‘He is twenty.’
‘As if that makes any difference.’ He frowned at her. ‘He’s old enough to make his own decisions. You’re not responsible for him.’
‘But I am. When my mother was dying, she asked that I look after James and Papa.’
Michael had no idea whether he wanted to shake her or kiss her. ‘I am certain she only meant until your brother was grown.’ He stepped towards her. ‘The devil! Rosalyn, there is no need for this.’
She backed away from him and sniffed. ‘I pray you will go. I am sorry to have troubled you.’
‘No.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘Very well. I will make some inquiries and see where he’s gone.’
‘I don’t wish you to do that. I…I have been making some inquiries myself.’
‘Without much success, I take it,’ he said sardonically. ‘I probably have a better idea where he might have gone than you do.’
‘It is not necessary for you to involve yourself in our…our lives,’ she said with stiff dignity.
He raised a brow. ‘Whether you like it or not, I am very much involved, my dear.’ This time when he came towards her, she had no place to retreat since she was backed up against the wall. He touched her cheek. ‘Don’t look so worried. Your brother will be fine.’
She raised startled eyes to his face, looking like a doe that was about to flee. Her breathing grew shallow. ‘Th…thank you,’ she whispered.
‘Not at all. Rosalyn…’ he said hoarsely. He bent towards her, knowing he had to kiss her.
‘Oh, my lady, I beg your pardon!’
Michael’s head jerked up at the sound of the housekeeper’s voice. Rosalyn’s hand flew to her throat. ‘Wh…what is it?’ she said.
Mrs Harrod, her face slightly red, came into the room. She was followed by the footman carrying a huge bouquet of flowers. ‘These arrived for you, my lady. Where do you want them?’
Rosalyn stared at them as if she had never seen a flower before. Then she seemed to come to life. ‘In the drawing room, I suppose. Who sent them?’
‘I do not know. Here is a card.’
Michael watched as she took it, and waited until Mrs Harrod had departed with the flowers, before speaking. He folded his arms. ‘Another admirer, my dear?’
‘Oh, no. I don’t have any admirers,’ Rosalyn said distractedly. She opened the card, and read it. He watched as her face turned pale.
‘Who are they from?’ he inquired.
She looked up, a rather sick look on her face. ‘No…no one. That is, just someone I…I knew. It is nothing.’
He held out his hand. ‘Give me the card.’
‘No!’ She whipped it behind her. ‘Please, Michael.’
Now what? She looked so distressed, he didn’t want to press her. However, he had every intention of finding out who would send her flowers that would make her look so upset. And then he’d put a bullet through the man.
The intensity of the thought shocked him. He’d never felt the least urge to fight a duel over any woman in his life. In fact, he’d never been the least bit inclined to put himself out for any woman, except for perhaps his sisters. And now this petite widow, with the large hazel eyes, was embroiling him in her concerns.
No. He was embroiling himself.
This time it was Michael who backed away, putting distance between them. ‘I will take my leave of you, Rosalyn.’ His voice was unnaturally stiff for one of the ton’s most notorious flirts.
‘Very well.’ She gave him a confused little smile.
She followed him to the door of her study. He turned and looked down at her. ‘I will let you know what I find out about James.’
‘Thank you. You are very kind.’
‘Hardly.’ Pulling his eyes away from her mouth, he turned abruptly on his heel and left.
A few inquiries at Fallingham’s was all Michael needed to discover James had gone to the races at Newmarket with several of the wildest young bucks in London. Michael only hoped James decided to forgo any wagers, but he thought it highly unlikely.
Michael was about to leave the establishment, when a soft voice spoke from behind him. ‘I fear you got the worse of the bargain when you took on the estate of James Whitcomb.’
Michael turned and met the hooded gaze of Edmund Fairchilde. His hackles rose. There was something about the man’s tall, broad-shouldered figure and craggy face that never failed to arouse his worst instincts. Perhaps it was because Fairchilde reminded him of a watchful predator on the prowl for an unsuspecting victim.
‘I hardly think so.’
‘Obviously you have not seen the place, then. It is small and in dire need of all sorts of improvements despite Lady Jeffreys’s efforts to maintain it. I doubt if it is worth the vowels it was to cover.’
