The Three Evesham Daughters: Books 1-3: A Regency Romance Trilogy

by Audrey Ashwood

  “Too late,” he retorted, when the butler returned within a surprisingly short time, telling them to follow him into the drawing room. “In for a penny, in for a pound.” He was rewarded with a brief flash in Rose’s blue eyes, before she took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and moved forward energetically. Had he not known what awaited her, he could never have recognised from her attitude that she was facing a hefty lecture from her parents. She marched into the drawing room like a general on the battleground, ready for a confrontation where she could only draw the short straw. He quickened his pace and was beside her before they reached the door to the drawing room, offering her his arm.

  “Lady Rose and His Lordship, the Marquess of Cavanaugh,” the butler announced.

  “Thank you, Hastings, that will be all.” The voice of the duchess sounded perfectly calm as she dismissed her servant. Gabriel did not fail to notice her lack of an offer of tea, as she merely pointed to a chair opposite her.

  “Duchess.” He bowed over her hand and motioned a kiss.

  “Rose, stop fidgeting like that. Sit down.” The older woman’s eyes swept over her daughter and noted the dirty hem. At least it was a good thing that the coat stained with the dog’s blood was not within her sight. She clasped her hands in an image of maternal patience, if not for the deep frown line between her even brows.

  “Madam, it is my fault alone.”

  “Mother, the Marquess of Cavanaugh is not to blame. Nor is Mrs Prisson.”

  His heart jumped as she bravely tried to protect him, though it was completely unnecessary. He released his gaze from her mother and looked at her. For a second, Rose returned his gaze, then bit her lower lip and looked back at her mother.

  They had spoken at the same time, which induced the duchess to raise her hand. “I suggest not talking at the same time.” She paused for a moment, glancing from Rose to him and back again. He could have sworn that, along with the concern she obviously felt for her daughter, she was almost taking diabolical pleasure in his embarrassment. “You first, young lady.”

  “Mother,” Rose began, “I am sorry that you were worried about me.”

  “Good. You should be. You are very fortunate that your father set out for our estate in Surrey this afternoon – if he had seen you in that state,” she first pointed to the dirty shoes, then to the muddy seam and finally to her dishevelled hairstyle, “you would be on your way to Aunt Agatha’s tomorrow morning to spend the next several months there, if not years.”

  Gabriel did not know who this ominous aunt was, but Rose’s aghast reaction made it clear that staying under her supervision was one of the worst punishments, if not the worst ever.

  “Madam, forgive my presumption, but your daughter had a very exhausting day. Let her settle down while I answer your questions. I take full responsibility for Lady Rose’s delay.”

  The frown between the duchess’s brows deepened while Rose protested heatedly. “Absolutely not. The marquess is not to blame at all.”

  “I think I need a brandy,” the duchess murmured, ringing for the butler. Rose got what looked like a non-alcoholic punch while he enjoyed a brandy. As the drinks were served and the servant had left, the duchess continued, “I ask to decide for myself who is to blame – until you have agreed, the season is undoubtedly over. Also, I am less concerned about this afternoon, as I am sure that Mrs Prisson was always present. Rose, where were you this morning?”

  A sound of surprise passed Rose’s lips, which she tried to conceal with a cough. Gabriel, who knew when it was better to keep quiet, did not let her out of his sight, prepared to intervene and support her. “What happened was,” she began, glancing over to him for a moment, “Lord de Coucy and the marquess were going to perform a duel of honour this morning, and I was stupid enough to think that I was the cause. So,” she swallowed and lowered her eyes to the glass in her trembling hands, “I went there secretly and tried to prevent the duel.”

  Her mother nodded as if this was no news to her. Rose also seemed to notice the lack of surprise, because she sighed and asked, “You knew that I was gone this morning?”

  “Our servants get up at five. Do you not think they realised what you did and that you had an accomplice?” She sighed. “Before you ask, I will not tell you who told me about it.”

  “My … accomplice is not responsible. I practically forced her to help me.”

