Anne Herries

by Rosalynand the Scoundrel

Her honesty, her sensuality, was almost too much for him. He held her close to him; his need to have her, to know the intimate secrets of her lovely body, was overwhelming. Only his sense of honour, the caution that told him it was she who might suffer if he lost control, held him back. He wanted her so desperately, burned for her, but knew their plans might falter, be delayed. No matter how much he needed her, her safety came first. He must be strong now, because her love was so natural, so trusting, that she would willingly give whatever he asked of her.

  ‘You must go back,’ he murmured against her throat. ‘I shall come with you, to make certain you are safe.’

  ‘It is best if no one sees you. Come only as far as the shrubbery, Damian. You can watch over me from there.’

  ‘Sheba was a better guardian than I thought,’ he said, frowning. ‘I wish you had her still.’

  ‘Poor Sheba,’ Rosalyn replied sadly. ‘She was often a trouble to me, but she died bravely. Had it not been for her, I should surely have been too late. You must buy Jared another dog when we are settled, Damian. He needs something of his own to tend and love.’

  ‘I have thought the same,’ he said. They were walking with their arms about one another. ‘It is a nuisance that I must take him away from here, but I have no choice. It is both my duty and my earnest wish to protect him from his enemies.’

  ‘We shall be together soon,’ she said and turned to him, reaching up to kiss him on the lips. ‘Come no further, my love. Mrs Jenkins is an uneasy sleeper. She saw us in the gardens once before, and though I am decently dressed this time, I would prefer her not to see us together again—at least for the moment.’

  ‘I shall watch until you are safely in the house,’ Damian said, releasing her reluctantly. He did not want to let her go, was frightened that something would happen to part them—that he would lose this woman he loved with a passion that was so intense it shocked even him. ‘Until the day after tomorrow—at three?’

  ‘Wait for me in the orchard. I shall come to you as soon as I can.’

  With that, they parted. Rosalyn ran across the lawn towards the house, but though she paused to glance back before entering through the French windows, she resisted the temptation to wave.

  Damian was watching her. He would make certain she was safe inside the house. What neither of them could know was that someone else had seen her run across the lawns.

  Bernard Harrington hid behind the curtains as Rosalyn locked the French windows after her. He could not be certain, but he believed he had caught a glimpse of a man standing in the shadows out there.

  Why had Miss Eastleigh been walking alone at night? Had she been meeting a lover? His curiosity was aroused. Patricia’s suggestion that he should marry her had perhaps held more merit than he’d imagined. Her fortune was not large, but it would stave off his ruin for a while—and his luck at the tables must surely change! Until the last year or so he had won almost as often as he lost, without resorting to cheating too often, though there had been times when he had considered it worth the risk.

  With Miss Eastleigh as his wife, he could regain the respectability he had lost. He would be welcomed in the best houses again—and might soon recoup at least a part of his fortune. He had thought his cause impossible. The haughty Miss Eastleigh would dismiss an offer of marriage from him with the contempt it deserved—but if she had a lover there was hope.

  She would have married the man if it were possible. He must be married—one of her neighbours, almost certainly. How long had it been going on? Harrington’s thin lips parted in an unpleasant smile. It would cause a fine scandal if it all came out. She would do almost anything to prevent that—Miss Eastleigh and that pompous brother of hers. Harrington had seen the way they looked at him, known he was on sufferance only because he was Patricia’s brother.

  It would humble their damned pride if he threatened to expose Miss Eastleigh’s little affair. From now on he would keep his eyes open—and if she slipped off on her own again, he would follow her.

  Unaware of the plot being hatched against her, Rosalyn went swiftly up to her own room. She locked her door—something she had never thought necessary before—and began to undress. Her head was full of dreams as she sat brushing her hair before the dressing mirror. She had never felt so alive, so full of anticipation in her whole life.

  In little more than a week, the wedding would be over. Once all the guests had gone, her life would be her own again, to order as she wished. She might have to wait for a little while for Damian to fetch her—but then she would go with him.

  She had been willing to follow her heart, to live with Damian as his mistress, but now he had asked her to marry him. Her body felt as light as thistledown as she went to bed, leaning across to blow out the candle beside her bed.

  She was smiling as she fell asleep.

