by Bree Wolf
Rosabel nodded, feeling an instant connection to the young woman. “It is very crowded. I have to admit it does make me uncomfortable. I never know what to say.”
Henrietta laughed, “The sad thing is people do not generally care what others have to say. Especially men.” Frustration rang in her voice as her eyes travelled across the room where her brother, the new Viscount Elton, stood with their uncle, a Mr. Harris, Henrietta’s guardian since her parents’ passing. “As long as you have a pretty face, they are satisfied.” As though remembering something, Henrietta shook her head, turning her eyes back to Rosabel, forcing a smile on her lips. “I apologize. I did not mean to make you uncomfortable. Here, let us get some refreshment.” She gestured to the adjoining room, where long tables groaned under the loads of food piled on top of them.
Stepping through the doorway, they stopped as a small group of men and women stood in their way, and Rosabel felt oddly reminded of the Christmas ball. Goosebumps rose on her skin, and she drew in a breath. And as though only waiting for her to overhear, a dark-haired beauty in a pale blue dress said in a rather melodious voice, “The new Duchess of Kensington is a rather plain woman, wouldn’t you agree? Oh, sure she is pretty, but she does not have this air of superiority about her that dear Leonora did.”
Rosabel felt her limbs grow rigid at the woman’s words, echoing her own thoughts.
Henrietta touched her arm, beckoning her to follow, but Rosabel couldn’t move. Hidden in the crowd she felt somewhat safe. What if they saw her?
“I suppose she had a sizable dowry to recommend her,” the woman continued. “Why else would the duke have married her?” She snickered but instantly stopped when another, quite familiar voice echoed through the little group.
“Because the moment he laid eyes on her, he knew her to be the one woman who could make his life complete.”
All chattering stopped. As people drifted apart, revealing the speaker of these eloquent words, Rosabel found herself staring at her husband. A smile on his face, he looked at the small crowd before him, then gave a quick nod and walked away.
***
Entering the ballroom, Graham felt a small stab of regret. Tomorrow he would return to Camden Hall.
Glancing at his wife drifting through the crowd on his arm, deep down he knew that something had changed. The only thing he didn’t know was whether or not he was ready to admit that to himself.
Throughout the evening, he kept his eyes firmly planted on her beautiful smile, shy and yet honest, the sparkle that came to her eyes when Edmond drew her onto the dance floor and the gracefulness with which she held her head high even though he knew she wished for nothing more but to retreat into a corner.
Watching them sweep across the room, Graham noticed a strange tightening in his chest as he beheld his wife’s delighted face, looking up into his friend’s eyes. His jaw tensed, and he took a deep breath to still his nerves.
And so instead of instantly seeking his wife’s company, Graham intercepted his friend once the music came to an end. Trying to remain unobtrusive, he offered him a drink, which Edmond downed in one gulp. “You seemed parched,” he observed, narrowly looking at his friend. “Was dancing with my wife so tiresome?”
Instantly, Edmond’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing as they slid over Graham’s face. “Jealous?”
As his pulse sped up, Graham laughed. “Do not be absurd!”
A delighted smile broke out on Edmond’s face, and Graham knew that he had lost. “She looks at me as a friend, a brother even.” He nodded, placing a hand on Graham’s shoulder. “You have nothing to fear.” Then Edmond’s eyes shifted up, staring past his shoulder. “At least not from me.”
His heart in a tight grip, Graham turned around and took a deep breath. “Who is she talking to? Is that Baron Northfield?”
“It is,” Edmond confirmed. “You should keep an eye on her!” Then he turned to look at Graham, and another grin spread across his features. “But you’ve been doing that anyway, haven’t you?” Laughing, he marched off.
At least partly relieved, Graham noticed that his wife did not encourage Baron Northfield’s attention. On the contrary, she appeared somewhat bothered by his insistence to remain by her side. More than once did she try to take her leave without success. Graham knew that he should interfere and put the baron in his place, but he wanted to know her true feelings on the matter.
