by Brianna York
Rosalind
Brianna York
Rosalind Copyright © 2017 by Brianna York. All Rights Reserved.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
Cover designed by Betibup33
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Brianna York
Visit my website at www.booksbybriannayork.com
Printed in the United States of America
First Printing: Aug 2018
Amazon
Thank you to everyone who has helped make this book possible. Thank you to my editing helpers, Chelsea Byers Cremese and my Aunt Cheryl. Thank you to contest winner Sabrina Sanders for her winning name suggestion for Rosy’s cat friend. As always, there are too many people to name individually but know that I appreciate each and every person who inspired, guided and advised me during this process. Last but certainly not least, thank you to Stephanie, the real Rosalind.
Period Glossary
Bluestocking – A woman who is well-read and interested in intellectual pursuits
The Ton – British High Society
Nodcock – A fool
Incomparable – A great beauty with excellent social graces
Diamond of the first water – An exceptionally beautiful woman
Paying calls – Morning visits paid by women to their friends
Shirt points – During the Regency era, collars were worn standing up so the shirt points would need to be starched and pressed to stay crisp above one’s neckcloth
The Season – The social season in Regency London set to coincide with Parliament sessions
Contents
Period Glossary
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
About the Author
Chapter One
Rosalind Fenton, daughter of the Duke of Norwood, stared at her reflection in the cheval glass. Her light brown hair was piled ornately atop her head and crowned with a jaunty blue hat and a lacy veil. The veil gently kissed the full, pink apples of her cheeks and drew attention to the beauty of her unusual dark brown eyes. She turned her head the other way and pursed her lips. She wished that her father would allow her to buy some French cosmetics. She had borrowed them from friends and she had been told they drew attention to her full lips and the pale perfection of her fair skin.
She blew out a breath then and slumped a little. She propped her chin in her hands and glanced out the window. The weather appeared unusually fine, a sure sign that the Season was drifting to a close. Her first Season had been both everything she hoped for and also somewhat disappointing. While she had been glad to join her older friends in the round of weekly and nightly entertainments that London had to offer during the social high point of the year, she had felt let down in her experience of the courting aspect of the social scene. She had not truly expected to receive a proposal in her first Season out, but she supposed that she had been hoping for at least a few serious beaux to make themselves known to her.
“Ninny,” she scolded herself in a whisper, rising to her feet and looking for her riding gloves. She knew herself to be pretty enough and knew that she was from a good family. She was also aware that she was a bit shy and that her mouth often ran off and said things better left unsaid in unguarded moments. She thought of Cecily Beaumont, the reigning Incomparable from the most recent Season. She was not as well connected socially as Rosalind, but her blonde hair, blue eyes and regal bearing had instantly landed her the attention of many eligible beaux as well as the approval of society as a whole. Rosalind sighed. She knew that she was not going to change into a girl like Cecily simply by wishing to be more like one.
There was a soft rapping at the door. “Enter,” Rosalind called in response, finally locating her soft riding gloves and pulling them on.
“Your riding companions have arrived, My Lady,” Hester, Rosalind’s abigail said as she entered the room on silent feet.
Rosalind nodded and glanced at herself one more time in the looking glass. “Thank you, Hester. You may go now.”
“Enjoy your ride, My Lady,” Hester said quietly, holding the door open for Rosalind to exit her bedroom. Rosalind passed her with a rustle of skirts and turned down the hall towards the large staircase leading into the foyer of her father’s house.
“Good morning, Rosy!” Alexandra Tyndale called from the front hall when she saw Rosalind appear on the stairs. Alexandra wore a bright green riding habit with military styling. The color set off her striking red hair and blue eyes and made her quite a stunning vision. Rosy felt her heart swell at the sight of her. Alexandra and her brother Matthew, Duke Dunsaney, had been older childhood friends of hers who had remained her friends and confidants into adulthood. They were both recently married but they still found time to spend with Rosy.
“Good morning, Alex!” Rosy said in reply, hurrying to give the other woman a hug. “You look positively stunning this morning!”
Alex tsked at this as she adjusted her hat and veil. “I look nothing compared to you. That blue habit is very fetching! You shall be the talk of the town once everyone sees you!”
Rosy blushed at the compliment. “Do stop Alex,” she murmured. “You are making me blush.” She pressed the backs of her hands to her hot cheeks self-consciously.
“Come on then,” Alex said to that. “The horses are waiting.” She whirled about in a swish of skirts, her eager demeanor not at all feigned. Both Alex and her brother had always been horse-mad. Alex was even the owner of the family breeding farm where they raised racehorses and lovely hunters.
As Rosy followed her friend outside and down the steps of her father’s house, she felt a little thrill of excitement curl in her chest. Some morning rides included just Matthew, his sister and their respective spouses. This morning however, their friend Robert Kensington, the Earl Coulthurst had joined them. Rosy had long been moon-eyed over the Earl. She was not one for secrets and her feelings for Coulthurst were well-known to her friends. She had even kissed him on impulse at Matthew and Alex’s tandem wedding a couple of months ago.
