ROSALIND: A Regency Romance (Bachelor Brides, Book 1)

by Jenny Hambly

  “That’s better,” Lord Atherton said, his tone again mild as if her loss of control had restored his. “Show your claws. However, your statement is both wild and inaccurate. There is the small matter of the Bow Street Runner who is, I’m quite sure, still lurking somewhere close by. You are quite notorious, my dear, and he would dearly love to be the one to receive the acclaim and the reward attached to the one who catches you.”

  His words snuffed out her anger as again the enormity of what she had done rushed in. “What do you want from me?” she asked, resentfully regarding him as he sat in a relaxed posture, one powerful thigh crossed over the other, his long fingers steepled before him. “Why didn’t you hand me over?”

  “I think an explanation is due to me, don’t you?” he enquired more gently. “Or in your book should the son suffer from the imagined sins of the father?”

  Rosalind sighed as a deep weariness crept over her. “No, no, of course not.” She curled herself into the corner of the chair and tucked her legs beneath her, allowing a waterfall of hair to cascade over her face. How she wanted all of it to be over, all of the pain, the humiliation, the anger, the bewilderment at the course her life had taken. She closed her eyes and her mother’s calm loving face swam before her, her warm gaze held wisdom, sympathy and a gentle strength. Almost before she realised it, she had begun talking, her low voice almost expressionless as the whole sordid tale spilled from her. She left nothing out, explaining how she had found the list in the drawer of her father’s study after he had shot himself. The list of all the people he owed money to and how much his reckless gambling had cost him, how she had made a copy of it before the lawyers came, not really knowing what she would do with it, only that she wanted to know everyone who had been even partially responsible for his downfall. How the estate had had to be sold and having no close relatives that she was aware of, how she had fled with only a few possessions to her old nurse, and how she had formed her mad plan to make those guilty for her circumstances suffer, if only a little bit.

  Lord Atherton wasn’t deceived by the controlled voice, he knew it masked a world of pain and heartache. His father’s voice echoed at the back of his mind. ‘How dare you dictate to me who is or isn’t worthy of my help, you selfish whelp? When was the last time you helped, really helped anyone but yourself?’

  Aware that a stilted silence had replaced the flow of words that had seemed to pour out of Lady Rosalind, he gathered his scattered thoughts.

  “What do you intend to do with me now, my lord?” Those luminous, bewitching eyes regarded him warily, still with a hint of defiance.

  “Do you really intend to return everything you have stolen?” he asked.

  Now they flashed. “Every word I have spoken has been the truth.”

  “As you see it,” he murmured cryptically.

  His words had her on her feet. “What other way is there to see it? My father was miserable and desperate and a fool, but he was preyed upon by his so-called ‘friends’.” She paused, her breath coming short and fast. “And I, I have learned nothing, for I too have been miserable and desperate and a fool. If you are going to let me go, then for God’s sake do it, Ned and Lucy will be worried.”

  Lord Atherton too was on his feet, blocking her way to the door. “Not quite so fast.” His calm tone gave no indication of how tempted he was to smother those tempestuous words with a kiss. “Sit down.” His own weakness made him harsh.

  Rosalind sat. For a moment she had thought his eyes had burned like the embers of a smouldering fire but now they regarded her indifferently again. She could not make head nor tail of this man. But then her experience of men was small and what she had seen she did not admire.

  “What did you plan to do once your reckless plan was complete?” he demanded.

  Rosalind shrugged. “Find some respectable position, I suppose. Maybe apply for a post as a governess?”

  The earl let out a crack of laughter. “My dear girl, have you looked in the glass recently? Who in their right minds would hire a governess attractive enough to turn the heads of any or all of the males in the household?”

  Rosalind flushed. “Surely sir, you exaggerate, I’m sure...”

  She got no further but was rudely dragged up by her shoulders, and turned to face the mirror over the fireplace. She was uncomfortably aware of the heat of the man so close behind her, but dutifully looked in the mirror trying to see what he saw. Her full lips were parted slightly, her face suffused with heat from the fire and his closeness, and her eyes were large, her pupils dilated. Her unbound hair added to her quite wanton appearance. Their eyes met and held, time seemed suspended for an infinite moment and then she stumbled as he suddenly released her, her knees unaccountably weak.

