by Jenny Hambly
“Is everything all right, dear?” she asked, pouring herself a cup of coffee. “Not bad news I hope?”
Rosalind blinked, clearing her head. “No, yes, no, at least I don’t know.”
Lady Atherton smiled wryly. “I believe I am usually fairly good at reading between the lines but I will need a little more to go on ifI am to come to any satisfactory conclusion in this instance.”
Rosalind smiled ruefully. “I’m sorry, I sound horribly missish, don’t I?”
Lady Atherton looked at the usually self-possessed young lady before her and noted the bewildered look in her eyes. “Would it be easier if I was to read the letter?” she suggested gently.
Rosalind handed it over. “Read it aloud if you will, perhaps it will make more sense to me then.”
It was brief and to the point.
Dear Lady Marlowe,
I have expended much time and effort in locating your whereabouts. I have some news that will be of great interest to you and would appreciate your attendance at my offices as soon as may be convenient for you.
Your servant,
Mr S. J. Creevely.
Lady Atherton frowned down at the missive. “I understand your confusion, he is not a man of many words is he?”
Rosalind looked anxious. “It must be something to do with my father.”
“Perhaps, perhaps not,” murmured Lady Atherton. “Either way, there is only one way to find out,” she said decisively. “We must go to London and there is no time like the present.”
Rosalind looked startled. “There is no need to accompany me, Lady Atherton. I would not cause you so much trouble!”
But the formidable lady had already pushed back her chair. “Trouble? No such thing, I am persuaded it will do me a lot of good and whilst we are there we can visit some furniture warehouses and source some new material for chair coverings and curtains. Come on now, go and pack, we leave within the hour.”
Rosalind was beginning to see where Belle got her impetuous nature from.
They were two nights and three days on the road and Rosalind had plenty of time to speculate as to what the summons might mean but it was useless, of course. Finally giving up, she tried very hard not to dwell on it or what Lord Atherton’s reaction might be to their unexpected arrival.
It was late afternoon when they arrived, Radcliffe opened the door and in a heartbeat his face turned from shock to delight.
“My dear Lady Atherton, what an unexpected pleasure, why did you not warn us of your arrival?”
She smiled graciously, an imp of mischief dancing in her eyes. “Why Radcliffe, I like to keep you all on your toes you know!”
The smile was returned. “I think you will find that we are always ready to receive you, ma’am.”
He took both of their arrivals in his stride as did Mrs Harvey, the housekeeper. Lord Atherton had gone out and was not expected back for dinner. Rosalind was quite thankful, she was tired, had a nagging headache and certainly did not feel up to any sort of confrontation. After partaking of a light supper, she took herself off to bed and dropped into a deep slumber. Waking some time later, she found that as usual, once disturbed she could not drop back off to sleep. The house was silent and after tossing and turning for a while she decided she would creep down to the study to find a book to read.
She listened carefully at the top of the landing but there was no light in evidence and no sound. She glided down the stairs silently, her white nightgown billowing around her and her long dark hair falling loosely down her back. She listened for a moment at the door of the study before quietly pushing it open.
How strange it felt to be standing in this room again. She felt a twinge of shame at the memory of her last visit. She no longer felt like the avenging housebreaker of a few weeks ago, so much had happened in such a short time. Everything had seemed so black and white then; men were the enemy, they were selfish, indolent, degenerate beings with no sense of loyalty or shame. How ignorant she had been. Her exposure to the Atherton family and their friends had forced her to re-assess. Sir Philip was an honourable man who had proved to be a brave and loyal friend. Lord Preeve did not seem to do anything useful with his life but he had also proved to be a loyal and kind friend to her. And then there was Lord Atherton.
Rosalind thought back to her accusations against his character at the lake; she had accused him of being a gambler, but apart from the forced game with Lord Rutley he had shown no disposition to gamble whilst at Atherton, but on the contrary, thrown himself into the business of his estates. It was true that his gambling had fuelled Lord Rutley’s hatred and led to all the more alarming events of recent weeks, but Lady Atherton’s words had stayed with her. ‘We mustn’t judge too harshly, my dear, men will often bury themselves in ridiculous distractions rather than face feelings they don’t know what to do with.’ She had been talking about her father of course, but she now realised those words could also be applied to Lord Atherton and herself. It was what she had been doing when Lord Atherton had caught her red handed and made her face up to her situation. She had accused him of being arrogant, a charge he was not altogether innocent of, but on consideration, his high-handedness, she realised, often sprang from a sense of his responsibilities rather than an overinflated sense of his own worth. ‘He thinks he can have anyone for the click of his fingers.’ Well, even that was hardly surprising if he was used to being hounded by predatory females like Letitia Grey.
All this didn’t excuse his frequent rudeness to her, of course, he had more than once snapped her nose off. On the other hand, it was understandable that he should have mixed feeling towards the person whose father had added the fuel to the fire of his last argument with his own parent. He had tried to extend an olive branch to her when he offered to resume her driving lessons but she had flung it in his face, her pride wounded by the realisation of just how much she was in his debt.