This morning he was wearing a navy-blue coat a few shades darker than his blue eyes. The snowy white cravat at his throat provided a sharp and pleasing contrast to his raven-black hair. He was not a tall man like Matthew or Alex’s husband Forrest, the Baron Tyndale, but he was well-made and knew how to dress himself to maximize his assets. Often
accused of being slightly foppish by other members of the ton, Rob still managed to avoid the pitfalls of puce waistcoats and too much brocade. Rosy found herself breathing a bit too quickly as he caught her eye and smiled slightly in greeting. She willed herself to calm down as she turned toward her horse.
“How have you been enjoying Nyx?” the Duke asked of Rosy as one of her family’s grooms helped her into her sidesaddle.
“She is more wonderful than I could have ever dreamed of,” Rosy enthused, patting the shiny black neck of her mount. Matthew had given Rosy the small, black horse for her recent eighteenth birthday. She arranged her skirts with small flicks of her wrist before grinning up at Matthew in delight. “Do we look well together?” she asked eagerly.
Matthew smiled fondly at the younger woman. He watched her turn the elegant black mare toward him with the ease of many years spent in the saddle. “You two look lovely together,” Matthew replied honestly. “I am glad that I gave her to you.”
“As am I, Your Grace,” Rosy replied, her cheeks growing hot again. Blast her fair skin, always giving away her emotions so readily! “Well, shall we?” she asked, wanting not to draw further attention to herself.
“Everyone ready?” Matthew asked of the group, steadying the eager forward momentum of his mount as it sensed his change in attitude.
“I believe so,” Baron Tyndale replied, shortening his reins and flicking the trails of his dove-gray coat out from underneath his seat. A breeze ruffled his dark hair and he shook it back out of his eyes as he turned his horse toward the park. Alexandra fell in next to him on her shiny chestnut mare, their heads bent together companionably as they spoke to one another. Rosy watched them for a moment with an ache in her heart. She was very happy for her friends in their recent matrimony but their shared bubble of joy made her very aware of her status as an unmarried woman amongst other attached company. She waited for Matthew and his wife to settle alongside one another, admiring what a fine couple they made, then allowed Nyx to follow them.
“You are looking quite lovely today,” Rob said to Rosy as they naturally found themselves paired side by side in the party. His dark blue eyes met hers and he smiled amiably.
“That is kind of you to say,” Rosy responded, finding that she had to look away from his scrutiny for a moment to regain her self-control. All she could think about was the unwise moment a few months ago when she had kissed him. His lips had been softer than she had expected. She hoped he had not seen the thought cross her mind before she looked away.
“Are you sorry that the Season is coming to a close?” Rob asked her as the group hesitated at the corner and waited for a carriage to cross their path. He glanced away from her a moment to ensure that the road was clear before allowing his horse to continue on into the park. Rosy noted the way the black hair at the nape of his neck curled softly over his collar and wondered if it would feel as silky as it looked. Rob turned back to her, his face expectant as he waited for an answer, and Rosy shook herself mentally.
She guided Nyx around a large puddle in the road then said, “I suppose not. I enjoy the country and I was growing rather weary of so much dancing.”
Rob grinned at her and her heart did a little summersault in her chest. “I could not be more in sympathy with that sentiment.” His horse executed a naughty prancing jig and shook its head hard, eager to be going faster. She saw him wince slightly at the sudden movement.
“Are you quite sure that your ankle is well enough for riding?” she asked, concern making her brow crease with worry. A couple of months ago Rob had broken his ankle during a mad caper to save Alexandra from a kidnapper.
Rob steadied his horse after a small struggle then glanced back at Rosy. “I was told by the physician that it was likely all right to resume normal activities. We shall see how I fare once we are going a bit more quickly.” Rob was not an avid horseman like the rest of the group and he often chose not to participate in horse-related exercise. While he was an acceptable rider, he often found himself to be outclassed by his friends whose native skill had been furthered by years of passionate practice and he did not like to feel less than adequate around them.
Rosy knew that Rob felt about his horsemanship and decided that she would elect to stick with him today, just in case. “Shall we?” she asked, noting that the rest of the group was moving on into a canter.
“After you, my Lady,” Rob said with arch chivalry, gesturing expansively with one hand toward the path in front of them. Rosy chuckled and turned Nyx loose, allowing the mare to move into a canter. She felt her skirts ripple around her ankles and the wind tug at her hair. She laughed out loud with pleasure at the feeling of freedom. Sometimes she only felt like herself when she was riding.
