by Bree Wolf
The second Shadow’s long legs reached the open meadow covered in deep snow and thundered along the ridge of the hillside, Rosabel closed her eyes, feeling the cold wind on her face. Tiny snowflakes caught in her hair and melted into drops of water, slowly running down her temples and pooling in the corners of her eyes. Before long, she felt them drift down her cheeks as though she were crying. Appropriate, the little voice whispered. Rosabel knew it to be true. More than anything she felt like crying, but she knew if she gave into her fears, she might not be able to stop the floods.
Unfortunately, even two hours outdoors had been unable to purge Rosabel’s fears from her heart. So upon her return, she hastened up the long staircase, knowing only too well where the only counsel in Westmore was to be found. As she approached the door to the Dowager Duchess’ quarters, Rosabel noticed that it stood ajar, silent voices drifting to her ears.
Taking a step closer, almost pressing her ear to the gap between door and wall, Rosabel ignored the little voice telling her that this was not proper and listened.
“I thought you would never return,” the Dowager Duchess said. “It’s been a long time.”
“It has,” her husband answered. “How are you?”
A chuckle rose from her throat. “Dear boy, you did not come here to speak to me about my health! We both know that. Why don’t you tell me what is really on your mind?”
Even through the door, Rosabel could hear her husband draw a deep breath. “How is Georgiana? Is she happy?”
“Well, she is happier ever since you found this remarkable, young woman to care for her. And Rosabel really is doing a fine job. I have to congratulate you, dear boy. You could not have chosen better.”
“I am glad to hear it.” Footsteps drew closer to the door, and Rosabel’s breath caught in her throat.
“We are not done here, my boy,” the Dowager Duchess called after her grandson, who stopped instantly, the echo of his footsteps vanishing into thin air. “May I ask? Why did you choose her?”
For a moment, silence hung about the room. Then her husband’s voice reached her ear. “I thought she’d make a good mother for Georgiana. I told you so.”
“Yes, you did. But what gave you the idea? From what I understand, you had barely spoken a word to her before proposing?”
“Did she tell you that?”
“Is it a secret?”
Her husband sighed. “Of course not.”
“Then what was it?” When no answer came, she continued. “Don’t make an old woman wait!”
“Fine. I thought she was kind. I thought she would be a kind mother.”
“And what gave you that impression?”
Again her husband sighed. “You ask a lot of questions.”
“I am tied to this bed. All I know is what people tell me, and you’re not very forthcoming! So? Enlighten me!”
Again footsteps echoed across the floor, but this time they returned to the bed. The chair was pulled up, and her husband took a seat. “I watched her. The way she was with her younger cousins, it was…it reminded me of happier days, of innocence, of a time in one’s life when the world only holds wonder.”
“I see. That certainly makes her a good mother, and I’ve seen the proof of your words in Georgiana’s eyes.” The bed covers rustled as she tried to sit up. “I have one more question though.”
“Then ask it.” A smile rang in his voice. “I know by now that I could not stop you even if I wanted to.”
The Dowager Duchess chuckled. “Although it did take you a while to realize this, my boy.”
“Well, then ask?”
“You looked at the mother, but did you ever look at the woman?”
Rosabel froze, as she supposed did her husband as he did not say a word.
“If you only cared to look, you would see that she would make you a fine wife as well. Her heart is not taken. You still have a chance, but not for long. Eventually she will close her heart to you if you keep treating her like this.”
As her husband got up, the chair legs scraped across the hardwood floor. “Like what?” he snapped. “I made her a duchess. She has never been more comfortable in her life!”
Again the Dowager Duchess chuckled. “How blind you are, my boy. You do not treat her like a wife, but like a servant. For now, she may obey your command, but mark my words it will not last forever. She may not know it yet, but a strength resides within her that will eventually break free. And believe me, as much as I love you, you are no match for her.”