‘Perhaps not, but I fail to see why it is any of your concern.’
‘But it is. I am quite willing to offer you the sum of young Whitcomb’s vowels, plus something in the nature of interest for the mortgage.’
‘Why?’ Michael demanded bluntly.
Fairchilde smiled gently. ‘I will not dissemble. I have little interest in either Meryton or Whitcomb. But there is something else. In fact, I believe we share a common interest.’
It took only seconds for Fairchilde’s meaning to penetrate and then shock jolted through Michael. ‘You are referring to Lady Jeffreys?’ His voice was cold.
‘Yes.’ Fairchilde still smiled, but his gaze was hard. ‘I have had an interest in the lady for some time. I must own I was rather displeased to see her with you at the opera.’
‘Were you?’
‘Yes. I do not like competition. Particularly when my opponent holds such an unfair advantage.’
‘So you are hoping to buy the advantage yourself?’ Michael could barely keep the sneer from his voice.
‘Of course. I cannot see what it matters to you. She is hardly the sort of woman you favour. You have left her unattended for several days, and I have it from a…er, reliable source that you have not yet purchased the lady’s favours.’
‘That is because I have no intention of purchasing them.’ Michael’s gaze was deadly. ‘The lady in question is betrothed to me.’
He had the satisfaction of watching displeasure flit through Fairchilde’s eyes. Then a quizzical half-smile curled his lips. ‘How very interesting. I beg your pardon, my lord.’ He executed a neat bow and walked off, leaving Michael staring after him.
Michael quit the establishment, paying little heed to his surroundings. He settled into his carriage, his mind in a whirl. Fairchilde was interested in Rosalyn? The notion of the man touching her made him ill. He had heard rumours of Fairchilde’s sexual habits and they involved perversions that could turn the stomach of the most jaded of men.
And he was ruthless. He was not above using force if he wanted a woman. With sudden clarity, he knew exactly who had sent Rosalyn her unwanted bouquet.
Rosalyn’s stomach churned with nervousness as she and Lady Carlyn followed Lady Spence’s butler up the elegant staircase to the drawing room the next evening.
‘My dear, there’s no need to look as if you’re about to mount the gallows,’ Lady Carlyn whispered loudly as they approached the tall double doors.
Rosalyn clutched her fan tightly, trying to keep her hand from trembling. ‘I am just a little nervous. I don’t like being the centre of attention.’
‘There’s nothing to it. Just smile and don’t spill soup on your gown.’
Lady Carlyn took her arm, almost dragging her into the drawing room. Rosalyn stopped, wondering if it were too late to run. A small dinner party? There must be at least thirty people in the drawing room. A quick look around the room revealed Michael was not one of those present. She found herself wishing for his support.
Lady Spence broke away from a lady with whom she had been conversing to greet Rosalyn and Lady Carlyn. She embraced Lady Carlyn, then turned to Rosalyn. ‘How lovely you look, my dear,’ she said warmly as she noted Rosalyn’s dark
pink silk. ‘What a pretty colour on you.’
Taking Rosalyn’s arm, she said, ‘I want you to meet our other guests. I don’t know where your fiancé is. He hasn’t shown up yet which is so very typical. I hope you can influence him to put in an appearance on time.’
Lady Carlyn bustled away to talk to an elderly lady in puce, leaving Rosalyn to fend for herself.
Lady Spence introduced her to the other guests; a bewildering number of relations whose names Rosalyn could only hope she would recall, and several old friends of the family.
They finally stopped in front of a dark-haired young man with features that seemed familiar. He stood with Michael’s cousin, Charles, and Charles’s fiancée, Miss Markham. They both smiled at her in welcome.
Lady Spence brought her forward. ‘Rosalyn, may I present Lord Philip Elliot, Michael’s brother? Philip, may I present Lady Jeffreys? Philip has only arrived in town today. I believe you know he has been travelling on the continent.’
Lord Philip’s warm grey eyes surveyed her face with lively curiosity for a moment and then he said, ‘My pleasure, Lady Jeffreys. You cannot conceive my surprise when I arrived today to find my brother is to be married at last.’