  “Respectable you will be,” he ground out harshly. “It seems, Lady Rosalind Marlowe, that we are in each other’s debt.” He paced the room with a restless energy as he spoke. “You will never do as a governess, but I can see no difficulty in you acquiring a post as a companion to an older lady who will not worry if you outshine her in looks.”

  Rosalind bristled at his high-handed manner. “And no doubt, my lord, you know of just such a one, probably some purple-turbaned old dragon who will expect me to wait on her hand and foot for little or no thanks.”

  Despite himself, Atherton’s lips twitched; both her spirit and her extreme youth were evident, in many ways she reminded him of Belle. “It is a little too late to be so fussy if we are to make you respectable again.”

  The undoubted truth of the statement made Rosalind bite back the unladylike temptation to tell him to go the devil. “Who is this Lady I am to be a companion to?”

  “My mother.”

  Her lips parted in amazement. Wrong-footed, she was surly. “Your mother? Are you not afraid I will run off with the family silver?”

  He leaned over and took her chin in a firm grip. “Enough. Swallow your spleen, you ungrateful chit. You’re in the devil’s own scrape and I am trying to help you out of it.”

  “But why?” she said, pulling herself out of his grasp.

  A wry smile twisted his lips. “Let’s just say I don’t choose that my family should be in any way responsible for your continuing decline in fortune. Is it a bargain?”

  Bewildered, she simply nodded her agreement, she did not see that she really had much choice. From then on he was all business, covering her up with her cloak, retying her loo mask, pulling up her hood and insisting she wait whilst he flagged down a hackney cab and then bundling her inside following her closely.

  Any alarm she may have felt at being alone with a strange man inside a small cab was soon overcome as he was all efficiency. He fired instructions at her for most of the way: she was to be ready to travel by midday tomorrow; she must be prepared to spend two nights on the road so she would need a female companion of some description for the journey to lend her respectability; she must arrange for the return of all the jewels she had stolen and so on. He helped her down from the cab in the lane behind the coffee house and dismissed it.

  She was afraid for a moment that he meant to accompany her in and quailed at the thought of the scene that would inevitably ensue, however, he merely offered her a brief bow before disappearing back into the night. But of course he didn’t need to come in, he now knew everything and could count on her compliance as she had unwittingly placed Ned and Lucy in danger by revealing their whereabouts.

  He walked swiftly, needing to put some distance between himself and Lady Rosalind, to try to put the crazy events of the night into some sort of perspective, something he couldn’t do with those large mesmerising eyes regarding him or the faint smell of jasmine making him want to bury his face in her neck and drink in the sweet scent of her. She seemed to fill him with desire and anger in equal measure. The anger was the harder of the two emotions to explain as it seemed to spring from more sources; anger that she could affect him like some callow youth rather than an experienced man who was always in control of himself around wom
en, anger that one so lovely and innocent had been dealt the hand she had been given, and anger that she should have taken such foolish and dangerous risks.

  So caught up was he in his internal monologue, he hardly noticed when someone fell into step beside him as he strolled through Mayfair.

  “Ah, so glad to see you, my dear Atherton,” drawled a cold, soft voice.

  Quickly turning his head, it took a moment to register that Lord Rutley was now beside him, neat as wax as usual in his dark swallow-tailed coat, perfectly tied cravat, his white waistcoat with one gold fob hanging from it, complementing the golden buckles on his black pumps.

  “Rutley, I hope you have had a successful evening.”

  “Well, that still remains to be seen, Atherton. The night is not over yet. Might I suggest you accompany me home so I can take a touch at my revenge?” he asked with a smile that did not reach his eyes, the elegant walking stick tapping insistently against his black satin breeches belying his calm tone.

  “It will have to wait I’m afraid,” he replied somewhat curtly. “I am going up to Atherton tomorrow on urgent business and must be away early.”

  The tapping came to an abrupt stop. “But this is very sudden. I hope nothing too serious?”

