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

by Jenny Hambly

  Rosalind looked confused. “But my lord, if not that, then what?”

  Lord Atherton gritted his teeth. “For God’s sake stop calling me ‘my lord’, I have a name and I wish you would use it,” he said, not sounding at all lover like. He stepped forward and grasped her shoulders firmly and as he looked down into those light eyes he saw uncertainty, confusion and vulnerability.

  “You have seen nothing of the world yet,” he ground out, “and I am a selfish cad to claim you for myself before you have had the chance to take your rightful place in society and given the opportunity to look about you, to be courted by other men.”

  Rosalind’s lips parted. “Oh,” she murmured.

  His eyes fell to them and his grip on her tightened. “But I find I am such a selfish cad and do not wish to give any others the opportunity,” he growled and pulled her against him, kissing her fiercely.

  Radcliffe, who had entered the room unheard behind them, swiftly stepped back into the hall just as Lady Atherton came into it.

  “You might want to wait a moment, ma’am,” he said quietly.

  She offered him a knowing smile. “I don’t think so, Radcliffe,” she said, stepping into the room with a light step.

  “George!” she squawked in accents of outrage that would not have been out of place on any theatre stage.

  Rosalind tried to step away but found herself clamped firmly against Lord Atherton’s side.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Lady Atherton continued sternly.

  Lord Atherton had a moment of blinding clarity and suddenly realised what a master hand she had played.

  He gave a wry grin. “I imagine you must know what it means.”

  His mother let a wide smile spread over her face. “Well that’s alright then. I wondered how long it would take you to get round to it. Congratulations, my children.”

  Looking relieved, Rosalind smiled shyly. “You are happy then?”

  “My dear child,” Lady Atherton said, coming forward and kissing her cheek, “if you are prepared to take him on, I will be very happy but beware, he will try to ride roughshod over you if you let him!”

  “He can try,” she said with a grin.

  “That’s the spirit,” approved Lady Atherton. “Now let’s get some breakfast, we have your solicitor to visit.”

  Rosalind’s smile faded. She turned to Lord Atherton. “If it is some horrible news, I will not hold you to your offer.”

  He quirked a haughty eyebrow at her. “It is a chaste experience knowing you, I had not thought myself such a fickle fellow.”

  “Not fickle, no,” she protested quickly.

  “Oh ho! What then? Do enlighten me, arrogant? Shallow?”

  “None of them,” Rosalind admitted. “Proud, perhaps,” she said gently.

  “Madam,” he said menacingly, taking her chin and turning her face up to his and dropping a light kiss on her lips, “what is sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander. Now listen carefully for I mean every word; I am not interested in the news, good or bad, and I will hold by my offer.”

  “Very proper, George, now if you will let the poor girl alone for a few moments, perhaps she can be allowed to eat something,” said Lady Atherton with asperity to cover how touched she really was.

  He obediently held a chair out for his betrothed. “I am happy to escort you myself to see this solicitor, Rosalind,” he said gently.

  She shook her head, if it was some shameful news she would rather not have him looking on. “Your mother has kindly offered to accompany me and I think that will be best.”

  “As you wish,” he conceded.

  Rosalind felt extremely nervous as they were admitted into the offices of Mr Creevely. He was a slight man with a long thin nose on which sat a pair of small rimmed round glasses, through them a pair of unnaturally enlarged eyes viewed her keenly.

  “Please be seated,” he said, his lips quirking up slightly in an approximation of a smile.

  They perched on the two upright chairs that faced his immaculately tidy desk.

  “You are an extremely hard lady to find,” he said, looking at her over the rims of his glasses.

  “I was not aware that anyone was looking for me,” Rosalind said quietly, her hands clasped firmly in her lap. “You are not, I think, the solicitor who came after my father’s death?”

  “No,” he confirmed. “I do not act for your father.”

  “Who do you act for and how did you find me?” she asked, curiosity overcoming her nerves.