  ‘Are you enjoying yourself, Beatrice?’ Rosalyn asked as the young woman came up to her. Her face was flushed from dancing a rather energetic polka with one of their neighbours. He was a hearty country squire, red-faced, good-natured but not an accomplished dancer. ‘You look warm. Why don’t you ask Freddie to take you outside for a few minutes?’

  ‘Yes, perhaps I shall.’ Beatrice looked nervously across the room. ‘Mr Harrington asked me to dance with him next—but I really do not want to. His touch is unpleasant to me, Rosalyn, but I did not know how to refuse him.’

  ‘Tell Freddie you are feeling over-warm,’ advised Rosalyn, ‘and tell him you do not want to dance with your aunt’s brother. He will protect you. He will know how to handle it. You must let him do that for you, Beatrice—now and in the future. It will make things much easier for you.’

  ‘He is coming this way,’ Beatrice whispered. ‘Oh, there’s Freddie looking for me. I shall go to him.’

  Rosalyn frowned as she hurried away. What had Bernard Harrington done to make her so nervous of him? It had surely been more than an attempt at a kiss?

  Was it time she had a private word with her brother? After Damian’s revelations, it was clear that Mr Harrington was more of a danger than she had supposed. It might be wise to put Freddie on his guard. Indeed, it was her duty to do so.

  ‘I was about to claim Beatrice for this dance,’ Harrington said as he came up to Rosalyn. ‘Why did she run off like that?’

  ‘She felt too warm,’ Rosalyn replied, avoiding his eyes. ‘I believe Freddie is taking her out for some air.’

  ‘She was always a nervous girl, excitable and prone to fancies,’ he said, a scowl of displeasure on his face. ‘I dare say all this excitement and fuss has been too much for her.’

  ‘Perhaps—though I would not have called her exactly nervous. No more than other young ladies of her age.’

  ‘You, of course, are more worldly,’ Harrington said, a sudden gleam in his eyes. ‘I admire that in a woman, Miss Eastleigh.’

  ‘I am older,’ replied Rosalyn, wishing he would go away and leave her in peace. His next words told her that her hopes were doomed to disappointment.

  ‘May I hope that you will do me the honour of standing up with me, Miss Eastleigh?’

  Rosalyn would have liked to refuse, but she had no prior engagement for the dance now starting, and felt it would seem rude to refuse. He was a guest in her home, and she must try to be polite to him, little though she relished it. And, since it was a lively country dance, she would not be condemned to his company the whole time.

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ she said, allowing him to take her hand.

  His grasp was moist, unpleasant to the touch, but Rosalyn was able to bear it for the duration of the set pieces she was obliged to perform with him. Afterwards, he thanked her and wandered off in the direction of the library, where card tables had been set up for some of the older guests who did not care to dance.

  Rosalyn breathed a sigh of relief. Now that there was no further need to see or speak to Mr Harrington, she could give herself up to the pleasures of the evening.

  ‘Rosalyn, my dear.’ She turned as Mrs Buckley
came up to her. ‘You look very handsome this evening—that dress becomes you. Indeed, I have scarcely seen you look so well. I declare there is quite a new sparkle about you, my love.’

  ‘That is because I am happy, Aunt.’

  ‘You are in love!’ Her aunt quizzed her with her lorgnette. ‘At last! You cannot imagine how often I have longed for this. Tell me, who is the lucky man?’ She laughed and tapped Rosalyn on the arm with her long-handled spectacles. ‘No need, my dear. Unless I much mistake things, it is Mr Wrexham—or the Earl Marlowe, as he ought properly to be called. Where is he? Point him out to me. I am anxious to meet him.’

  ‘Damian isn’t here, Aunt.’

  ‘Not here? Am I wrong?’ Rosalyn shook her head. ‘Why has he not come this evening?’

  ‘Mrs Jenkins objects to his being in the house while she is staying. It was her younger brother—the duel all those years ago. One cannot blame her, it is a most unfortunate circumstance—and very awkward for us. You recall telling me something about the old rumours?’

  ‘Yes, most certainly I do. I have discovered the truth of it, Rosalyn—and I must tell you that I consider Mr Wrexham—as he then was—to have been unjustly treated by his whole family. They cast him out, when they ought to have honoured him for ridding society of a disgraceful rogue.’

