But no. She did not want to delay her reckoning. “I’m certain.”
Her mother entered, looking more flustered than Rhoda could ever remember, followed by Prescott and an unfamiliar, very official-looking gentleman.
Justin squeezed her hand in reassurance.
“Rhoda, this is Mr. Bradley.” Her mother glanced around nervously as though making certain nothing in the room was out of place. And then she stilled and clutched her hands together in front of her. “He has a few questions for you, about last night. The most horrible tragedy has taken the life of the Earl of Kensington, and he believes you might have been a witness.”
“I’ll handle this. If you don’t mind, Mrs. Mossant.” Mr. Bradley interrupted her mother and turned to make a quick bow in her direction.
“May I present you to the Earl of Carlisle,” Rhoda supplied, doubting anyone else was considering proper introductions.
“I am Miss Mossant’s fiancé,” Justin added.
Warmth spread through her, but also disappointment. This was never the way she’d intended to become engaged. Without her consent, before her mother and one of London’s disapproving magistrates.
By the look on the official’s face, he’d been witness to… Oh, dear God, she couldn’t really even think the words in her own head.
“My lord.” Mr. Bradley’s gaze flicked toward Justin in irritation. “I’ve a few questions for Miss Mossant?” He looked as though he’d like to have interrogated her without an audience but did not have the temerity to ask a duke, a duchess, and an earl to leave.
And her mother. She could not forget her mother.
“Please, sit down.” Rhoda gestured toward the sitting area. Heat rushed to her face when she glanced at the loveseat, where Justin had been lying atop her… inside of her.
She noticed that everybody avoided that particular piece of furniture, leaving it for her and Justin to take.
Her fiancé.
Mr. Bradley removed a small notepad from his coat and then stared at her with a frown. “You were a guest at the Crabtrees’ ball last night?”
She glanced sideways at Justin, who nodded in encouragement.
Just tell them the truth, he’d told her.
“Yes.” She licked her lips, which had suddenly gone dry. That wasn’t so hard.
“Can you please tell me where you were at approximately half-past midnight? The set after the supper dance?”
Ah, not quite so simple. “I was sitting with the wallflowers.”
“But not for long, isn’t that right, Miss Mossant?”
“No, not for long,” she agreed. In a fit of exasperation, she was tempted to blurt the story out. He seemed to want to do this his way, however, and she didn’t wish to draw his ill will any more than she already had.
“You went outside, for a walk, alone? Is that not correct?”
“I received a missive,” she explained, unwilling to allow that detail to pass. Of course, under normal circumstances she wouldn’t have gone out walking alone in the dark at such a late hour. Especially in light of everything that had already happened this Season.
His eyebrows rose. Ah, so she was telling him something he didn’t already know. “A footman, at least I believed him to be a footman, told me that Sophia, er, that Her Grace, the Duchess of Prescott,” she flicked a look toward Sophia, “needed to meet with me immediately. That it was urgent.”
“Oh, no!” Sophia seemed horrified that someone had used her in their ruse. Prescott reached over and covered his wife’s hand.
“And did you send any such missive?” The magistrate turned on Sophia now.
“Of course not! I’m in mourning! I could not attend a ball. Even if I could, I’d never put Rhoda into a situation like that.” She frowned at the magistrate’s impertinent question.
“Please tell me what you did next, Miss Mossant.” He turned his questioning back to Rhoda.
Next? “I walked toward the meeting place. The fountain. Where the servant told me the duchess would be waiting.”
The studious man wrote something in his notebook. “Did you encounter anyone on your way there?”
What on earth would that have to do with it? “No.” And then she reached into her memory. Had she? It was difficult to recall what she’d seen while rushing to meet Sophia. Mostly she’d just been concerned about getting to her friend.
“No,” she repeated.
“Are you certain?”
“No. I mean, yes. I’m certain that I didn’t encounter anyone… I think.” Likely, she would have asked them to come along with her. She’d had a feeling something was off.