  He smiled. “Your father was a very late, only child. The title will die with him as he comes from a family who were either childless or only bore females. He had a cousin, Lady Brentwood, who I approached but she made it clear that she had no interest in either your father or you. I am sorry if that is upsetting for you.”

  Rosalind shrugged. “It makes little difference to me, I don’t know her.”

  “Yes, well, my general enquiries having failed, I left word with my contacts in Bow Street that if any rumour of your whereabouts be heard, I should like to be informed. It appears that you have been having an adventurous time, Lady Rosalind.”

  Enlightenment dawned. “Oh, the hold-up.”

  He nodded. “I hired one of the runners to go down to the area of Atherton House and discover if you were there.”

  Lady Atherton frowned. “But we received no such visitor.”

  Again the dry smile dawned. “No, I am a cautious man and I did not encourage a direct approach,” he admitted. “I did not want to cause any disturbance, excitement or potential embarrassment by the visit of a runner, I was not sure after all of Lady Marlowe’s situation and as I was not prepared to reveal the reason for the enquiry to the runner, it did not seem necessary to disturb you.”

  “The muffin man!” Rosalind suddenly exclaimed.

  “Muffin man?” said Mr Creevely, understandably confused.

  “A stocky man with narrow set eyes and a rather squashed nose,” Rosalind clarified.

  The solicitor looked amused at the description. “Ah, I see Mr Timms was not quite as discreet as I had hoped.”

  “Well, he was seen in the home wood but we never found out what he was doing there,” she explained.

  Lady Atherton gave a delicate cough. “Perhaps we could get back to the main point of the interview?” she suggested.

  “Ah yes, now we come back to the first part of your question, Lady Marlowe. For many years I looked after the affairs of your maternal grandfather. You have his eyes by the way.”

  “My grandfather?” said Rosalind, surprised. “I think I saw him when I was a small child but I do not remember him very well.”

  “Well, he did not forget you. As you may be aware, he disapproved of your mother’s marriage to your father. He thought him very likely to come to ruin and so set up a trust for you to be managed by me. You were to be made aware of it on either your marriage or if at any time I felt you to be in dire need of it.”

  Rosalind went very still, her wide, surprised eyes never leaving Mr Creevely. “He left me some money?” she asked, hardly daring to believe her ears.

  He nodded his assent. “Do not think you are an heiress, however, Lady Marlowe. You have something in the region of five thousand pounds, not a fortune but enough for a nice dowry or to command some level of comfort.”

  “Why that is wonderful news,” said Lady Atherton, “and you shall keep every penny of it, my dear. You will be so much more comfortable with a little money of your own by you.”

  Mr Creevely steepled his fingers. “Well, let us not be too hasty, remember there were two conditions attached to my releasing the trust to Lady Marlowe.”

  Lady Atherton gave him one of her no-nonsense stares. “So there were. I think you will find that Lady Marlowe qualifies on both counts; she has been staying with me as my guest but is quite penniless, something I am sure you are quite aware of. As for the other matter, she has just become betrothed to my son, the Earl of Atherton. It has not been anno
unced yet so I am sure I can rely on your discretion, Mr Creevely.”

  The solicitor sat back in his chair and allowed a full, genuine smile to transform his features, it was not his habitual look; any of his staff would have been quite taken aback to see it.

  “Of course. That is indeed wonderful news, please accept my heartfelt congratulations. I must admit I am pleased the mystery of your whereabouts is cleared up, Lady Marlowe, I do not like mysteries, and to find you in such happy circumstances is more than I dared to hope.”

  Rosalind felt like she was floating in a pleasant dream as they left the premises. The knowledge that she wouldn’t come entirely penniless to the marriage was a much needed balm to her pride.

  “Well, we have much to do, my dear,” said Lady Atherton, when they were in the carriage. “George must send a notice to the papers and although we are both still in mourning, I see no reason why you should prolong the engagement, as long as you have a small, private ceremony.”

  “Everything is happening so fast,” said Rosalind.