‘No more than the rest of us,’ Charles said with a grin.
Philip laughed. ‘I understand you met him only a few weeks ago. He tends to make up his mind quickly when he knows what he wants. I am afraid you hadn’t a chance, Lady Jeffreys.’
Elizabeth smiled up at her fiancé. ‘Then there are some men who need a bit more prodding.’
Charles looked unabashed. ‘Oh, I knew what I wanted. Just didn’t know if you’d agree.’
‘At any rate, welcome to the family,’ said Philip. He smiled at her. Although he was not as handsome as his brother, she saw he possessed the same easy charm. He held out his hand.
She no sooner had taken it, smiling at him in return, when Lord Stamford’s voice spoke behind her, causing her to jump. ‘I see you have met my fiancée, Philip.’
Philip released her hand. ‘Yes. She is lovely. Under the circumstances, I am surprised you were not on time for once.’
Rosalyn glanced up at Lord Stamford and he smiled at her, a warm intimate look. She was momentarily thrown into confusion until she remembered it was part of the role he played. She tentatively smiled back at him. He took her hand and slowly raised it to his lips. An odd tingle shot through her body at the soft pressure.
‘I meant to be, but one of my horses strained a hock. Otherwise, nothing would have kept me from your side,’ he said, gazing into her eyes.
‘I see.’ Rosalyn was embarrassed that he should speak to her like this in front of the others. She prayed the butler would announce dinner. Whatever was taking so long?
Lord Stamford appeared about to say something when there was a sudden lull in the conversation. Everyone’s head seemed to swivel in the same direction. Rosalyn, too, turned to look.
Entering the drawing room was the most beautiful girl she had ever seen in her life. From the top of her golden curls to the tips of the dainty white slippers peeking from beneath her simple white gown, the young lady who glided into the room was perfection. Large violet blue eyes shone from a face with a complexion that could truly be described as porcelain. Her slender figure with its graceful curves was only enhanced by the simple gown.
She appeared perfectly unaware of the effect she had on the assembled company as she greeted her hostess with a soft pretty smile. The other two ladies, an older woman in a lavender gown and a younger lady dressed in cream and lace, were hardly noticed in the beauty’s wake.
‘Who is she?’ asked Lord Philip who appeared as dazed as any man in the room.
‘Miss Helena Randall,’ Charles replied.
Miss Randall? The lady to whom Stamford was to have been betrothed? Rosalyn’s mind was in a whirl. She had tried to imagine Miss Randall and had envisioned a pretty, but naïve, young girl from the schoolroom with the giggling manners so many girls in their first season displayed. She had never thought Miss Randall would be a composed beauty who walked like a young goddess. If Stamford had known…he surely would not have suggested this sham. She stole a quick glance at her fiancé, expecting him to be gazing at Miss Randall as besotted as anyone.
Instead, to her utter confusion, his unsmiling eyes were fixed on her.
Chapter Eight
Rosalyn smiled at Lord Philip who was seated to her right at dinner. ‘Will you be in England long?’
‘Permanently, I hope.’
‘Your family will be glad of that.’
He slanted her a half-smile reminding her of Michael’s. ‘Perhaps. Well, at least at first,’ he amended.
She picked up her wine, thinking she liked Michael’s brother very much. They had talked a little of his travels and of her husband’s writing. He had read several of John’s essays.
Taking a sip of wine, she stole a glance down the table at Michael. His unsmiling gaze met hers, the same one he’d fixed on her during most of the dinner. In fact, he almost was glowering at her. She flushed and dropped her eyes. Was she doing something wrong? Or did he find fault with her appearance?
Seated between Philip and Charles Portland, she had found the dinner less of an ordeal than she had expected. Both were easy conversationalists. To her surprise, she actually enjoyed herself. But it was quite apparent Michael did not feel the same.
A short time later Lady Spence stood, signalling for the ladies to depart, leaving the men to their port and conversation. She led them upstairs to the drawing room. Rosalyn sat down on a brocade settee next to Caroline and across from Miss Randall.
With her impish grin, Caroline immediately began to tease Miss Randall. ‘Dear Helena, I’m afraid you’ve added another heart to your collection. Poor Percy Milhurst has fallen at your feet! What shall you do with all your admirers?’