However, when he finally made up his mind and started toward her, Lord Ashton stepped in his way. His business associate vigorously congratulated him on his nuptials and was exceedingly difficult to get rid of. When Graham finally did, his wife was nowhere in sight.
His heart hammering in his chest, he searched high and low, his pulse rising with each minute that passed. Then he spotted her in the back of the room by the French doors.
Eyes again fixed on her, he relaxed as she stepped outside, only to suffer nearly a stroke when the baron hastened toward the doors as well.
In that moment Edmond came upon him, pointing at the same doors that held Graham’s attention. “Did you see−? You did. Let’s go after them.”
Almost outrunning his friend, Graham reached the doors in the blink of an eye, not caring in the least about the questioning eyes that followed him. He yanked them open and stepped outside, Edmond on his heels.
“Where are they?” Edmond asked.
Footprints in the soft layer of snow covering the terrace led them to the right. All the while, Graham’s heart hammered in his chest as though ready to explode.
“Lord Northfield, I must insist that you let me pass,” his wife’s insistent, yet slightly frightened voice broke the deafening silence, and he quickened his steps.
Coming around the corner, Graham found her with her back to the wall, Baron Northfield blocking her way back. Her eyes stood open wide, and she had her hands lifted to maintain the distance between them.
Graham cursed himself. Knowing what kind of a man Northfield was, how could he have left her alone?
“I insist as well,” he snarled, and two sets of eyes flew to him. While the baron looked mildly startled, instantly taking a few steps back, his wife almost seemed to sag into herself as relief flooded her face. No one had ever quite looked at him that way, and Graham felt his regard toward her deepen.
“Are you all right?” he asked, reaching for her. Her cold hand came into his, and he instantly wrapped his other arm around her shoulders, drawing her near, warming her body with his. Lifting her chin, he looked into her eyes. “Did he touch you?” he whispered, his insides twisting into knots.
When she shook her head, he closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. Then, without turning his gaze from her, he said, “Edmond, if you would escort the baron back to the festivities.”
As the sound of their footsteps vanished, his wife took a step back. By now shivering from the cold, she looked up at him, a single tear clinging to her lashes. “I’m so sorry,” she pleaded. “I shouldn’t have come out here. I didn’t think he would follow me.”
Graham nodded, already missing the feel of her body against his. “It is not your fault,” he said, trying to reassure her. “That man has no honour. And yet, you’re right; you shouldn’t have come out here. Not alone.”
She nodded then, and he led her back inside. They said their goodbyes and returned home, the carriage ride filled with a silence that held a thousand meanings. Where were they to go from here? Graham wondered. Things definitely had changed, and yet, he could not go back. He was a man of reason. He was led by his head, not his heart. Following his heart once had led him into a darkness that he still had not been able to leave behind. He knew what he ought to do, and yet, a little voice whispered that maybe, just maybe, she could come to love him.
***
Finding herself in the carriage back to Westmore, Rosabel recalled the last words exchanged with her husband that morning. At least this time, he had bid her farewell. When he had asked about how she intended to pass her time i
n London, she had stated that she would rather return home. Hesitant for a moment, he had nodded, and Rosabel thought he had looked relieved. Did he not trust her? Did he think her foolish enough to venture into another dangerous situation? Was he afraid what such a scandal would do to his reputation?
Pushing all gloomy thoughts aside, Rosabel focused on what awaited her beyond the horizon: Georgiana.
A fortnight had passed since she had seen the girl, and Rosabel’s insides clenched at the thought of being separated from her any longer. As entertaining as London had been, occasionally, it was not her world.
And so when the carriage finally pulled up to the steps of Westmore Manor and the golden-haired girl flung herself into her arms, Rosabel felt at peace.
Chapter Twenty-One − To Save a Life
Having spent the night tossing and turning, Rosabel felt a painful throbbing behind her temples when the sun finally etched its way up the horizon, glistening in the new snow covering the grounds outside her window. The bright light, however, did not cheer up her spirits; instead, it increased the dull pain behind her eyes, and she turned away immediately.