  ‘It was actually worse than you might imagine,’ Rosalyn said. A shiver went down her spine as she recalled the dance she had been forced to share with Mr Harrington. ‘I dare say you do not know the whole story. Indeed, I did not learn it myself until yesterday—and now is not the time to speak of such things.’

  ‘No. You are very right to remind me.’ Mrs Buckley frowned. ‘Here comes Freddie, and Beatrice. She is a delightful girl—though I do not care for her relations. That woman is beyond bearing, so odiously top-lofty. Who does she imagine she is? I dislike the way she speaks to both Freddie and Beatrice.’

  ‘She has been in the habit of having her own way,’ Rosalyn said. ‘Her husband left her very comfortably off, I believe, and Beatrice’s mother left her to Mrs Jenkins’s care when she died—so I suppose she thinks she has a perfect right to dictate to her.’

  ‘If one has enormous wealth, one does not need to puff one’s consequence in that way. She is very rude, Rosalyn. If she does not mend her manners, I may be forced to give her a set down.’

  Knowing her aunt was capable of doing so, Rosalyn laughed. ‘I am so glad you have come, Aunt Susan,’ she said. ‘At least I have an ally in the house, and that makes me feel much better.’

  ‘Have they been upsetting you, my dear?’ Mrs Buckley studied her. In her opinion, Freddie had not always behaved as he ought towards his sister. ‘You should not have let them, even for Freddie’s sake. He has always done as he pleased. He should consider you more.’

  ‘I am quite happy as things are, Aunt,’ Rosalyn said and smiled at her. ‘When we are alone, I may have some news for you.’

  ‘Indeed?’ Mrs Buckley arched her brows. ‘If it is what I hope for, it will be good news.’

  She turned her attention to Beatrice as she and Freddie came up to them, taking her hand and talking to her kindly.

  ‘Will you dance with me, Ros?’ Freddie asked. He frowned as she gave him her hand. ‘You were dancing with that fellow Harrington earlier. I should not do that too often if I were you. I do not like him—nor the way he looks at Bea.’

  ‘Neither Beatrice nor I wish for his presence here,’ Rosalyn replied. ‘I think she is afraid of him, Freddie. I am not exactly sure why—though I can guess. He does have a rather unpleasant way of looking at females. Especially young ones. Even Sarah Jane has complained of it.’

  ‘Damn his impudence!’ Freddie said, a glint in his eyes. ‘If I thought for one moment—’

  ‘I am sure nothing has happened which ought to disturb your peace of mind,’ Rosalyn assured him hastily. Her brother could fly off the handle without warning sometimes. ‘Nothing serious—but I believe he is capable of vile behaviour. The very worst. And you should make sure he never has a chance to be alone with Beatrice.’

  ‘What?’ Freddie glowered down at her. ‘What do you know of Harrington? Why have you not told me this before?’

  ‘Keep your voice down,’ she cautioned. ‘Now is not the time to discuss this, Freddie. Stop glaring at me. I have said nothing because I did not want to cause more trouble for you. Mrs Jenkins is fond of her brother. Had I not wanted to avoid another quarrel, I should have refused to dance with him this evening. You know how unpleasant Mrs Jenkins can be, dearest.’

  ‘You do not imagine I would let that deter me?’ Freddie saw the look in her eyes and flushed. ‘No, no, you wrong me, Ros. This is a very different case. Had I been aware…I shall request Harrington to leave tomorrow.’

  ‘And cause a breach with Mrs Jenkins? She may very well decide to leave—and take Beatrice with her.’

  ‘Mrs Jenkins has given written consent. It would cause a scandal if she withdrew now, and I should make sure everyone understood why. I doubt she would risk it. She may disown Beatrice if she chooses—neither of us cares for that.’

  ‘Do not quarrel with her without speaking to Beatrice, Freddie—and do nothing this evening, please. You do not want to spoil the dance for Beatrice?’

  ‘No…’ He was still frowning, though the first flush of anger was abated. ‘No, of course not. I wish you had spoken to me sooner about this, Ros. It was very wrong of you not to confide in me—but I dare say no harm has been done. I’ll think things through and speak to Bea tomorrow.’

  Rosalyn said no more. It was not quite fair of him to blame her. Until Damian revealed the truth to her, she had not known anything of substance. Beatrice ought properly to have confided her fears to her fiancé, but Freddie would not think of it in that way. She could do no wrong in his eyes, and he found it easier to blame his sister.