  “Well, judging by what I saw in the breakfast parlour, I’d say that is for the best wouldn’t you? George, isn’t known for his patience, you know.”

  Rosalind blushed up to the roots of her hair which made Lady Atherton laugh.

  “Don’t be embarrassed, love, I stand in place of your own mother and if there is anything you would like to know, you only have to ask.”

  Rosalind could only be thankful that they drew up in front of the house at that moment. She loved this family but she came from much more naturally reserved stock and it would take some getting used to.

  She realised her change in status the moment the door opened. Radcliffe bowed deferentially to her.

  “I hope you don’t think me too forward if I offer you my congratulations, my lady,” he said. “And if you wish to see my lord, you will find him in the study,” he smiled and added so softly she couldn’t be sure she was meant to hear it, “wearing out the carpet.”

  Far from seeming offended, Lady Atherton laughed and turned to Rosalind. “Go to him, my dear, he will be worried for you.”

  As she started walking down the hall she heard her say, “Come with me into the drawing room, Radcliffe, we have a small dinner party to organise.”

  She smiled to herself; life would never be dull in this household. As soon as she opened the door, Lord Atherton came striding towards her and took her hands in his.

  “Well, my love, what news?” he asked gently.

  “I hardly know where to begin,” she said on a sigh, “it all seems so unreal.”

  Misreading her sigh, he pulled her tight against him. “Never mind, my dear, you are safe and I will deal with anything unpleasant, you don’t need to worry about anything.”

  For a brief moment she gave herself up to the feeling of being enveloped and protected by his strong arms but then stepped away and smiled up into his searching gaze.

  “I am not penniless, after all,” she almost whispered. “I have five thousand pounds.”

  His reaction was not quite what she envisioned. Instead of the smile she had been expecting he took a step back, his brow furrowing.

  “Five thousand pounds?”

  “Left to me by my mother’s father,” she explained.

  He now turned from her and resumed pacing the carpet.

  “George?” she said hesitantly. “Are you not pleased?”

  “No, yes, no,” he contradicted himself, running his hand through his hair. “Do you not realise that now that you have a respectable dowry, coupled with your beauty, your field of possible suitors has widened considerably?”

  Rosalind turned away from him for a moment to hide the small grin that curved her lips. Although she now knew his words sprang from chivalry, he deserved a little punishing, just a little for doubting her.

  “Oh, I see,” she murmured softly. “Perhaps you are right, it has all happened so quickly. And I never gave you an answer after all.”

  “No, dammit,” he suddenly exploded, pulling her around quite roughly. “You are mine, do you hear? Mine!”

  He crushed her lips quite brutally with his own and only gentled his assault when he felt the unmistakeable quiver of response that ran through her. Finally, he drew breath and pulled a little away. “Lady Rosalind Marlowe, will you or will you not consent to becoming my wife?”

  Reaching up, she captured his face in her hands. “Yes, dear George, I will, for if I did not I would be the most abandoned creature alive after kissing you again!”

  Breathing heavily he grinned wickedly. “We will be married as soon as possible, my love, and then you may be as abandoned as you wish!”

  Lady Atherton chose that moment to breeze through the door. She looked at them both steadily for a few moments.

  “Rosalind, it is not at all the thing for you to be alone with any gentleman for so long,” she said, blithely ignoring the fact that she had sent Rosalind to him. “And, George, you need to send a notice to the Gazette, I believe. Also you need to see about purchasing a special license.”

  “A special license?” he echoed.

  “Yes, a special license. Although I am not generally in favour of young people rushing into marriage, I believe if the proprieties are to be observed, and I insist that they are, it had better happen sooner than later!”

  Lord Atherton let out a crack of laughter and kissed his mother’s hand. “You are quite as outrageous as Belle, you know!”

  She smiled primly at him. “I don’t know what you mean, I am sure. Come, Rosalind, we have much to do.” As they reached the door, she looked over her shoulder. “Oh, and George, make sure you are home tomorrow evening, we have a few guests coming for dinner.”