  The earl felt his hackles rising at being delayed further. “Just some estate matters that need my attention,” he clipped out.

  Arched eyebrows winged upwards and a smile more closely resembling a smirk twisted thin lips. “Business? Estate matters? I am all admiration, my dear fellow. It has never seemed to me that you took an interest in such, er, rustic pursuits.”

  That touched a spot already raw from rubbing. A feeling of intense dislike swept over him; this man was harder to be rid of than an irritating wasp. Tired of the verbal swordplay he went for a home thrust. “Ah, but it is high time I did, it is our estates and our investments that enable us to enjoy the many and varied pleasures of town after all, my dear fellow.”

  The barb hit home. It was well known that Lord Rutley viewed his only as a coffer to be dipped into and that the coffer was nearly empty.

  Lord Atherton’s eyes widened as he saw the scorching flame of green hatred blaze momentarily in the suddenly narrow eyes before him. So Philip had been right, another metaphorical bullet had just lodged itself deep in his brain, perhaps it was just as well he was disappearing for a while.

  “Let’s hope you are not the next victim of this damned thief whilst you are away,” came the bitter reply.

  Although he was sure there was nothing Rutley would like better, the irony washed over Lord Atherton in a wave of amusement, dousing his annoyance. “Why thank you for the reminder, most kind of you. Perhaps I will take my mother’s jewels down to her, they will be safer at Atherton. Goodnight.”

  On that parting shot he turned towards Grosvenor Square but felt Rutley’s resentful stare burning between his shoulder blades every step of the way.

  Chapter 4

  Rosalind had rather more explaining to do. When she did not make their rendezvous, poor Ned had bolted back home in a panic, only to have Lucy ring a peal over him for deserting her. They were both on the point of setting out in search of her when she returned. Lucy began to give her a severe scold but quickly perceived that most of it was going unheard as Rosalind sat in a state of bewilderment and numbed shock. Lucy then completed an abrupt volte-face, turning again on poor Ned who she apostrophised for a bumbling lobcock, ordering him to bring some wine to poor Miss Rosie before making himself scarce. The evening’s events sounded even more unlikely in the re-telling but apart from the odd gasp, Lucy remained silent until it was done. When Rosalind had finished, she simply nodded and responded on a note of grim satisfaction, “For I will restore health unto thee, and I will heal thee of thy wounds, saith the Lord; because they called thee an Outcast.”

  Rosalind smiled despite herself, “You should have been a vicar’s wife, Lucy, I believe you know a bible quote for every occasion.”

  “Far too high and mighty for me, luvvie,” dimpled Lucy. “Besides, most of ‘em are more interested in lining their pockets than following the good Lord’s teachings.”

  Rosalind frowned uncertainly. “But will it do? What after all do we know about Lord Atherton or his mother?”

  “Well, you pitched yourself into a right bumble bath, missy, and no mistake, but handsome is as handsome does, if this here earl of yours was going to make trouble he had plenty of opportunity to do so this very evening. And didn’t he insist you travel with a companion to keep all respectable?” she pointed out as a clincher.

  Rosalind’s frown deepened. “Who shall I take? You are so busy here...”

  Lucy was on her feet in an instant, her hands on her hips, bristling with disapproval and purpose. “Now you start listening to me, Rosalind Marlowe, your sainted mother, bless her soul, begged me to look out for you as she lay there dying, not that starched up governess who always looked down her nose at me. You’ll never know the heartache and worry I suffered when your father sent me away, as if I wouldn’t have stayed for nothing. Heaven knows I’ve done my best. It went against the grain with me to let you have your head with that crazy plan of yours but now you will do as I say. I’m coming with you tomorrow and we’ll see how the land lies. Ned will cope for a few days, I will arrange for his sister to come and help. Besides, who else will ensure you remember how to act and dress like a lady instead of the hoyden you’ve been allowed to be these last years?”

  Rosalind’s eyes lit with amusement. “Hoyden, Lucy?”

  “Aye, hoyden. What else would you call it when you were allowed to run wild all over the estate after me and your governess left? And as for running all over town in breeches!”