She should have listened to it.
Mr. Bradley lowered his gaze and glowered at her. “And when you reached the fountain, was anyone there?”
Rhoda shook her head. “I called out for Sophia. Twice, I think. And then Flave—Lord Kensington appeared.”
“So, you were on familiar terms with the late earl? You addressed him by his Christian name? Had the two of you been intimate before?”
“I was not on familiar terms with Flavion. I mean. Well. He married Cecily last year, Mrs. Nottingham, but not really. He’d only done it for her money and once she found out, she didn’t want to be married to him. We all hated him, actually, so we talked about him as though… I have never been on intimate terms with Lord Kensington!” How dare he insinuate such a thing!
Prescott dropped his head into his hands while Sophia watched her earnestly. “Rhoda would never!” her loyal friend inserted quite emphatically.
“You hated him?” The magistrate held steady.
“We all did! Of course, I would never do… that… with Fl—Lord Kensington! I would never!”
At which, Mr. Bradley raised his brows. Oh, yes, he’d just witnessed… as had her mother… and Sophia, and oh, heaven’s, likely the duke had as well.
“Not with Flavion Nottingham! Not willingly. Not ever.” Of this, she was certain.
Mr. Bradley narrowed his gaze again, and she felt Justin stiffen beside her. “The Duchess of Prescott did not set a meeting with my fiancée last night.” Surely, Justin would bring this impertinent gentleman back to the matter at hand.
“But Lord Kensington had,” the magistrate continued.
Rhoda nodded. “Yes.”
“Had you planned to meet him there?”
“Did I not just explain to you that I thought Her Grace wished to meet me there?” He was making her angry.
Justin squeezed her hand again.
“What did Lord Kensington say to you?”
What had he said?
A frown pinched her forehead as she pondered the question. She remembered being angry. She remembered feeling foolish for having gone out there alone.
What had Flave said? Something threatening? She’d known he was up to no good.
“He did speak to you, did he not?”
Rhoda rubbed her head. “I think he said something about running out of time to win the wager.”
“You think? You do not remember exactly? Ah, yes, you are the young woman who inspired the infamous wager this spring. You really should not put yourself in such circumstances, Miss Mossant. A woman invites such attentions—”
“I beg your pardon.” Her mother burst from her chair. Prescott rose as well. “My daughter had nothing to do with that wager. Despite what you might think you may have witnessed here today, Miss Mossant is a lady of quality, and I insist you treat her as such.”
Rhoda swallowed hard. She could not remember ever seeing her mother so angry at anyone other than her father. Prescott took hold of her mother’s arm and lowered her into her seat again.
“I rather suggest you keep such comments to yourself, Mr. Bradley.” Justin looked ready to pounce on the beady little man if he uttered so much as one additional word of… advice.
After an uncomfortable pause, the magistrate persisted. “Had you been drinking spirits, Miss Mossant?”
His question confused her. What did her refres
hments have to do with Flavion’s death?
“I don’t understand.”
“Is it possible that you were inebriated? Had you perhaps consumed a few too many glasses of champagne? Your memory seems to be failing you.”
“I drank lemonade.” She glared at him. One did not always remember every single detail to every situation. People remembered the big things. And how it made them feel.
“Very well.” The magistrate cleared his throat. “You did not think to return to the manor at that time?”
Of course, she had! Did he think she was an idiot? “He frightened me. This was not the first time he’d attempted to…” Suddenly, she felt like crying. “He wanted me to attest to his manhood. Not only so he could win the bet… And I refused. And then he made a move to grab me.” She remembered how quickly he’d staggered forward. “He lunged at me.”
“Did you hit him with anything? Did you shove him?”
She’d stepped to the side.
All she’d done was step to the side.
“He lurched. I moved, and his momentum carried him into the fountain.” It was as though a ton of bricks lifted off of her.
