms and devoured her with all of the pent-up craving built up after a day of intolerable circumstances.
“You should not have come,” she whispered against his mouth at the same time she untied his cravat. The room was in shadows. She had been abed.
He hated this out of control feeling she evoked from him, and yet he had no choice but to succumb to it. It flouted rational thought, reason, logic. She deserved better than this, so much better.
“You should not have let me in,” he countered, walking them both to the bed. He struggled to remove his jacket without breaking their kiss. How had he gone all day without this? Without her?
Lady Be Good: Lord Love a Lady Series, Book 5 Page 16