  Her outraged expression drew forth a low chuckle, as usual, Lucy had made everything seem better.

  “It’s no laughing matter, young lady, when I think of all those hours we worked our fingers to the bone altering your mother’s gowns so you could look respectable,” she chided but Rosalind didn’t miss the twinkle in her nut-brown eyes.

  “What about the jewels? I have no time...”

  “Now don’t you go worrying your head about that, your part in that nonsense has finished.”

  “But who?” Rosalind stopped, an almost embarrassed flush had crept over Lucy’s face.

  “Never mind about who. Let’s just say that my Ned knew some less than respectable people before I sorted him out, and he will know how it is to be done.”

  The not very agile Bow Street Runner suddenly sprang into Rosalind’s mind and a slow grin worked its way across her face. “They must be returned to Bow Street,” she pronounced decidedly. “They need all the help they can get and we’ll need one more message, Lucy.”

  That much put-upon lady raised her eyes to heaven but she did not disappoint. “For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?” She nodded once in a satisfied manner before bundling Rosalind upstairs to pack.

  Having breakfasted early, Lord Atherton was on the point of departure when he received a large package and a hastily scribbled note. Pulling out his quizzing glass he scanned this missive impatiently.

  Dear George,

  Please take down this parcel to Mama and give her my greatest love. Have a safe journey.

  Your loving sister, Belle.

  Oh, by the way, the latest is the heiress’s father, though a cit, has turned down Rutley after all, his dislike of profligacy overcoming his desire to establish his daughter in the ton!

  He shook his head slowly, feeling a creeping disgust at the society he belonged to. Whatever one thought of Rutley, did a man really deserve to have his every mistake or embarrassment inspected and condemned by an indolent, hypocritical ton? These gossip weavers spun a web of half-truths and conjecture, poisoning reputations without compunction.

  “Bad news, my lord?” enquired his concerned butler, hovering nearby ready to hand him his hat and gloves.

  “No,” he responded shortly. �
��No news at all.”

  He arrived behind Prowett’s Coffee House in his curricle, closely followed by his chaise to convey Lady Rosalind and her companion. He found both ladies ready to depart, their baggage at their feet. Quickly, he dismounted and strode towards them. He was a tall man and his caped driving coat emphasized his size, he dwarfed Lucy as he bowed briefly before her.

  “Mrs Prowett, I presume?” he asked with a small smile.

  She offered him a curtsy in return and looked up at him from under her old fashioned bonnet, her nut-brown eyes offering him a sharp scrutiny. “Indeed sir, and if I might say so, you won’t find a finer or kinder companion than Lady Rosalind if you advertised ‘til the cows came home, my lord.”

  “Lucy,” protested Lady Rosalind, flustered.

  Lord Atherton transferred his attention to her. Her green pelisse and matching green bonnet were not of the latest fashion but he saw nothing to despise in them, on the contrary, they brought out the warm tones of her eyes most effectively. Eyes that looked far more shy and uncertain in the cold light of day. He bowed slightly more deeply and took her hand.

  “Lady Rosalind, I look forward to seeing the truth of that statement as my mother deserves both kindness and respect.”

  The words were softly spoken but Rosalind didn’t miss the hard thread underlining them. Even as she felt herself bristle, they were being hustled towards the waiting chaise. He handed them up the steps himself and provided them both with a blanket as the postilion secured their luggage.

  “My horses are rather fresh,” he said, nodding towards a pair of restive, well-matched bays being walked by his groom. “So don’t worry if I draw ahead of you for a short time, they need to stretch their legs.” With a brief nod he was gone, barely giving his groom time to jump up behind him before he swept out of sight.

  As he weaved through the London traffic with calm skill, no one would have guessed at his inner turmoil. She had looked absurdly youthful, he would be surprised if she numbered more than eighteen years to her name. How did he explain her to his mother, who had steadfastly refused the benefit of even one of her relations as her companion? How did he explain to himself his actions? How did he feel about re-visiting the home that was his family seat but also the heart of the guilt and grief he felt for his father?