“You did not fight him?”
She shook her head. “I moved. He fell into the water, and I ran.”
“You didn’t so much as touch him.” More a statement than a question from Justin. Of course, he’d realized this when she had told him in a rush. He’d told her to just tell the truth.
She glanced at him with a wobbly smile. “I didn’t so much as touch him.”
“Did the earl say anything after he fell into the water? Did you ascertain that he was not injured?”
“Surely, you’re joking?” She’d had quite enough.
“No, Miss Mossant. I am quite serious.”
“When Lord Kensington moved to attack me, my only thoughts were on escape. He’d said he had a witness nearby, and I feared I wouldn’t get away. I did not care that he had fallen into the water. I did not care if he’d hit his head or hurt himself in any way.” She leveled him with an unwavering stare. “I did not care if he was dead or alive.”
For all of thirty seconds, all that could be heard in the room was the ticking of the clock sitting on the mantel.
“But you never touched him,” Prescott reiterated.
“All I could think was to escape his touch. No. I did not touch him.”
“Did you see this witness Lord Kensington referred to? Do you know who it was?”
She’d thought whoever it was would take chase. She’d almost felt somebody behind her. But she’d never seen anyone else, in fact. She shook her head. “No.”
“Do you have any further questions, Mr. Bradley?” Rhoda had never heard such an edge of steel in Justin’s voice, even when she’d told him what she and Emily had done at Eden’s Court.
When the other man didn’t answer right away, Justin rose, as did Prescott.
Sophia remained seated but sent a conspiratorial glance in Rhoda’s direction. Ah, yes, her mother would wish to have a… word. Don’t leave me, Sophia!
“We’ll see you to the door then.” Justin had firmly taken matters in hand. “If you ladies will excuse us.”
When Mr. Bradley didn’t protest, Prescott and Justin led him out of the drawing room, firmly closing the door behind them.
When the room fell silent at their departure, Rhoda dared to glance toward her mother.
“Oh, Rhoda. Well done.”
Not the words she’d expected. Sophia had withdrawn a parchment fan and was waving it in front of her face.
“Mother?”
“I’ll admit to nearly suffering apoplexy when I opened the door. That Lord Carlisle must do an abundance of riding…”
Sophia’s fan waved even faster.
“I thought you did not want for me to be betrothed.” What was her mother up to?
“Well, if you were betrothed then every gentleman with half a brain would be betting on Carlisle. We wouldn’t want that, now, would we?”
Had the world tipped upside down? What was her mother talking about? “Don’t tell me, Mother…”
“Well, yes. I admit it was something of a risk.”
“You? Wagered? On your own daughter’s…?”
Her mother broke into a huge grin. “And there were witnesses, by God. Not only Prescott and Her Grace.” She gestured toward Sophia. “But a magistrate! A man of the law!”
She could not believe her own mother…
Did that mean?
“But how? When?”
“I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but Cecily’s father, Mr. Findlay, posted the wager on my behalf. Trustworthy gentleman for certain. Had his man of business draw up a contract for me so that it was all duly documented. And as to when, why the very day you planted the idea in my brain.”
Rhoda lifted both hands to clutch the sides of her head.
“I, too, have a confession.” Sophia’s meek statement could barely be heard.
Surely not.
“When you told us that you hadn’t placed the bet, well, I asked Dev…”
She had! “You and Prescott wagered as well?”
At this information, her mother looked more than a little chagrinned.
“There was a trust set aside for Lord Carlisle, by Dev’s father. Carlisle had refused to take possession of it numerous times so Dev, well… decided to put it to use.” Sophia shrugged. “All of the winnings will go to you and Carlisle, of course.”
Rhoda blinked. “Of course.”
“And the money I put up was to have been your dowry,” her mother said. “So, of course, those winnings are yours and Carlisle’s as well.”
