He grinned then. Couldn’t help himself. They danced for several moments. Strickland was right. She danced very well. It was more like she floated, skimming the floor, the only thing keeping her anchored was his hands.
“You might not want to appear so averse when someone calls me your sister.”
His smile slipped. “You’re not my sister.”
Her gaze clashed with his. “And must you appear so vehement on that point? You’re acting as my guardian and ushering me through the Season. You might not want your distaste to appear so obvious.”
He stared down at her but said nothing. To be fair, he was not sure how he felt about her other than that he wanted her gone from his life. All his thoughts of her were tied too closely with his ill opinion of her mother. It was a tangled knot and he didn’t see any way to separate the strands.
The music came to an end and she dropped his hand, stepping back hastily. “I think that served to adequately give me your endorsement. In case the dowry was not sufficient enough. My thanks, Your Grace.” At those stiff words, she gave a hasty curtsy before weaving her way through the crowd, disappearing in the crush of bodies.
He slowly turned, glancing over his shoulder several times as if he would catch a glimpse of her.
“There now. Ready to go?” Max asked.
He nodded absently, trying to shake her from his thoughts and how she was nothing like he had imagined. Nothing like her cloying mother. Rosalie appeared almost as eager to be rid of him as he was of her.
“Yes. I’m finished here.”
Chapter 8
Rosalie flopped back on the bed with a heavy sigh. Her feet ached from another night of dancing. It had been much the same for close to a week now with no reprieve. Tonight was especially unpleasant, as she’d danced with a portly baronet with very little grace who trod all over her slippers.
She kicked off both slippers and rubbed her aching, stocking-clad toes. “Can we not have one night where we are not rushing off to some ball or party?” Releasing her foot, she speared her fingers through her hair, tugging the thick mass back from her head.
“You mean you’re weary of it already?” Aurelia clucked. “Oh, dear. You are in trouble, then, for there is no foreseeable end to it. At least not this Season.”
Rosalie propped herself up on her elbows and scowled down at her friend, reclining at the bottom of the bed. “You needn’t sound so satisfied. You don’t appear to be enjoying yourself either.”
Aurelia grinned and shrugged. “I’m accustomed to it. You are not.” She shook her head. She’d already unpinned her head, and the dark, rich waves tumbled around her shoulders. “I simply didn’t think you would be quite so . . .”
“What?”
“Well . . . quite so much like me, honestly.”
Rosalie cocked her head and started to pull the pins from her own hair, not bothering to wait for her maid. “And why does me being like you not sound like a compliment?”
Aurelia made a face. “There’s a reason I’m still unwed.”
“I thought you lost a year while you were in mourning and then another for half-mourning—”
“Yes, but I’ve had one Season. Last year. Mama was hoping for a match then.”
“So how are we alike? Tell me.” Rosalie pulled the last pin and shook her hair free with a soft moan of relief.
“I loathe the balls and parties. Perhaps not at first, but they soon became tedious. One is much like another. All the girls our age wax on and on of fashion and gossip. And the gentlemen . . .” She sighed, falling back on the settee edging Rosalie’s bed to gaze forlornly up at the ceiling. “Have you met a single one to stir your blood?”
Rosalie stared at Aurelia for a moment, caught off guard from her candid speech. But that was only part of her hesitation. She was a little surprised to find that this elegant young lady, brought up with all the polish and advantages afforded one of high birth, wanted something else. Something more.
Aurelia glanced her way. “Come now. Be truthful.”
Rosalie gave a nod, agreeing. “No. No, I have not. Not that I’ve spent much time with anyone besides Lord Strickland in the last week.”
Aurelia grimaced. “Indeed. He did close in rather quickly on you, didn’t he? You’re simply too nice.”
“Should I be impolite?” Rosalie demanded helplessly. “I can’t be caustic and sharp-tongued like—”
“Me?” Aurelia rolled to her side and pulled her knees to her chest, her pastel green skirts a pool around her as she faced Rosalie. The color did nothing for her friend’s olive-toned complexion. Sadly, it made her look mildly ill.