  Lady Atherton made sure they had no more time alone, becoming the most assiduous chaperone, finding a multitude of small tasks for Rosalind to do. Her previously easy-going employer had turned into the most demanding of future mother-in-law: She found she needed advice on planning the menu for tomorrow’s dinner; that she had letters to write but her eyes were tired and so needed Rosalind to scribe them for her and then discovered that she had not a decent pair of gloves in the house and so they must go shopping. Rosalind was glad when she could finally fall into her bed and for the first time since her father’s death, slept the whole night through in a deep, dreamless sleep.

  Neither did she see Lord Atherton for most of the next day.

  “Do not be offended, my dear,” Lady Atherton advised her, “I have given him a few things to do.”

  Rosalind smiled to herself, if he was anywhere nearly as busy as she was, her primary feeling was pity, not offence.

  Lady Atherton had sent out the invitations to dinner herself and was strangely reticent as to who was coming.

  “Oh, just a few close friends,” she said offhandedly when applied to.

  Mid-way through the afternoon she suddenly looked up from her copy of La Belle Assemblée and caught Rosalind smothering a yawn.

  “You are tired, my dear, you must go and rest and I will arrange a nice relaxing bath to be drawn for you,” she said kindly. “But before you go, tell me, do you not think this gown hideous?”

  Rosalind dutifully took the magazine and gazed down at the page opened. Two gowns were depicted and she judged that it must be the long-sleeved pink gown with a blue satin ribbon around its waist, the front decorated with a fussy double line of pleats.

  “Yes,” she confirmed, “the colour would certainly not suit me, pink has never been a favourite of mine.”

  Lady Atherton gave a tinkling laugh. “No, not that one, I find that one quite delightful, take a closer look at the other one.”

  Hiding her surprise that someone of Lady Atherton’s undoubted good taste could like such a dress, she dutifully paid attention to the other one and felt her confusion deepen. Of exquisite simplicity, of soft and flowing fine white cotton with gold embroidered scrollwork down the centre, around the waist and across the low bodice, it was the sort of dress she w
ould have loved to own.

  “But this is beautiful, so understated yet so feminine. I would certainly wear such a gown as this.”

  Lady Atherton merely shook her head and said with an amused look, “Well, each generation has their own preferences, I suppose, now upstairs with you and rest before dinner. I will need you to be ready earlier than usual to help with the final seating arrangements.”

  Rosalind smiled. “I would have done so already if you had told me who was coming!”

  “Ah, but I like surprises,” Lady Atherton laughed.

  Rosalind was not as a general rule so keen on them, she had suffered too many unpleasant ones in her relatively short life. She was to receive another one. Just as she was about to leave the room, Radcliffe entered.

  “Lady Rosalind, a Lady Brentwood has come to call, I said I would see if you were at home.”

  Rosalind just stared blankly, her mouth suddenly dry. Why had her father’s cousin who had up until this moment shown no interest in her, come to call?

  “She has probably read the notice of your engagement in this morning’s paper,” said Lady Atherton dryly. “Would you like me to leave you to receive her alone, my dear?”

  “No!” Rosalind cried, sounding slightly hysterical even to her own ears. She took a calming breath. “No,” she repeated more gently. “Please stay.”

  Lady Atherton gave her a reassuring smile and turned to the butler. “You may show her in now and bring us some tea, if you please.”

  Rosalind stood as a lady of huge proportions, dressed in vivid purple entered the room.

  “Lady Brentwood,” she murmured, sinking into a brief curtsey. “I am Rosalind Marlowe and this is Lady Atherton.”

  Their visitor was breathing rather heavily and her neck disappeared behind a series of double chins as she gave Lady Atherton a regal nod before turning her attention back to her distant relation.

  “Please, sit down,” Rosalind said, moving over to a chair near Lady Atherton.

  After she had lowered her bulk onto the small sofa indicated, Lady Brentwood gave Rosalind a long, considering look from a pair of close-set, cold eyes.

  “So, you are Bernard’s child.”