  Her mother gave her a look that said, “as if I did not know,” speaking volumes of her rich experience in handling adolescent daughters. “We will talk about that later. Now, I want to know what exactly you mean when you say, ‘you tried.’” The duchess set her glass down on a side table. Now, it was his turn to receive one of her stern glances. “Obviously, the marquess is unharmed, and I am sure I would have learned if Lord de Coucy was no longer in the land of the living.”

  “Richard did not turn up,” Rose admitted meekly. Despite her constant assurances that duels were stupid, old-fashioned, and altogether pointless, de Coucy’s absence at the venue seemed to make her uneasy. “That is why I persuaded the marquess to go with me and search for him in the afternoon, to get to the bottom of the cause once and for all.”

  “The cause being, what exactly?”

  Rose gave him a quick look under lowered eyelids. That was his cue. “It is a private matter that concerns a lady close to me.” Gabriel was absolutely sure that Rose’s mother would not let it go and wanted to merely assure her on his honour that the reason for the duel had not the slightest thing to do with her daughter’s virtue. But she spoke up already.

  “So, this search for my daughter’s fiancé, that was so unbelievably urgent and, of course, could not be postponed, led you both where?” She spoke with a deceptive calm, her hands clasped in her lap, her back as straight as a board.

  Now came the trickiest part. “The search took us across the city,” he said, trying an evasive manoeuvre. “I assure you that I did not expose your daughter and her companion to any danger. Unfortunately, our search for Lord de Coucy was unsuccessful.” There was no harm in emphasising the chaperon’s presence again, Gabriel thought.

  “Which, I hope, does not mean that you expect to pick up Rose tomorrow morning and continue your investigations into the whereabouts of my future son-in-law.”

  “Mother, please,” Rose interjected, half-rising, only to sink back into her seat under her mother’s stern gaze. “The marquess behaved impeccably. This morning, he reproached me more than you could have done, and had I not threatened to search for Lord de Coucy without him, he would have not taken me at all.”

  “All right, Rose. You have made your point and now you should retire. We will talk tomorrow when Mrs Prisson tells me her version of the afternoon’s events. I hope you realise that you have put her in an unpleasant position.”

  Rose stood from her seat. Gabriel saw regret fill her beautiful features and wanted to reassure her that neither she nor Mrs Prisson had anything to fear. He would try to redirect the duchess’s legitimate anger back to him. “Good night. Mother, promise me that, for the marquess, you will not …”

  “Good night, Rose.” The dismissal was final, but before Rose accepted the duchess’s unmistakable order, she stretched out her hand to him. “Thank you, my Lord.”

  He got up. Gabriel felt the corners of his mouth turn into a smile. “It was my honour, Lady Rose.” He leaned over her hand and brushed, for the briefest of moments, the back of it with his lips. It was hard for him to take his eyes off her and turn back to the duchess, who looked at him with raised eyebrows, half-scornfully, half-questioningly.

  “Would you be so kind as to pour us some cognac,” she requested. “A generous serving, please. I feel like I am going to need it, and I do not want to ring for the butler again.”

  Gabriel suspected that he, too, would now need the brandy to get through the forthcoming conversation with the duchess. He handed her the glass and sat down while his thoughts circled around the question of how to ease the severity of Rose’
s escapade in her mother’s eyes. Further assurances about the uncompromised safety of her virtue did not only seem superfluous, but perhaps too much of a reaffirmation.

  “Now let us talk to one another like adults.” She opened the conversation, leaning forward to look him directly in the face. “What is going on between you and my youngest daughter?”

  “I assure you …” Gabriel wished that Wellington had possessed only a fraction of the determination that Lady Rose’s mother now exuded, for in that case Napoleon would have been defeated and banished within a day rather than one hundred. He sighed and tried a soothing smile, which thoroughly failed him.

  To his immense surprise, the duchess’s features softened as she observed him. “Do you love Rose?”

