by Brianna York
Rosy sucked in a breath and closed her eyes, trying to calm her racing heart. “Truly I have no idea what came over me,” she whispered. “Foolish thing for me to do.”
Cecily giggled at this and gave Rosy’s shoulder a nudge with her own. “Oh la,” she said irreverently. “It was very entertaining! My cousin is so terribly handsome and naughty. No one will think for a moment that you put him up to that.” She glanced at Rosy wisely, and Rosy thought that it was possible that Cecily was more worldly than she cared to admit.
“No one will think that I should do such a scandalous thing?” she asked in a small voice.
Cecily giggled again. “Oh, I do not know that anyone would think that you would have to bother putting him up to it is all,” she said quietly as musicians entered the room and began tuning their instruments. “He is always getting into one scrape or another because he is so bold.”
Rosy heard Rob’s words of warning about the Viscount ringing in her mind then. She scowled for a moment and pushed away his advice. He was not her husband and showed no signs of feeling about her as she wished him to. Why on earth should she listen to him about the matters of her own heart? Harrumphing a bit at her own inner monologue, she shifted in her chair and willed herself to pay attention to the opera singer who was just beginning her performance.
“I must ask you a question,” Cecily whispered in Rosy’s ear. Her breath tickled and Rosy felt a small shiver travel down her spine. She twitched her shoulders away from the other girl a bit, feeling a sudden frisson of worry about what she would say.
“You are close to Lord Coulthurst’s family, is that correct?” she went on. Rosy felt her stomach drop a bit at the sudden mention of Rob.
“Our families have been close for many years, yes. He is not, of course, an intimate of mine though,” Rosy whispered back, hoping that her tone indicated a disinterest that she did not feel. All of her nerves were jangling. She had a feeling that she would not like what Cecily was about to say.
Cecily waved a hand at this. “Well of course not, you goose! It is not as if you would be spending long evenings by the fire with him.”
Rosy glanced at the other girl, then looked away when she saw nothing but an avid interest in the girl’s pale blue eyes. Please leave off, she silently willed the young woman. She thought she might be forced to run from the room if she had to endure much more of this kind of uncomfortable discussion.
“You see, I have quite set my hopes on a marriage that will take care of both myself and my family,” Cecily went on, her breath still tickling annoyingly against Rosy’s cheek. “I am not well-placed to have met Lord Coulthurst directly though. He is precisely the kind of man that I would love to set my cap for, if only I could catch his eye. You know how he never spends much time dancing at a ball. He is always in the card room.”
Rosy felt her stomach tumbling with frustration. She wanted to tell the other girl to shut her mouth and leave Rob alone. She wanted to say that she knew that Rob loved her and that he would soon be asking for her hand in marriage. She wanted to say all of these things almost as much as she wanted them to be true and correct.
“I am sorry that you have not happened to have danced with the Earl,” Rosy said a bit woodenly.
Cecily pouted her lips into a moue of disappointment. “Indeed. As am I.” She turned toward Rosy now, her expression eager. “I was pondering how I should possibly catch his Lordship’s eye before the Season is out and then I realized that all I would need to do would be to ask you to assist me.”
Rosy shook her head at that. “You know that I cannot introduce you to the Earl. It would be unseemly.”
“Oh fiddlesticks,” Cecily shot back. “Of course you cannot. But your father could do so! Is your mother not throwing a ball to close the Season before you leave for the country?”
Rosy felt her head beginning to pound with a headache. “She is.”
Cecily beamed at her and clapped her hands softly. “You see? This will be perfect! You could ask your father to introduce the Earl to me at the ball!”
Rosy gathered her strength. She knew that Rob had not made any effort to engage her. She knew that Cecily was correct in her assessment of the Viscount’s very pointed interest in her and she likely felt that Rosy would no longer mind being asked for such a favor on another unattached girl’s behalf. She knew that she should not care about whom Rob decided to marry. Lastly, she knew that she should not feel so jealous of Cecily’s bright golden hair, large blue eyes and graceful figure. Feeling hollowed out and very lonely, Rosy said softly. “I will ask him to do so.”