Chapter Sixteen - The Christmas Ball
The week until the Christmas Ball passed in a relatively boring manner, anticlimactic in a way. While her husband mostly kept to his study, Rosabel spent her days as she usually did with Georgiana and the Dowager Duchess or riding out with Shadow. Meals were taken together with her husband, but then Georgiana mostly carried the conversation, needing little encouragement to relate her day, her plans for the next and all those seemingly insignificant details that were of such importance to someone so young.
As much as her husband avoided her company during the day, he also did so during the night. Rosabel awoke each morning feeling relieved that he had not come to her. And yet, there was a tiny voice considering his behaviour an insult. Was she so undesirable?
When the day of the Christmas Ball arrived, Rosabel’s nerves were on edge. While Bridget and two other maids helped her get dressed, do her hair and choose appropriate accessories, Bridget gave her a quick rundown of who would be at the ball. By the end of her overview, Rosabel’s head swam. She could not remember all those names and titles. How was she to get along?
When she finally descended the grand marble staircase leading down to the entrance hall, Rosabel felt her every inch of her tremble, afraid she’d lose her footing and land head-first at her husband’s feet. Standing by the front doors, he looked up as her footsteps echoed down the stairs ahead of her.
Dressed in a simple, yet elegant suit, his black hair combed back, her husband looked the picture of a gentleman. Only the scowl on his face offset her impression, telling her without a doubt that having to introduce her to the local society did not please him in the least and he’d rather be somewhere else. Somewhere far away.
Taking a deep breath, Rosabel approached him, eyes cast down and took his offered arm.
***
Hearing her footsteps, Graham turned to the sound, and for a moment the control he usually had on his features slipped away as his grandmother’s words echoed in his ear.
For the first time he did not see the mother Rosabel had become, but the woman she was.
And she was breath-taking!
The crimson red dress perfectly complemented her black hair, accentuating her pale skin and slim figure. The stark contrasts made her glow, vibrant with colour. A rosy shine on her cheeks spoke of excitement or jittery nerves; he could not tell. Her eyes glistened in the dark, hidden under thick cast-down lashes. Nervously, she bit her lower lip, brushing a hand down the soft fabric of her dress. He could see the concern about her appearance plainly on her face. Then she looked up and for a moment met his gaze, before returning it to the stairs under her feet.
Graham barely managed to get his own features back in check before they’d give him away. He noticed his pulse had sped up, and although it returned to a more normal rhythm, he could still feel it pulsate against the tight fit of his collar.
For a moment his eyes turned inward. Leonora had been beautiful in a more obvious way. Her golden hair and glowing blue eyes had enchanted anyone who ever lay eyes on her. She had been like the sun, drawing everyone near, necessary to everyone’s survival. Her smile had always been given freely, true, genuine and heart-felt. Nothing about her had ever been fake. From the very beginning, Graham had loved her, loved her even before he got to know her and fell for her all over again.
Rosabel was different.
Again he cast a careful glance in her direction as she approached and hesitantly slipped her arm through his. As
he led her out the door and to the waiting carriage, their feet crunching in the snow, he felt her tremble by his side. Again he wondered if it was the cold or her nerves. Helping her into the carriage, he took a seat across from her, noticing tiny snowflakes in her dark hair, shining like diamonds.
Avoiding his eyes, she kept her head down or faced out the window as the carriage slowly turned down the road. Pretending not to look at her either, Graham still felt her presence like a thick blanket wrapped around him. Again and again he glanced at her. Again and again awed by her simple gracefulness. Again and again lecturing himself to redirect his thoughts. And yet, a tiny voice whispered that she was his wife after all. There was nothing wrong about the thoughts he entertained.
Too wrapped up in his own mind, Graham did not notice the silence that hung between them. Every now and then he thought he saw her glance in his direction, but when he turned to look, her eyes were once again focused on the snowy landscape passing by their window.
Before long, they reached the Earl’s estate, seeing the many lights a mile off, glistening like stars in the darkening night. Cheerful laughter met their ears as the carriage came to a stop, and a footman opened the door. Stepping out himself, Graham turned and offered Rosabel his hand, grateful to feel the chilly wind on his face, cooling his cheeks.