Although her reunion with Georgiana had proved as wonderful as she had dreamed it, new questions had arisen that had kept her awake. Who was the man she called husband? In London, he had been so different from the cold-hearted man who had chosen her for his bride without having spoken a single word to her beforehand.
Feeling the need to clear her mind, Rosabel walked down the corridor to Helen’s chamber. Quietly, she knocked on the door, hoping she would not disturb the old woman. Fortunately, Helen had already been informed of her return and was awaiting Rosabel’s visit eagerly.
“How have you been, child?” she asked, her own eyes glowing with vitality. “Did you enjoy London?”
Rosabel shrugged. “Too crowded for my taste. I prefer it here.”
Helen laughed, “Thank God you do. I wouldn’t know what to do without you.”
Taking the old woman’s hand, Rosabel smiled. “I’ve missed you too.”
“Now, my dear, tell me what happened. How did my grandson treat you?”
Rosabel averted her eyes.
“Ah, something happened!” Helen declared in triumph, eager eyes on Rosabel’s face. “Tell me!”
Relating the encounter with Baron Northfield on the terrace, Rosabel felt her own cheeks flush at her own defect of judgment. “He must think me a fool to not have seen it coming,” she whispered. “He looked perfectly scandalized when he came upon us.”
“Oh, my dear, sweet child,” Helen laughed. “He was not scandalized. If I had to make a guess, I’d say he was jealous.”
Rosabel’s eyes went wide. “What? Why would you...?”
“Oh, my dear, it is so obvious. He cares about you. The only problem is,” Helen snorted, “that he hasn’t yet admitted that to himself. But when he saw you with our dear Baron Northfield, I suppose he finally realized what he has to lose.” Clapping her hands like an excited child, Helen chuckled. “Oh, Baron Northfield, what would we have done without you?” she mused, then shrugged. “Probably died of old age before that thick-headed grandson of mine had given any indication as to his true feelings.”
“But Helen …”
“No, no, no,” she shook her head vehemently. “Do not argue with me. Listen.” She took Rosabel’s hand, drawing her closer. “I know this is not easy for you, but you must not let him get away.”
“Let him get away?” Rosabel mumbled.
Helen nodded. “Go after him. Do not allow him to retreat into the shadows. He will never find a way out himself. Go to him,” Helen pleaded. “And save him from himself.”
***
Still unsure how best to proceed, Rosabel returned to her room after breakfast, once more running her fingers over the leather-bound diaries that held the connection to Leonora. Diaries she hadn’t seen in a fortnight.
Once more sitting down in her favourite armchair, Rosabel opened the book. No longer did she feel like an intruder, someone trespassing, but instead her heart swelled with warmth whenever her eyes found the by now familiar handwriting. It was as though Leonora had given her permission.
…I know his heart. I know he means well, and I agree that this is probably the only way. And yet, a part of me hates him, hates that he can be so rational about this. Is his heart breaking like mine? If it is, he conceals it well. Once, I thought I knew him. Now, I am not sure.
Rosabel’s heart went out to Leonora, reading the pain that these words held: the hopelessness, the desperation. And yet, Rosabel still did not fully understand what had caused it.
… My fate is sealed. I cannot escape it now. The date for the wedding is set. God help me.
Eyes glued to the words before her, Rosabel’s heart stopped, too shocked to not acknowledge the simple truth it had stumbled upon. Had Leonora not willingly married Graham? Rosabel was confused. Before she had spoken of him with such affection, more than just affection, love. What had happened to change her mind? What had he done to lose her love?
Rosabel couldn’t help but shiver. Her muscles began to tremble, her stomach quivered, and as though cold, her teeth began to chatter.
Closing her eyes, she felt a headache approach. The slow drumming behind her temples echoed in her heart as her head desperately tried to make sense of what she had just learned. Was there a simple answer? One that could explain everything and not paint someone’s soul black? Rosabel prayed it was although she couldn’t imagine how.
… Although I can only consider myself a burden to him, Graham treats me with the utmost respect. This has doomed his life as it has doomed mine, and yet, he seems content. After all, I am grateful that my life is tied to him. I am sure he will be a wonderful father. Of that he assures me each day, and each day I believe him a little more.