Cecily squealed softly with delight and pressed Rosy’s hands eagerly with her own. “Oh, thank you Rosy dear!” she whispered fervently. “You have no idea how much this means to me!”
Viscount Longford watched the two young women in front of him whispering to one another as the performance began, his lip curled into a half smile. Rosy was a bold little thing, he would give her that. She was not really to his taste, but he was enjoying tweaking Coulthurst’s nose about her.
“The Fenton girl has turned into a pretty girl, hasn’t she?” the Countess of Pleasant murmured to him in her low, throaty voice. She tossed a sideways glance at the handsome young man sitting next to her. “Did she invite you to take such liberties with her hand?”
Longford’s smile widened on his face for a moment. “Indeed, she did, saucy little baggage. I am sure her mother would not approve of that bit of brash behavior.”
The Countess nodded in reply, her thoughtful gaze on the back of Rosalind’s head. “Certainly, she would not, although I imagine most match-making mammas will allow their daughters to be forgiven for being saucier than they ought to be so long as they catch themselves a rich husband with their wiles.”
Longford snorted a bit at this. “Is that how you have come to be such a rich widow, my dear?” He met her dark eyes with a knowing glance.
The Countess chuckled softly at this. “I played the hand of cards I was dealt and I won. I shall not judge other women for doing the same. Lord knows we women must trade on the beauty of our faces and the jingle of our family coin to entice you men to settle down.” She slanted another sharp look at the comely man beside her, the lethal grace of him putting her in mind of some kind of beautiful predator. “You cannot truly be interested in courting that poor girl,” she said softly to him.
He did not turn his eyes from his contemplation of the slender white neck of the object of their conversation. “Not truly, my dear,” he said in his drawling deep voice. “She is interesting though, although not for the reasons that you might assume.” He glanced at the Countess now and chuckled at the glint in her eye. He knew she loved gossip. “I mostly find her to be interesting because Coulthurst finds her so.”
The Countess blinked at that for a moment. Her thoughts wandered to a brief interlude a few years ago which she had shared with the Earl. She had been recently widowed then and desperate to feel the approval of someone male who was more her age. After being married to a very old man for so many years, she had felt the need to sow some wild oats. The Earl had helped her to do that and more, showing her friendship, kindness and a bit of a devilish sense of school boy fun which she admitted that she had not found with a lover since.
“You seem surprised,” the Viscount said to her, his eyes on the performance but also on Rosy’s profile as she whispered something to his cousin.
The Countess was silent a moment. Finally, she said, “Oh it does make a certain sense. They have known one another for many years via their mutual friends. And she really is a very sweet girl.” She was silent again for a moment, thinking of bedroom romps and also genuine conversations she had enjoyed with Rob that most men would not have bothered to entertain. “The Earl deserves every happiness. He is a wonderful man,” she said finally, any thoughts she had of seeking another idyll with the Earl in the future vanishing as she regarded the profile of the young woman a few rows ahead of her. She could perfectly imagin
e Rob and Rosy together now that the Viscount had put words to the idea. She found that she quite liked the thought of them getting married.
“Wonderful eh?” the Viscount replied, slumping some in his seat. He shot her a glance again, his eyes amused. “I suppose I cannot aim for wonderful, as I am rather a hopeless rake. I could however, aim to be interesting and amusing. What do you think?”
The Countess attempted to rein in her instinctive rebuke. She knew by now that encouraging Longford only made him wish to do the thing more. “Just try not to make her distrust all men, if you please,” she whispered to him, turning away to clap with the rest of the crowd.
Longford chuckled at that. “I assure you Countess, I do not mean to turn the girl into a bluestocking or a nun. I simply wish to have a bit of fun. And she clearly enjoys taking a few risks now and then herself.”