As she slipped her hand into his, a tingle ran up his arm. Her skin felt soft and tender, yet cool and trembling. Instantly, he drew her forward, determined to get her out of the cold as soon as possible. When her hand slipped from his and linked through the bend of his arm, he felt a hint of regret.
Stepping inside, they quickly found themselves submerged in the holiday festivities. Many congratulations were offered, but also regret that no invitation to their wedding had been received. Graham did his best to manoeuvre the sea of people with ease. He knew what was expected of him and played the role that had been his long before his father had passed his title on to him.
Next to him, he felt Rosabel almost clinging to his arm. Her eyes were wider than usual, taking in her surroundings with apprehension. A smile passed his lips as he realized that they had something in common after all. Neither one of them felt at home in a sea of people.
***
The noise. Rosabel had never heard such noise, never seen so many people in one place. The earl’s estate was large, almost as large as Westmore and in every corner, in every nook and cranny, people were gathered, talking, laughing, dancing and drinking. They sounded like a beehive, only louder, much louder, and their voices held none of the soothing hum of the little honey collectors. Their voices were shrill. Like an instrument out of tune, they hurt her ears.
For the first time, thankful for her husband’s presence, Rosabel’s hand clutched his arm tightly, afraid to be left behind. Following him through the crowd, she was introduced to her neighbours as well as guest visiting for the holidays from other parts of England. Names and titles flew at her. Some sounded familiar, some didn’t, but none found a permanent place in the corners of her mind.
Playing his part with ease, Graham offered her a drink, which she accepted gratefully. Her throat felt parched, and the cool liquid offered relief. However, letting go of his arm, Rosabel soon found others drifting toward them, crowding around her husband and drawing him into a conversation. Step by step, she retreated from the throng of people until she could barely see him anymore. Her heart hammered and her palms began to sweat as she found herself alone, unsure how to proceed.
Unwilling to wedge her way into the crowd and back to her husband’s side, Rosabel decided to walk about the rooms. She thought if she didn’t stand in one spot for too long, the chances that someone would try to engage her in a conversation would decrease. Slipping from the ballroom, afraid someone would ask her to stand up with him, Rosabel found her way to the front parlour. As she walked through the door, she saw a table with small refreshments by the opposite wall. Glancing at her empty glass, she headed over there, passing through small groups of ladies chatting animatedly. Keeping her head down, Rosabel avoided eye contact, and after procuring another drink for herself, retreated into a shady spot in the corner by the window front.
Not too far away, a group of young women stood, their backs mostly in her direction. After a while, a tall blond in an emerald dress that accentuated her green eyes and rosy lips said, “Did you see the new Duchess of Kensington?” Rosabel’s blood froze in her veins. The others nodded. “She looks nothing like the former duchess. Too plain.”
More nods encouraged her to go on.
“Almost like a wallflower, don’t you agree?” Again the others’ heads bobbed up and down, offering their own comparison. Each word was like a stab in the heart, and tears formed in the corners of Rosabel’s eyes.
“Why did he marry her?” the blond asked, shaking her head. “He could have had anyone, why her?” Rosabel supposed the tall blond herself had vied for his hand, and lost. Thus the bitterness in her voice. “She is not fit to be a duchess. I heard her father did not even have a title.”
“I heard she is the niece of a baron down south,” another offered.
The tall blond shrugged. “Niece, not daughter.”
Having her worst fears for the evening realized, Rosabel snuck past the group of ladies without raising their attention. She was a fraud, and they all knew. They had seen past her masquerade and clearly identified her as someone not worthy of their company. Someone who did not fit in. Someone who was not one of them. Did her husband regret his decision to marry her by now? Even if she was a good mother to his daughter, was that enough?