Rob glanced periodically to the side as they cantered along, his ankle cooperating for the moment and allowing him a moment to think. He looked at the girl next to him, the wind having brought a fetching blush to her cheeks and a sparkle to her eyes. Her tiny hands worked the reins as her mare executed a little hop over a puddle and she giggled with pleasure. She really was turning into a lovely young woman. He had to remind himself sometimes that this collected young person was the same girl who had once climbed a trellis to invade Alexandra’s bedroom on her wedding day and the same girl who had once been disconsolate because she was forced to sit at the dinner table with the other adults because she had grown old enough to leave the nursery. He saw little of the shy and slightly wild girl he had watched grow up over the past eight years or so. He thought of the kiss that she had pressed on him at Matthew’s wedding and was uncertain how he felt about her. Rob was so often bored with the social scene of London and its inhabitants. He felt somewhat jaded by the tiresome round of expected entertainments and distractions. Rosy was nothing if not a break in that routine of monotony. Yet she was a girl he had once seen only as a child, and his feelings about her were mixed with memories of almost paternal affection for her.
Rob and Rosy’s attention was drawn at the same time to the shouting and general noisiness of a race in progress between Alex and her brother. The pair were mounted on the fastest horses and were starting to outstrip the rest of the group soundly. “Tess will never stand for that,” Rosy called to Rob, throwing her voice to be heard over the wind in their ears.
As if hearing her words, Matthew’s wife, Theresa, spurred her horse forward and it leapt into contention with the leaders. The remainder of the group slowed to a walk to watch the three combatants as they shifted positions, shouting at each other as they went. Finally, it was Alex’s mare who pushed ahead stubbornly, ears flattened to her head and passed the end of the Rotten Row first. The riders who had not participated in this bit of fun exchanged fond smiles as they watched the little group of three bring their horses to a stop and turn back.
“We shall never be able to match the stubbornness of two red-headed women,” Matthew called out as he approached Rob, Rosy and Forrest.
“You were also beaten out by the stubbornness of two dark-haired ladies,” Tess, pointed out to him. She patted the smooth bay neck of her mare fondly. “Silly men, underestimating us lovely ladies.”
Matthew reached out a hand to his wife, who clasped it with affection until Matthew’s gray stallion snorted and pirouetted arrogantly to show off to the mares around him. “You know how fond I am of your competence in all things, love,” he said warmly. He glanced back at his sister with a different kind of affection. “The same goes for you, Alex.”
Alex inclined her head gracefully in acknowledgement of the compliment. “Tess and I are blessed to have met such forward-thinking men. Not many women are so lucky.”
Rosy saw Alex look past her to share a poignant glance with Forrest. The air fairly crackled with their awareness of one another. Rosy tried not to feel forlorn and lonely surrounded by such intense romantic tension. She was rescued from the bog of these feelings by the sound of a horse approaching.
“Good morning to you all,” a deep voice greeted them. Rosy turned
her head and saw that the voice belonged to the Viscount Longford, Edward Mowbray. The man was a notorious young rake but held a large fortune and an illustrious family name. Thus, he was tolerated by society despite his many transgressions since his coming of age. She tried to remind herself of that fact as he turned the full force of his smile upon the group. She felt a shiver run over her skin as he removed his hat and the wind ruffled his chestnut hair. His horse was obviously very fresh and she watched with pleasure as he skillfully kept the animal in check.
The group greeted him in accordance with their relative stations, and Rosy saw him scan the women in the party with slightly hungry eyes. He had a reputation for keeping multiple mistresses and enjoying the company of the city’s best actresses at the same time. She saw him pass over Alexandra and Tess with only a small hesitation. He could see as plainly as the next man that they were two women who would not be looking beyond the confines of their marriages for comfort. His hazel eyes then landed upon Rosy. Rosy felt her heart thudding painfully in her chest. No man had looked at her with such naked interest before.
“Lady Rosalind, you are looking very fine today if I may be so bold as to say so,” The Viscount said to her warmly, angling his horse closer to hers. The breeze lifted his thick, wavy chestnut hair and a sudden ray of sunlight sparked and glittered on his long lashes. Rosy gulped hard and glanced down to collect herself. When she looked up again he was still regarding her with the same palpable intensity. He was close enough that she could see the green flecks in his eyes.
“You may say so, Viscount,” she replied a bit saucily, pleased that her voice sounded steady despite the tumult of emotions thundering through her.
Mowbray grinned at her rejoinder. Rosy felt the smile like a blow and found herself grinning back a bit dizzily. His chestnut horse snorted abruptly and pawed the ground in impatience, forcing him to see to controlling the animal and breaking their locked eyes. “As you can see,” he said, “my horse is not one for idle social hour chats.” He controlled a small prancing rear that the horse offered in protest to being forced to remain still. “It was lovely to have crossed paths with all of you,” he said to the party at large, then turned back to Rosy. “And it was a most unexpected pleasure to speak with you, My Lady,” he said to her, his eyes very warm on her face. She shocked herself by extending her small gloved hand toward him. The bold pirate’s grin showed itself again as he clasped her fingers and dropped a kiss on them. Rosy felt the pressure of his lips all the way to her toes.