“Hmmm,” was all the Countess said. She tried to still her sense of unease about the situation and keep her nose out of other people’s business. She knew that the Viscount often grew bored with his enthusiasms. She hoped that this new obsession with Rosalind Fenton would wane quickly.
Chapter Five
“Rob?”
Rosy stumbled over something in the hallway and looked down. It was a greatcoat, dropped in the middle of the floor.
“Rob, where are you?” she called again, walking faster down the hall. She passed a pair of gloves and a cane tossed against the wall and started to run. Where was he?
“Rob!” Rosy dashed toward a sliver of light pouring into the gloomy hallway. She heard voices from within the room. She reached the doors and pushed them open, then gasped.
The room was full of men in masks, all dressed in evening attire. They all looked up at her as she stepped into the room and fell silent. She stared in horror at the rows and rows of blank masked faces, her heart pounding.
“Which one of you is Rob?” she demanded, walking farther into the room. Her feet felt leaden in her slippers. “Well?” she fairly shouted when no one answered her. She was close enough now to reach out to the first group of faceless men. She attempted to grab the mask from the face of the man closest to her but he drew back sharply and laughed. The group of men all began laughing at her then, the noise suddenly loud and raucous. She clapped her hands over her ears in terror, knowing that she called Rob’s name again and again but no one could hear her over the laughter.
Suddenly she heard a voice above the laughter. “Rosy!”
The voice was Rob’s and she swung toward it in desperate relief, her hand outstretched. “Rob! Where are you? Help me!” she shouted.
“I cannot come to you,” he replied sadly, the voice fading away as he spoke.
“Wait Rob!” she cried, racing toward the door, her heart in her throat. “Don’t go!”
She bolted through the door into the hallway and ran straight into a pair of strong arms. The force of the impact made her stagger somewhat and she had to gather herself for a moment. “Oh Rob, I am so glad that you changed your mind,” she whispered in relief. The sound of laughter against her ear set her heart racing again. With trepidation, she raised her eyes to the face above hers. She gasped when she recognized the Viscount looking down at her.
“He doesn’t love you, you fool,” the Viscount said between gales of laughter. “He doesn’t love you!”
Rosy bolted upright in bed with a gasp, her heart racing. The hair clinging to her face was soaked in sweat. She managed to swallow against the constriction in her throat and closed her eyes. She had no idea what to make of the dream. She felt heartsick at the way her mind had conjured the laughing crowd and the cruel version of the Viscount. She felt a pang as she remembered Rob’s words. She knew that Rob would make every effort to help her in real life is she was distress. Why would her mind torment her so? She pushed the clinging tendrils of hair off her face and tried to calm her fluttering heart. She was growing more and more relieved that the Season was coming to a close. She felt that a stint in the country would help clear her head.
“Good morning, My Lady.”
Rosy gasped, unreasonably startled by the sound of her abigail’s voice. “You scared me, Hester,” she breathed out, annoyed at herself.
True regret showed on the other woman’s face. “Oh, I am sorry, My lady! I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”
Rosy waved a hand at this. “It is not your fault. My nerves are on edge lately.”
Hester slanted a glance at her mistress, “I can imagine, My Lady,” she said sagely. She had heard the servant’s gossip about her mistress’s dilemma regarding the Viscount and the Earl. She knew that the Viscount was an unworthy man for her mistress, even if she should be able to tame him and make him a proper husband. He was too sly by half and reckless as well. He would bring with him only heartache to whomever he married. Hester would have it that her mistress be married to a man who deserved her goodness and who would care for her needs.
Rosy narrowed her eyes at her abigail. “Have I been talking in my sleep?” she asked, sliding to the edge of the bed and swinging her feet out from under the covers.
Hester began retrieving the items she would need for her mistress morning toilette. She shook her head without looking at the other young woman. “No, you have not, My Lady. It is clear that you have not been sleeping well of late, however.”