  The question hit him like a kick in the guts, and all he could say was “Yes.” He downed the brandy with one gulp. “Yes, I love your daughter.” It felt strange to admit it out loud, and in a peculiar way (which had nothing to do with the alcohol), Gabriel’s head became as light as his heart when he finally admitted what he had been denying all along.

  “Good,” came the terse answer from the duchess. She leaned back, and he would be damned if she did not actually look like a commander sending the troops into battle.

  “Good?” He almost choked on the one syllable.

  “You have heard right.” Her blue eyes, a little brighter than Rose’s, but equally piercing, shone. “Then let us join together in considering how we can open Rose’s eyes to de Coucy.”

  “Together?” When did he lose the ability to speak in complete sentences? It must have been the moment Rose’s mother had made the transformation from the rightfully outraged mother to his ally.

  “I know that love makes one speechless, but you do not have to repeat everything I say.” She gave him a smile that would have scared a man less steadfast than him. As things stood, he was delighted by her words.

  “That means you do not mind if I court your daughter, despite her engagement?”

  “No, I do not mind, as you very well know. Apart from the fact that I like you, no one but my husband and Rose takes any pleasure from the connection between Lord de Coucy and my daughter. Yes, I am sentimental,” she said before his next question, “but I want all my daughters to be happy. And Rose …” she pursed her lips, “is too obstinate to admit that her infatuation with de Coucy is a mistake.”

  “You do not mind if the engagement is broken off?” The blemish of such an affiliation was not quite so significant as a divorce, but it would not benefit Rose.

  “Not if you marry her. Which is what you want, is it not?” The proverbial ruthlessness that belonged to mothers of eligible daughters acquired a completely new meaning in the face of ducal determination unfolding before him. But before he could afford to let the desire of a connection with Lady Rose perhaps become a reality, there was something he could not conceal from the duchess.

  “It would be my most fervent wish to take Lady Rose as my wife,” Gabriel replied. “But apart from the fact that this is not just about me, but also about your daughter, there is something else you need to know. My sister,” he began, but could not finish his confession.

  “Your sister is an adult woman and whatever she has been through or is going through does not concern me.” The duchess spoke seriously and even more sternly than she had to her daughter a few minutes ago. “I know you will do the right thing for your sister. I do not have to know any more. If you need help, I, along with my daughter, would like to have a tea with your sister tomorrow.”

  Gabriel did not know, but one thing was certain – it could only have been someone who had not the slightest idea about women.

  Chapter 19

  Although Rose was far from looking forward to talking to her mother, she had slept like a stone. Which, on the whole, was not surprising, given how early she had gotten up and what she had experienced. Rose had not dared to listen at the drawing room door, but she had left the door of her room open and had gone straight to the stairs upon hearing the voices of her mother and Gabriel. To avoid falling asleep, Rose had walked up and down in her stockings until the marquess made his departure. Silently, she had scurried to the bannister and had tried in vain to hear more than a dull murmur and the amused laughter of her mother. That laugh … she did not know what to make of it. On the one hand, Rose was mightily relieved that the marquess had made it safely out onto the street, for although the duchess was a woman of even temperament, Rose thought her capable of anything save resorting to physical violence (which did not exclude threatening it). On the other hand, the agreement between her mother and the marquess was acutely unsettling, because it suggested that there was an understanding between the two. What could such a concord between two people mean when one of them loathed Lord de Coucy and the other was – at best – indifferent to him?

  With that thought, Rose had fallen asleep.

  When she awoke the next morning, the odd agreement between her mother and the Marquess of Cavanaugh was the first thing that came to her mind.

  She was not usually someone who was wide awake and prepared to face the challenges of a new day as soon as she opened her eyes, but today was different. Rose jumped out of bed, put on her robe and a pair of slippers before running over to her mother’s room. Her mother was an early riser. In fact, the duchess was already in the middle of her morning dressing ritual.