  Rosalyn was a little saddened by his thoughtless attitude, but it was not the first time it had happened. Besides, what could it matter? She had only to be patient for another week or so—and then she would be with someone who did care for her feelings.

  For once in her life, Rosalyn decided to spoil herself and have breakfast in bed the next day, so it was well past noon when she finally emerged from her own bedchamber.

  The house seemed very quiet, as if it were recovering from the rush and tear of the previous day. When Rosalyn went downstairs, she found Maria removing dead flowers from a vase in the parlour.

  ‘Working again?’ Rosalyn chided her with a smile. ‘You should have slept in as I did, Maria. I am sure you must be tired. You did so much to make the dance a success last night. I am sure both Freddie and Beatrice are grateful for all your efforts.’

  ‘Yes, it did go well, did it not?’ Maria smiled in a contented way. ‘Mr Waller—that is to say, Edward and I have decided we shall be married the week after your brother. It will be a very quiet affair, of course, but I should like you to be there if you will.’

  ‘If I can,’ Rosalyn promised. ‘I am going to tell you something, Maria, but you must not tell anyone—no one at all. Please give me your word?’ Her cousin nodded, eyes wide with curiosity. ‘I am going away with Mr Wrexham. We shall be married, but not before we leave England, and not until after my brother’s wedding. Damian is anxious to settle Jared in a place of safety first, and then he will return to fetch me.’

  She had expected Maria to look shocked, but her cousin surprised her by coming to kiss her cheek.

  ‘I have thought there was something, dearest. You seemed so much happier than you had for a very long time. I am exceedingly glad for you—and I wish you happiness. I hope you will keep in touch—write to me now and then?’

  ‘Yes, of course I shall,’ Rosalyn said. ‘You have been a good friend to me, Maria. Indeed, I do not know what I should have done without you.’ She kissed her cousin again. ‘Have you seen Freddie this morning, by any chance?’

  ‘He went out half an hour ago,’ Maria said, giving her an odd loo
k. ‘He was most unlike himself, Rosalyn. Seemed to be in a bad humour. I asked him what was wrong and he told me it was not my concern—quite sharply. I was a little upset, though I am sure he did not mean to be harsh.’

  ‘Oh, dear.’ Rosalyn was disturbed by the news of her brother’s ill temper. ‘I know he has things on his mind just now, but he should not have been rude to you.’

  ‘Oh, he was not exactly rude,’ Maria said. ‘At least, I do not mind that; it was just a careless moment, and Sir Frederick does sometimes…well, you know, my love. I was merely concerned that he seemed upset over something. I do hope he has not quarrelled with Beatrice.’

  ‘He was not really annoyed with you,’ Rosalyn said, excusing her brother. ‘I expect it is all this fuss over the wedding. Men do not enjoy it in their hearts.’

  ‘Yes, perhaps that is so…’ Maria glanced up as the housekeeper entered the room. ‘Did you want me, Mrs Simmons?’

  ‘It is Mrs Jenkins,’ the housekeeper replied, her mouth twisting wryly. ‘It seems she has been ill in the night—in pain and vomiting. She says she does not want a doctor—but she looks proper poorly to me, Miss Eastleigh. I wondered if you would take a look at her?’

  ‘Very well, I shall come and see her now,’ Rosalyn said. ‘It might be wise to send for the doctor—but I shall hear what she has to say.’

  She ran hurriedly up the stairs. This was the second time Mrs Jenkins had suffered such an attack—or had it happened more often?

  Rosalyn was shocked by Mrs Jenkins’s appearance. She had dark violet patches under her eyes and they had an unnatural staring look. It was clear that she was quite ill. Very sick, much more so than she had been in London.

  ‘I am sorry to be so tiresome,’ she apologised in such a fading voice that Rosalyn was alarmed. ‘I am prone to these attacks. I have my powders, but of late they seem not to help—indeed, I have wondered if they make me worse.’

  ‘You must rest,’ Rosalyn insisted. She sat on the edge of the bed and reached for Mrs Jenkins’s hand, patting it soothingly: it felt moist and over-warm. ‘You are no trouble to us. I am only sorry you feel so unwell at this time.’