Rosy sat down with a plop in the chair before her dressing table. She sighed aloud. “I think sometimes that I would prefer to become someone’s aged aunt. Courting is not at all what I thought that it would be.”
Hester laughed aloud at that. “You are not cut out to be a staid old auntie, if it is not too pert for me to say so, My Lady.”
Rosy chuckled at that, the truth ringing clearly in the words. “Indeed. Well, I seem not to be cut out for marriage either. How I should find myself in such a quandary is beyond me. The man I should wish to marry looks upon me as a child and a man whom no woman should marry has taken a fancy to me.” She looked at Hester in the mirror, her eyes large in her pale face. “I am worried that if I should wait too many years holding a tendre for the man who shall never ask me to marry him, I shall find myself shelved and forgotten and then what?”
Hester felt her heart sink at the worry in her young mistress voice. Hester was sometimes grateful that she was not a member of the quality and did not have to face the pressure of her family to marry well and be off their hands. How sad to love a man who did not love you back and then be forced to consider offers from other men whom you knew you could never love. On the other hand, the sensible part of her thought that it was really not too terrible of a burden to bear to be ill-fated in love. How much worse to be ill-fated in the station one had been born into? She chided herself for this thought and turned her attention back to dressing Rosy’s hair.
“I am sure that the Earl will come to see you as the lovely woman that you are,” Hester said, knowing that it was not her place to say such a thing but unable to keep the thought to herself in the face of Rosy’s sadness.
Rosy smiled at the other young woman in the mirror. “I shall continue to hold out hope,” she replied. “In the meantime, I need to get some color back in my cheeks so that the Viscount does not think that he has invited a shade to come for a ride with him this morning.” She pinched her cheeks to bring some color back into them and forced a smile onto her face.
∞ ∞ ∞
A half hour later, Rosy walked down the stairs into the front foyer. She pulled on her riding gloves as she went, her spirits lifting somewhat as she straightened the front of her new dark green riding habit. She knew that it would look very well against the black coat of her mare. She drew to a brief stop in front of the small cheval glass in the hall, turning her head from one side to the other to make sure that her hat was secured and that she looked more lively than she had when she woke. She was pleased to see that her cheeks were pink with healthy color and that the dark green hat set off her brown eyes nicely. She settled the small lace veil over her face and turned a
way from the looking glass. It would not do to start looking for things to fret about in her appearance.
She made her way to the morning room, greeting her mother who was waiting for her. “You look lovely this morning, sweeting,” Duchess Norwood said to her daughter. She gestured for Rosy to sit next to her on the settee. Rosy complied, wondering why she did not feel more nervous about this visit from the Viscount. Certainly, her mother seemed all aflutter about his imminent arrival.
“You have a visitor, Your Grace,” Hayward announced, extending a calling card to Rosy’s mother. She took it, glanced at it and then passed it to Rosy. Rosy noted that the Viscount’s card was of high quality and listed both of his titles along with his address. She thought possibly that he had also sprayed some form of scent upon the card. Her fingers smelled slightly spicy after she set the card down on the settee. Her mother’s intensity combined with her conflicted feelings about the man who was about to enter the sitting room made her feel slightly off balance.
“Good morning, Your Grace,” the Viscount said as he swept into the room. He captured the Duchess’s hand with confidence and kissed the back of it. Rosy caught his eye from just behind her mother’s shoulder, and she knew that he was thinking of the kiss he had given her hand the night before. She found herself so charmed by the flash of impertinence in his eyes that she chuckled.
“Good morning, Viscount,” Rosy said archly, extending her hand toward him. “I presume that you have practiced your technique since last night?” she teased him.
“I have been making revisions per your suggestions,” he replied saucily as he took her fingers in his. “I should not want to disappoint you again.” He grinned at her briefly before pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. While not as improper as his efforts of the night before, he did allow his teeth take a tiny nip of her skin before releasing her hand and stepping back a pace.