They all turned when the door opened. Behind Prescott, Rhoda could hardly believe her eyes at the sight of Emily and Lord Blakely, as well as Cecily and Mr. Nottingham.
But no Justin.
“Rhoda!” Emily barreled into the room, dressed prettily in a periwinkle blue muslin day dress, with what looked to be a new pair of spectacles perched upon her upturned nose. “I am married! And I am so happy! Tell me you are just as happily engaged! Oh, and Cecily is going to be a countess after all! Did you realize that, what with Flavion spending the night in the Crabtrees’ fountain? Probably over imbibed if I were to take a gander at it. Can you believe it? I’m happily married! As is Blakely, right, Marcus?” And then she giggled unapologetically.
Rhoda had forgotten what a whirlwind of chaos Emily could bring to any situation. First and foremost, she squeezed Emily with all the strength she could muster. “You are not angry with me? For not staying to your plan? For not marrying Lord Blakely?”
This drew even more laughter from her friend.
Of course, Emily was not angry with her for that. Rhoda’s mind struggled to keep up with all that was happening.
“And you are happy? Oh, I am so happy that you are happy!”
“And Cecily is a countess!” At Emily’s reminder, all eyes turned toward Cecily and her husband. Mr. Nottingham’s lips were pinched around the mouth and Cecily was shaking her head.
“I don’t want to be a countess again! Must I?” Oh, but she must. Rhoda shook her head. No doubt, this time around would be more satisfying than when she’d been Flavion’s countess.
“And, Rhoda, you must accept Lord Carlisle’s suit.” This from Emily, who obviously hadn’t yet heard news of her and Justin’s engagement. “Marcus has placed a wager on him. Any winnings are to go toward the Carlisle estate. After all, if it wasn’t for you jilting him, Marcus would never have….” She flushed and dropped her gaze to the carpet.
“Seemed a decent way to show my gratitude to the vicar for not marrying my wife.” Blakely’s gaze settled on Emily with more than a little tenderness.
Utter. Chaos.
Had everyone wagered on Lord Carlisle? “Where is he?” She could not contain her curiosity even one second longer. Indeed, he’d yet to have officially proposed.
“He said he had an errand,” Prescott answered almost as th
ough such information was an afterthought.
Rhoda’s heart lurched into her throat. He’d left her?
Alone?
To face her mother’s recriminations? Not that he’d known there were none to come.
“He asked if you’d receive him later this afternoon.” A twinkle sparkled in the duke’s eyes.
She would receive him. Oh, yes, she would receive him! “Of course.” She nodded with a glance at her mother. And then she looked around to see all of her friends so very happy. They all loved her, and she loved every one of them.
“Oh, Em and Cecily!” Sophia’s face burst into pure merriment. “You’ll never guess what has happened…”
Whereupon, the men cleared their throats and promptly excused themselves with a promise to return in a few hours’ time to collect their wives.
The four women had a great deal to catch up on.
And then Rhoda, well, Rhoda had an earl to receive.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Earning It
Rhoda had done nothing wrong. When she’d told Justin she’d stepped aside and Kensington had gone tumbling, Justin had felt tremendous relief.
He berated himself for not protecting her sooner. For not putting an end to all this nonsense when they first arrived in London. Hell, he ought to have offered for her before leaving for Eden’s Court.
He’d not miss his chance again.
It was over today. All of it. In more ways than one.
He adjusted himself and increased the pace of his stride as he made his way purposefully along the street.
He’d been inside of her. He tried not to conjure the recent euphoric memory. He was already struggling to subdue his urges and didn’t need the added encumbrance of having to hide the beast.
A chuckle escaped at the thought.
God, but she’d been more than he ever might have imagined. As though he’d found the missing part of himself.
All the months of longing, yearning, and lusting. The thought that she’d wanted him—Justin White, former vicar and pockets-to-let earl—brought a lump to his throat and a burning sensation to the backs of his eyes.
Rhoda. His Rhododendron.
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