I feel safe with Graham, and yet, my heart does not glow the way it used to. Will it ever again?
How could Leonora see Graham as her doom on one page and then paint him as her saviour on the next? Rosabel shook her head. She was missing something vital. But whatever it was, Leonora had trusted him to be a good father. Knowing that, Rosabel felt more determined in her endeavour.
In the coming days she watched Georgiana carefully. Although the girl smiled and laughed, clearly glad to have Rosabel by her side once more, and behaved the way she always had, Rosabel could see that something was missing. There was no spark in her laughter, no twinkle in her eyes. It was as though she was only going through the motions, but her heart remained untouched.
One night, holding a sleeping Georgiana in her arms, Rosabel lay awake and pondered her options. At first, she wasn’t sure what to do. She only knew whatever she did would mean to defy her husband and go against his wishes. Feeling Georgiana’s arms cling to her as another nightmare claimed her, Rosabel knew that she was willing to risk her husband’s wrath. What was he going to do? Divorce her? Although she doubted he would go to such length, the thought scared her, and yet, Rosabel still had no doubt in her heart about her loyalties. Georgiana’s happiness took precedence over her husband’s wishes as well as her own security.
Her mind made up, Rosabel wondered what best to do. She knew he would not willingly spend time with his daughter. Well, if he wouldn’t come to them, they would just have to go to him.
Helen’s words echoed in her mind, but Rosabel pushed them away. This was about Georgiana.
Although a part of her feared his anger, her mother’s heart currently shielded her from its intensity, allowing her to revel in the power and control she had decided to claim for her own life and Georgiana’s.
The next morning, she ordered their things packed, had Leonora’s portrait taken from the wall and carefully wrapped, knowing Georgiana could not be without it, and then joined the girl in the breakfast parlour.
Hearing about their travel arrangements, Georgiana’s face lit up in a way Rosabel hadn’t seen in weeks. “We are going to visit Father? When?”
“We wil
l leave after breakfast,” Rosabel said, earning her a delighted squeal. “So eat up. It will be a long trip.”
Eagerly, Georgiana ate her eggs and drank her tea before running upstairs to fetch her mother’s doll. When Rosabel headed toward her own room to add a few more personal items to the things that needed packing, like Leonora’s diaries, Mrs. Rigsby caught up to her.
“Your Grace,” she said, her voice holding as much disdain as her eyes, “I was just informed of your travel plans.”
“Yes, I am so glad to have a word with you before we leave.” Having accepted the woman’s attitude toward her long ago, Rosabel felt a hint of satisfaction whenever she went against Mrs. Rigsby’s idea of right and wrong. “It won’t be necessary for you to accompany us. I will be taking care of Lady Georgiana’s education myself.”
Mrs. Rigsby’s eyes narrowed. “I see. Is His Grace displeased with my work?” she asked, clearly fishing for information.
Rosabel smiled. “Not that I know of.”
“I see,” Mrs. Rigsby repeated. “During his visit he did not inform me of his intention to have Lady Georgiana join him at Camden Hall.”
“Well, Mrs. Rigsby, I might as well tell you that he had no such intention back then. So he could not have informed you.”
“I see. Did he send a communique then?”
Apparently the woman grew desperate to learn more about the circumstances of their trip to ask such a direct question.
“Let me be frank, Mrs. Rigsby,” Rosabel replied with equal boldness, her smile gone, her eyes cold and calculating, an imitation of her husband’s expression when he had looked at her in the very beginning of their marriage. “It was my decision to take Lady Georgiana to Camden Hall. As her mother, it is my duty to ensure her happiness, which I am doing based on my own judgment of her wellbeing.” Mrs. Rigsby’s lips were pressed into a thin line as she listened. “I do not appreciate you questioning my decisions. It is not your place.” For a second, Rosabel thought the woman would have steam coming out of her ears, but then her lips thinned even more and she remained silent. “Did I make myself clear?”