Sighing, she moved over to the bookshelves that lined one wall and raised her candle to scan the shelves. It seemed someone in the family had at one time had a scholarly frame of mind, she was confronted with lines of leather-bound books beautifully tooled with gold leaf, ranging from religious tracts, philosophies, and atlases to histories about Greece and Rome. She finally found a less dry section and passing over works by Shakespeare, Scott, Swift and Dryden, finally settled on The Corsair by Byron. She had just pulled the book from the shelf when a soft voice spoke behind her.
“If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep.”
She turned swiftly, dropping the book, her hair flying and her lips opening in a gasp as she saw Lord Atherton framed in the doorway. He slowly advanced with careless grace and as he came to a stop before her she saw a wild glitter in his silver eyes. Her throat was suddenly dry and she found she could not move. He slowly reached out and gently traced the contours of her face.
“And ne’er did Grecian chisel trace, a Nymph, a Naiad, or a Grace, of finer form or lovelier face!” he murmured before lowering his head and pressing his firm lips against hers. Her shocked gasp allowed him entry to her soft mouth and as his tongue slipped between her lips she found herself momentarily overcome with a myriad of new sensations. Her breasts felt suddenly heavy and an arrow of intense pleasure shot down to her core. Her instinct was to press herself closer against him but the candle came to her rescue; some of the hot wax dripped onto her fingertips, its sharp burn recalling her to her senses. She stepped back and Lord Atherton opened eyes of molten liquid. Holding the candle between them in one slightly shaking hand she burst into speech.
“My lord,” she said quickly, “I have taken you by surprise but I am no dream or Nymph, it is I, Rosalind, your mother and I arrived this afternoon!”
Mention of his mother seemed to do the trick. He shook his head as if to clear it and ran his hand through his thick curls, his gaze recovering some of its usual lucidity.
“Lady Rosalind,” he said slowly, taking a step back and offering her a small bow. “Forgive me, I am afraid I have b
een imbibing rather heavily this evening and when I came upon you I felt I must be dreaming. No offense was intended.”
“I understand,” she said with quiet dignity, “I will see you in the morning, sir.”
With that she fled back to her own room as quickly as her shaking legs would allow. Sinking onto her bed she traced her full, swollen lips with her fingertips, a small, amazed smile curving them. It was going to be awkward tomorrow but it would be useless to deceive herself into thinking she hadn’t enjoyed it. She had seen enough inebriated young men in their cups from her bedroom window when she was staying with Lucy to set any store by the event. Although Lord Atherton had spoken beautiful words to her, she was sure he had not been in his rightful senses and fairly certain that he had not even recognised her.
The first part of her surmise may have been correct but the second was far wide of the mark. At that moment, Lord Atherton was in his own chamber, vigorously washing his face in a basin of cold water. Rubbing fiercely at his face with a towel, he cursed long and fluently under his breath. She had been a thorn lodged deep within his flesh ever since he had met her, always fiercely attracted to her, the knowledge that she was under his family’s protection and an innocent who had yet seen nothing of the world in which she was supposed to move, had held him in check.
Her evident resentment of his handling of the situation concerning her father and the forced intimacy that remaining at Atherton would have engendered, had precipitated his bolt to town. It had been supposed to provide him with enough distraction to forget her but the blatant, simpering attentions he was on the receiving end of from the more experienced society damsels had left him cold. Rosalind’s strange mixture of self-possession and innocence was captivating. Embarrassed by situations other society damsels would have carried with aplomb, yet intrepid whenever danger threatened, where they would have had the vapours. What the hell was she doing here anyway? Why had his mother not informed him of their impending arrival? Tonight would never have happened if he had been expecting to see her. He prided himself on being a gentleman and therefore would never attempt to seduce a lady of quality, particularly one staying in his house. However, arriving on the threshold of his study, he had seen the ghostlike figure that had been haunting him for the last few days, all floating nightgown and ebony hair and when she had turned, those luscious lips parting and her hair falling like a rippling black river around her shoulders, he had been drawn by an invisible thread that seemed to bind them together. He could no more have stopped himself kissing this vision than he could have stopped the sun from setting! Typically, she had accepted a situation where others would have tried to force a declaration out of him, with relative equanimity. He was experienced enough to realise she had also enjoyed it which led him to believe she was not as indifferent to him as she liked to portray. For a moment, she had responded deliciously.
Groaning, he threw more cold water over his face. This was going to be a long night!
Chapter 14
Lord Atherton rose unusually early and summoned a surprised Townsend.
“Is everything alright, sir?” his valet enquired solicitously, taking in the purple shadows beneath his eyes with a swift sideways glance.
“I believe it is not that unusual for me to be up at this hour,” he snapped in reply.
“Well, not in the country, sir, but I admit I had not expected you up after a night on the town.”
A stormy glance from beneath haughty brows had him scurrying to the wardrobe and pulling out the various garments necessary for a gentleman’s morning attire.