Miss Randall looked alarmed. ‘Oh, dear. I…I did nothing to encourage him. And he said such odd things, I could not understand half his conversation.’
‘What sort of odd things? I hope he said nothing improper, Helena!’
‘Oh, no! Of course not! He kept talking about my hair and eyes and comparing them to spun gold and lakes. And he offered to dedicate a poem to me. It was very tedious. His conversation is not at all sensible.’
Caroline bit back a laugh. ‘No, it never has been. But how many young men have you met with sensible conversation? I imagine their wits must leave their heads when they see you.’
Miss Randall blushed and looked uncomfortable, and Rosalyn suddenly felt sorry for her. It was obvious she had no desire to be the reigning beauty of the Season with a horde of young men constantly at her side.
Miss Randall turned to Rosalyn and smiled shyly. ‘I have not yet congratulated you on your engagement. I hope you will be very happy.’
‘Thank you.’ Rosalyn smiled back at her.
‘Will you live at Eversleigh after your wedding? It is one of the most beautiful homes I have ever seen. The gardens are so lovely,’ Miss Randall continued.
Rosalyn was startled. ‘I really do not know. We have not discussed it.’
‘I imagine you will. Unless Michael wishes to keep you to himself for a while,’ Caroline said, casting Rosalyn a mischievous glance. ‘He has a very small estate in Cornwall that would be most romantic.’
Rosalyn could feel a blush rise to her cheeks, which was completely ridiculous. One should only blush if one was in love with the man in question. Hastily she asked Miss Randall if she was fond of gardens.
‘Oh, yes.’ Miss Randall looked rather wistful. ‘I miss my rose garden at home.’
Caroline excused herself, saying she must speak with her aunt. Miss Randall stayed with Rosalyn, telling her about her garden and home, and asking Rosalyn about London. Rosalyn could not comprehend why Michael would object to marriage with such a lovely girl. Perhaps now that he saw Miss Randall he would change his mind. For some reason, the thought brought her little joy.
S
he looked up to find Michael standing next to them. Engrossed in conversation, she had not heard the men enter the drawing room. He greeted Rosalyn and then turned to Miss Randall. ‘I hope London is to your liking, Miss Randall.’ His voice was polite.
‘Oh, yes. Everyone has been very kind.’ She smiled but Rosalyn could see nothing in her manner suggesting she regretted the loss of Lord Stamford as a potential husband. She rose in a graceful movement. ‘I must speak to my cousin, if you will kindly excuse me.’
Rosalyn looked away, not certain what to say. ‘Miss Randall is very lovely and quite charming.’
‘I am delighted,’ he said coolly. ‘You seemed to be enjoying yourself at dinner.’
‘Oh, yes. I very much like your brother. He has so many interesting stories about the places he has travelled.’
‘Does he?’ His voice was so terse, she stared at him in surprise.
‘Is something wrong?’
‘No,’ he snapped. He looked at her for another disconcerting moment, and then frowned. ‘I’ve located James.’
‘Have you? Where is he?’
‘He is at the races at Newmarket. He went with Lord Coleridge and several others.’
‘Lord Coleridge?’ Rosalyn’s spirits which had been momentarily lifted, fell. Rodney Coleridge was a dandy and a wastrel and hardly the sort of young man she wanted James to be with. But what had she expected? ‘I see. Thank you for your trouble.’
‘It was no trouble.’ He continued to look at her as if he were displeased.
‘Michael, is there something wrong?’
‘Lord Stamford, I must have a word with you.’
Startled, they both turned to see Lady Carlyn next to them, lips pursed. She tapped Michael’s arm with her fan. ‘I am quite disappointed. I would have thought by now that you would have persuaded her to be more reasonable.’
Oh, no. Did her grandmother have to bring this up now? Rosalyn wanted to drop through the floor.
‘Lady Carlyn, I am at a loss,’ Michael said with a little bow in her direction.
‘Your wedding. I cannot possibly believe you wish to wait until autumn. Not when you’ve been in such a hurry to bring her to heel.’
A Bargain With Fate Page 9