“Ah, here she comes,” a voice boomed not too far from her, and Rosabel looked up, seeing all faces staring at her. As her heart threatened to jump out of her chest, she saw her husband walk toward her, offering his hand. As though it was a lifeline, she reached for it, grateful for his warm touch to her own chilled skin. He led her through the throng of people to the dance floor. As they stood up, he whispered, “I apologize, my lady. This spectacle was certainly not my idea.” She could see the truth on his face. He was forced in this position just as she was. Society dictated the rules. It would be rude not to comply, and so they both put a pleasant smile on their faces and moved to the music, keeping in tune with the couples around them.
As he led her across the dance floor, Rosabel felt his hand on her waist, and even through the layers of fabric, she thought she could truly feel his touch. The hand that held hers, guiding her movements, sent a shiver down her back as his thumb slowly moved over her skin. Was he doing this on purpose? She wondered. Or was he lost in thought?
Letting her feet move, Rosabel held on to her husband, feeling safe for the first time that night.
***
Her hand trembled as it lay in his. He could feel her breath on his skin as she forced a mask of happiness on her face. Not looking him in the eye, her gaze was focused beyond his shoulder, giving him the opportunity to observe her more freely. Her cheeks were flushed as though she had run a sprint or heard something embarrassing. Every now and then her tongue snaked out, moistening her lips, and he thought to detect a small tear drop clinging to her thick eyelashes. What had happened during his absence? Had someone treated her without the appropriate respect? He didn’t know, and he was surprised to realize that it bothered him. After all, any disrespect toward his wife was ultimately an insult toward him, he told himself.
Too soon the music stopped and the dance ended, new couples encroaching on the floor, demanding their turn. Leading his wife into the hall, Graham’s mind drifted to other dances, dances with Leonora. These moments holding her in his arms had been the most wonderful moments of his life. He had cherished them like his greatest treasure, and even now the memories put a smile on his lips.
Rounding the corner, they came upon the Earl of Hampton kissing his lovely wife under some mistletoe. Giggling, she clung to her husband, eyes gazing at him adoringly as the crowd cheered.
Looking around, Graham noted the various places w
here mistletoe had been hung in the doorway and made a mental note to stay away from them. Himself deeply in love with his wife, the Earl of Hampton found great joy in ordering those caught under the wintry green to a public display of affection. Remembering his wife’s fearful eyes when he had bent down to kiss her on their wedding day, Graham did not care for a repeat of that situation. He would not force himself on her, no matter the circumstances. He had forced her hand, but he would draw the line there.
Chapter Seventeen - Mistletoe
Finally, back in the carriage on the way back to Westmore, Rosabel breathed a sigh of relief. While not altogether pleasant, the evening had passed without further embarrassments, and Rosabel longed for her bed, feeling her limbs growing heavy with the need for rest.
Pulling up in front of the house, the carriage came to a stop, and a footman opened the door. Once again her husband assisted her the two short steps down to the slippery ground, holding her hand firmly in his and guiding her up the stairs to the front doors. Lawrence bowed and wished them a good evening. Thanking him, her husband stopped as a familiar voice echoed across the empty hall, “What a delightful couple you make! My compliments!”
Rosabel’s head snapped up. Striding toward them, a big smile on his face and a twinkle in his eyes was Edmond. His gaze shifted from her husband to her and back again. “Did you have a good time?” he inquired, but before her husband could answer, Edmond’s eyes shifted upward, and his hand, too, indicated something above their heads.
Rosabel felt her husband stiffen. The muscles in his arm grew tight, and she released her grip, suddenly realizing that there was no need for assistance any longer.
Lifting her head, Rosabel found a small twig with green leaves dangling from the ceiling. Having seen the like all throughout the evening, she instantly knew what it was and realized its implications. Her eyes shifted back to Edmond, who grinned from ear to hear, and then darted to her husband, whose face had turned to an angry scowl. Swallowing hard, Rosabel didn’t know what to do. Would he kiss her? Vaguely she remembered her wedding day. Although his eyes had been cold as always, his lips had been soft and warm, and she had felt herself respond at their touch. Would this kiss feel the same?