They fell into silence, each lost in their thoughts.
Aurelia bit her lip until she finally said with a heavy exhale, “I don’t suppose I can continue to behave that way either. Mama is at her end with me. She’s complained to my brother . . . he’s threatening to send me to live with my elderly Aunt Daphne in Scotland. Once there, I might as well give up all hope of ever . . .”
Her voice faded and Rosalie prodded, “Ever what?”
“Of ever experiencing adventure, love . . . a kiss that doesn’t make me want to wipe my mouth off afterward.”
Rosalie sat up anxiously. “Someone kissed you?”
“It happened last season. Archibald Lewis, the vicar’s son, isn’t that ironic? He snuck a kiss on me.” She wrinkled her nose. “It tasted of fish and soured milk. Wretched experience. But that’s beside the point.” She fluttered a hand. Rosalie nodded, feeling a bit dizzy in her attempt to follow. “Wouldn’t you want to know what a kiss felt like from someone who knew how to kiss? And isn’t old enough to be our father? And doesn’t look like the back end of a mule?
“Er, well. Yes.”
“Me, too.” Aurelia punched a fist into her palm. “It’s simply not fair that my brother and Dec and that boor Camden can sow their oats to their hearts’ content while we must wither on the vine, waiting to be plucked up by an eligible gentleman.”
Rosalie shook her head. “But what can we do about it?”
Aurelia gestured wildly. “Something. Anything!” Her arms flopped at her sides. “If I’m to be sent to rusticate with Aunt Daphne until I’m old and dead, then I should blasted well live a little first.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial pitch. “We should go to Sodom.”
“Sodom? As in Sodom and Gomorrah? From the Bible?” Rosalie frowned, not sure if this was some tonnish expression she had yet to learn.
“It’s a private club host to all manner of illicit activity.”
Illicit activity? Her cheeks warmed even though she was not entirely certain what that meant.
Aurelia continued, “I’ve overheard Dec speak of it with Camden.” She sat up on the settee, apparently warming to the subject. “You must be a member. Or get an invitation from a member.” Her lips twisted wryly. “I’m sure no such invitation would be forthcoming from Dec.”
Rosalie snorted, imagining her stepbrother’s face if Aurelia approached him with such a request. “No. I imagine not.”
“So we would have to secure memberships for ourselves. I’ve enough pin money set aside. I don’t know the cost, but I’m sure we could manage some manner of temporary membership that—”
“Aurelia,” Rosalie broke in. “Slow down a moment. You cannot be serious. Ladies of repute cannot attend such a—”
“I’m certain they do!” Aurelia nodded doggedly. “Wearing dominos, with no threat of discovery, why ever not?”
Rosalie stared at her, trying to process what she was suggesting and come up with a reason why this was the worst idea in the history of terrible ideas. She only arrived at: “You are serious.”
Aurelia nodded. “I am quite serious.” She scooted closer on the great big bed, her brown eyes luminous. “Will you not join me?”
“I—I—”
“Do you not crave a taste of adventure before you marry the likes of Lord Strickland?”
“I’m not marrying Lord Strickland,” Rosalie was quick to object.
Aurelia sank back on the settee with an arch of her dark eyebrow, flopping her arm onto the bed where Rosalie’s skirts pooled. She toyed with the pink fabric. “Indeed,” she said mildly. “You’re not? You’re certain of this?” A decided glint entered her brown eyes.
Rosalie sat up a little straighter, crossing her legs beneath her voluminous skirts. “I think I would know who I will and won’t marry.”
Aurelia made a humming sound and crossed her arms over her chest. “I heard Strickland mention to Mama that he wished to call on Dec.”
Rosalie said nothing for several moments as she processed this. “I’m sure it has nothing to do with me—”
Now Aurelia snorted. “It has everything to do with you. Did you think Mama and Dec were merely planning your social calendar for you? Oh, Rosalie,” she tsked, and shook her head. “They’re planning your life . . . right down to the groom.”