  “Good morning, Mother.” Rose leaned over to her mother and kissed her cheek. Even without powder and rouge, her mother was still a beautiful woman, although she was already over forty.

  “Good morning, my darling. How nice that you are already awake. Step aside so Marie can do my hair while we talk.” Beneath her maternal tone, unrelenting harshness hid. It was hard not to forget that Rose’s mother did not tyrannise her but cared for her and believed she had good reason for her concern.

  It was no use to quibble with her mother over the matter, so she said straight out, “Did you talk to Mrs Prisson? Is she – have you …”

  “Next time, you should think about who you are putting at risk with your recklessness.” The duchess interrupted, while Rose searched for the right words. “If your father were here, and if I did not know I could rely on Mrs Prisson, your escapade could have led to her dismissal.”

  “Yes, Mother,” whispered Rose, contritely.

  “Mrs Prisson will not get a new job at her age,” her mother continued relentlessly. “She would have ended up in the workhouse or starved to death on the street. The same goes for your accomplice, Rose. You cannot involve people who depend on you in your escapades. Do you understand this?”

  Rose nodded and swallowed to quell her rising tears.

  “I have seriously considered to confining you to your quarters.”

  Rose looked up.

  The duchess’s blue eyes searched and found those of her daughter in the mirror. “But I think you are too old for that. Besides, it would hardly be a punishment for someone like you – you would bury yourself in the library and hardly notice autumn turning to winter, and winter to spring.”

  “I am not to be gated? I am not to be sent to Aunt Agatha?”

  Her mother turned around. Marie followed the movement without interrupting the pinning of her magnificent head of hair. “No, I am not sending you away, Rose. Even though you will be my little girl until the end of my days, I must realise that you are an adult. That does not mean that you can do what you think best. On the contrary. I would like to ask you to think in the future before you drive around with a man who is not part of the family in the absence of a chaperon. You are about to marry Lord de Coucy, and yesterday, you endangered more than your reputation. Do you understand that, my child?” Rose could do nothing but nod – not because she lacked words, but because the duchess was right. “I am sure you acted for the best reasons to prevent the two men from duelling, but did you even consider for a second what Lord de Coucy thinks about it? I am not talking about decency and morals now, Rose.” Her mother’s voice rem
ained completely even, which only made things worse. “Do you really believe that Richard de Coucy would have been pleased that you thought he needed your protection?” She shook her head in a slight rebuke and, in an intricate way, the gesture succeeded in demonstrating her disappointment at Rose’s behaviour.

  “I know he can defend himself,” Rose said. “I just wanted to hinder him from being killed. I did it for love.” Those words came out almost like a squeal.

  “I doubt he is magnanimous enough to appreciate your adventure as an expression of your affection. Or, for that matter, strong enough in character.”

  “I beg to differ.” At least in that respect, Rose was absolutely confident. Yes, she deserved every word of the scolding, but her mother did not know Richard well enough to judge his reaction. That was her privilege, her own, or so Rose thought in a moment of wild rebelliousness, for she knew him better than anyone else.

  “That is your right, of course. As I said, you are a young woman and old enough to have your own opinion. I have always believed that a woman who is prepared to marry a man, can justifiably call herself an adult.”

  “Thank you, Mother.” Rose was not sure if those were the right words, but what else could she say?

  “You are welcome.” The duchess turned back to look at her reflection.

  Was that everything? Rose was waiting for the relief that should have seized her by now, because she had gotten off so lightly, but the expected feeling failed to materialise. “What did you talk to the marquess about for so long?” she asked instead.

  “Mostly about Lady Henrietta. And, of course, about Oberon.”

  “You … what did he say about his sister?”

  “Nothing that I would not have guessed due to her indisposition on the evening of the ball.”

  Rose was glad she was sitting on the stool; otherwise her legs would have given way. The fact that her mother not only had a suspicion, but also because the marquess had spoken so frankly about it and to a practical stranger, stung her. “You … why are you not, I mean … horrified? Do you also think that it was … Richard?”