“I do not believe I pay your very handsome wages to interrogate me first thing in the morning,” he said in the deceptively soft voice all his dependents knew not to cross. “Although you generally do me great credit, I believe I could dispense with your services if you felt my demands unreasonable.”
“No, no, my mistake. I apologise, my lord,” he said, bowing deeply, however with the air of one cut to the quick.
Disgusted with himself for taking his bad humour out on his servant, he offered a conciliatory grin. “Oh, stop humbugging me, Townsend, you know you were not mistaken, now see if your talents stretch to making me presentable at this ungodly hour, I wish to see my mother before she goes down to breakfast.”
Half an hour later he knocked on his mother’s door. Farrow opened it, not looking best pleased.
“My lord, your mother is not yet up and should be allowed to rest after the tiring journey she had yesterday,” she protested.
“Oh, stop being such a dragon,” came an amused voice behind her, “I am not in my dotage yet you know! Come in, George.”
Farrow stepped aside, disapproval etched into every line of her stiff posture and then left the room without another word.
Far from looking in her dotage, he found her sitting up in bed with a very fetching lace cap atop her golden hair. She laid down her cup of chocolate as he approached and patted the bed in invitation. There was a sparkle in her eyes and a suppressed energy about her that brought a smile to her son’s face.
“Well you don’t look at all knocked up, Mama, in fact, you look like you are plotting and scheming.”
His mother pulled a face. “No such thing but I have a list of shopping as long as my arm. Rosalind and I are giving my sitting room a new touch.”
“And this was so urgent you came hot foot to town without a word?” he queried.
“Well no, but Rosalind has had a letter from a solicitor in the city, claiming he has news that she will want to know.”
He let this sink in for a moment, a frown of concentration creasing his brow. “Do you think it is concerning her father?”
Lady Atherton shrugged. “It seems likely but it was so brief it is hard to tell.”
“How do you think she will take it, if it is bad news?” he asked quietly.
“Not well,” admitted his mother. “She has her own share of pride and I have already had to exert some pressure for her to remain with me since she discovered the truth about the loan Frederick made to her father.”
Lord Atherton looked startled. “She wanted to leave?”
“Indeed she did, I had to persuade her that it was not her fault and that I would not relish having her replaced,” Lady Atherton verified, suddenly finding her hot chocolate of interest again.
The end of this brief interview had two very different effects on its subjects; Lady Atherton once again sank back into her pillows with a pleased smile, whereas her son went down to the breakfast parlour and started pacing up and down in such an agitated manner that the servants scattered before him. If Rosalind had thought of leaving before, any bad news now received was likely to tip her into precipitate flight. Lord Atherton suddenly realised he found the thought of this completely insupportable.
Rosalind found him staring out of the window onto the square, his hands clasped behind his back. She realised that her heart was suddenly beating uncomfortably fast and took a slow deep breath. She would not be missish.
“Good morning, Lord Atherton,” she said with admirable composure.
He whirled around and pinned her to the spot with a hard, intense look that stopped her breath.
“Rosalind,” he said, taking two quick steps towards her. “I have wrestled with my better self but it is useless! Although it goes against my judgement, I must ask you if will do me the honour of becoming my wife.”
Rosalind’s amber eyes widened in surprise at this unexpected and not very gallant proposal. She had played a variety of scenes in her head for this first awkward meeting since the events of last night, but this one had not figured in any of them. Then, as his words sank in, her surprise was overtaken by irritation.
“Why? Because you kissed me? Do you think I am one of those manipulative ladies who would try and turn that to my advantage when I know you were not in your right mind? That is hardly flattering, my lord!”
He took another step forward and tried to take her hands but she whipped them behind he
r back, she couldn’t let him touch her or she would not be able to think clearly.
He gave a sudden harsh laugh. “I am making a sad mull of it, I know, but I am trying to tell you that I love you and would be honoured if you would spend your life at my side.”
Rosalind suddenly realised that in other circumstances she would have been more than happy to hear those words but in the present case, she could not forget the ones that had come before.
“But you love me against your better judgement, remember?” she flung back at him. “We would be in a sad case if I accepted and you came to your senses. No, I cannot accept your generous offer.”
Lord Atherton looked as if he would say more but Rosalind gave a dry laugh and started pacing the room, it had occurred to her that they were in danger of re-enacting a scene in the book she had so recently read to Lord Preeve. Elizabeth Bennett had reacted in such a way and had later regretted it; Rosalind might have had her feelings wounded by the manner of Lord Atherton’s proposal but she was fully aware that he had acted always in her best interests. Turning back to him, she took a deep breath.
“I am sorry if I sound ungrateful,” she said. “I understand your reluctance, I have witnessed first-hand the lengths you will go to, to shield your family from any breath of scandal, so I suppose I should be honoured you would even consider tying yourself to someone in my circumstances.”
“Your circumstances?” he queried. “I am the son of an earl, you are the daughter of an earl, thus far we are equal.”
“My father...” she began, but he cut her off angrily.
“Do you really still know me so little that you think I would hold your father’s mistakes as a marker against you?”