Rosalie inhaled sharply through her nose. “You’re mistaken.”
Aurelia gave her a pitying look that seemed to say, We shall see.
Rosalie shook her head, a sick feeling starting in her stomach as she watched her companion rise from the bed and smooth down her skirts. “If you say so. Meanwhile, if you change your mind . . . I’m sure I can get us inside Sodom.”
“Thank you, but I don’t think so.”
Aurelia groaned. “Oh, very well. I shall die a dusty old spinster with only the memory of Archibald Lewis’s kiss to comfort me.”
Rosalie fought down a grin. Aurelia was nothing if not entertaining. “Dusty and old are not words that come to mind in association with you. I doubt you’ll behave old even when you are.”
“Very well.” Turning, she held up her hand and fluttered her fingers. “Good night.”
“Good night,” Rosalie murmured, rising to her feet as her maid entered the room, bypassing Aurelia.
She moved to stand before the mirror, gazing at her reflection as Sally moved behind her and began unhooking the tiny buttons on her gown.
“Good evening, miss,” the maid said. “Have a nice time tonight?”
“Yes, Sally, thank you.”
“You look lovely in this pink gown . . . so brilliant with your hair.”
“Thank you, Sally.”
“I’m sure all the gentlemen were tripping over themselves for you.”
Rosalie winced and ran a hand down the brocade of her bodice. “Indeed. With my dowry how could they not?”
Sally cast her gaze down and fell silent at this and Rosalie regretted her words, regretted making the poor girl feel uncomfortable. Of course she knew of her outrageous dowry. All of Britain knew by now. That didn’t give her cause to make the poor girl uneasy. She wasn’t any of the countless gentlemen attempting to woo her.
Lord Strickland’s chinless face floated before her mind. It was bad enough that he mildly repulsed her, but to know that he didn’t even really want her, that he wouldn’t be giving her the barest notice if not for the obscene dowry Dec had placed upon her . . .
It was galling. And yet a fact she would have to accept, dismal as it was. Any man she married would be marrying her for that reason and that reason alone.
In that moment, she understood Aurelia’s motives for wanting to break free and do something bold and reckless. Such an act would be purely selfish. It would be about pleasure and fun. It wouldn’t be about the wealth she brought to her husband. It wouldn’t be about marrying for position or title. It would be an adventure.
Rosalie could understand the desire for that. She understood.
But she could never risk it.
“Ah, Your Grace, good morning. I was just coming to call on you.”
Dec froze on the bottom step of his town house. His gaze collided with Lord Strickland as he descended from his carriage and stopped before him. He nodded warily. “Strickland. What brings you here?
“Your sister,” Lord Strickland began, removing his gloves and twisting them nervously.
Bloody hell. What had the chit done now?
He reluctantly waved in the general direction of his front door, not bothering to correct Strickland again. The man seemed determined to view Rosalie as his sister rather than stepsister. “Shall we discuss this inside?”
The man nodded swiftly and followed Dec inside. He waved off the butler who stepped forward to take Strickland’s coat and offer refreshments. Hopefully, this would not take long and he could still keep his appointment at Jackson’s Saloon.
He closed the door to his office and took position near the great hearth, waiting with a knot of dread in his chest, quite convinced he was about to hear some tirade regarding Rosalie. And what could he expect? Stuck in that school for so many years, she was not precisely trained in the nuances of Society.
He nodded grimly at Strickland as the man flipped back the tails of his jacket and sat rather stiffly on the edge of the chaise. He tugged on his collar and began in his mumbling voice, “This is quite . . . awkward. I’ve never done anything like this before—”
“Strickland.” The earl’s eyes shot to Dec’s face. “Just spit it out.”
“Quite. Quite so.” He nodded doggedly and cleared his throat. “I would like to request the honor of your daughter—er, I mean sister’s hand in marriage.”
Dec stared.
Strickland flushed and continued, his words a nearly unintelligible ramble. “I realize I have only made her acquaintance, but I’ve found her to be very amenable. I think she is absolutely the sweetest creature on earth—”
“Rosalie?” he bit out before he could consider his tone.
“Indeed. She is the kindest—”
“Rosalie?”
The earl nodded, his chin lost somewhere in his neck. “I’m not the only one paying particular attention to her—”
“You’re not?” Other than the night he’d danced with her at the Coltons’ ball, Dec had left her in his aunt’s hands, ignoring his aunt’s requests for him to join them again. He’d deemed it unnecessary, assuming Aunt Peregrine was quite capable of ushering the girl about Town. Apparently he had been correct. His aunt had proven herself very adept. Perhaps too much. The girl had already garnered a proposal.
He quickly squashed his annoyance with his aunt. She had accomplished for Rosalie what she had not yet accomplished with her own daughter. She was to be commended. He was free of her.
He realized that Strickland was still talking.
“ . . . so I wanted to be the first to declare myself.” His smile wobbled and he looked a little sheepish. “I imagine she will attract other offers, but—”
“I accept.”
“Wh-What?”
“Rosalie will be honored, I am certain.”
Strickland blinked. “Truly?”
Dec nodded, ignoring the small niggle of discomfort at the back of his throat. This was what he wanted. The fact that it happened sooner than expected was a boon he should not examine too closely. Strickland was a good man. He came from good family. He was reputed to be a gentleman. Certainly, Dec had never seen him at Sodom or any of the other less than reputable places he had frequented over the years. She could do much worse. She could have ended up with someone like you.
The thought came unbidden, and he shoved it aside. He’d never agree for her to marry a man of his ilk. It would be unconscionable. She might be Melisande’s daughter, but he would do his duty by her and make certain she only joined with an honorable man.
He focused on Strickland again. Once again the man was babbling, his hands moving rapidly with his enthusiasm as he discussed a spring wedding.
Dear God. Did Strickland actually think he gave a damn over the
wedding particulars? He pushed off from where he leaned against the mantel. “You’ve my blessing. I leave you to discuss plans with my aunt.”
“Very good, Your Grace.” The much shorter man seized his hand and pumped it in a handshake several times, simultaneously clapping Dec on the back. For one terrible moment it actually looked as though the man would hug him.
“Congratulations, Strickland.” He extricated himself and made his way to the door. “I believe you can locate my aunt in the salon. Rosalie will likely be with her. You’re family now. You’re welcome to find your way there and tell them the happy news.”
Strickland ran a hand over his bald, perspiring scalp. “Indeed. I shall go find them directly.”
“Good day.” Turning on his heels, he strode from the room, from the house, not considering the clipped pace of his stride. Or that he found himself looking over his shoulder several times, watching as the earl practically skipped toward the salon. Or that his stomach churned like he had just consumed a bad bit of fish.
She would be a countess. He had done his duty by her. And some.
Any female would be thrilled from such an arrangement. He should be thrilled.
A vigorous bout at Jackson’s Saloon would do him some good. Suddenly, he felt the need to unleash himself.
“I beg your pardon, my lord?” Rosalie’s hands curled into fists in her lap. “Could you repeat yourself?”
Certainly she had misheard. Or misunderstood.
In fact, nothing Strickland had said since he entered the salon made a dash of sense to her. Nor did she even quite understand his unexpected presence here at all. He had not mentioned calling upon her last night, and on the heels of her conversation with Aurelia, she was not feeling kindly disposed to his sudden appearance.
“We’re to be married!” Strickland dropped beside her on the sofa where she sat before the fireplace, a book forgotten in her lap. For once, his speech rang clear and loud.
She looked from his eager countenance to Aunt Peregrine and Aurelia, who stared back at her with a cocked eyebrow that seemed to say: See there, I told you so.
“Are you mad?” The words escaped without deliberation. It was simply the only thought in her head.
A Good Debutante's Guide to Ruin Page 6
