She let him escort her into the foyer, but was careful not to touch him. They were shown into a drawing room that rivalled the one in Wolf’s house. She sat tense on the sofa, her fingers gripping nervously together. Wolf stood by the window, his face harsh as he stared out at the empty street.
She wished that it would not end like this; not after all they had been through; not when she loved him.
The door opened and a tall well-dressed man entered. She could tell at once from his bearing that this was the viscount. He was dark-haired and handsome in a conventional way. His face was serious, austere almost, and she had the impression that he was a man that did not smile often. When his gaze moved to Wolf, a frown wrinkled between his eyes making him seem even more forbidding. She wondered as to her sister’s happiness married to such a man.
Rosalind was seized with sudden panic. Here she was, about to cast herself on the viscount’s charity. This was his house, his life she was imposing herself upon. What if Nell did not wish to see her? The presence of a scandalous sister was sure only to be an embarrassment. What if Nell had not told him of their father, what if Rosalind was risking Nell’s secret by being here? Rosalind rose swiftly, ready to plead her excuses and escape, but then the door opened once more—and there stood Nell.
Nell with her beautiful face and golden-brown hair, and eyes filled with such excitement and kindness and love—just as Rosalind remembered her from across the years.
Nell was hurrying across the room towards her and throwing her arms around her.
‘Rosalind! Rosalind, it really is you!’
All thoughts fled Rosalind’s mind save that this was her beloved little sister. The years seemed to roll back in those moments, and they stared from their women’s eyes at the girls they once had been.
‘I am so very glad to see you, so very glad indeed.’
And they were laughing and crying and hugging all at once.
Wolf watched Rosalind and her sister together and knew that he had done the right thing for once in his life. The pain of his sacrifice was small in comparison with Rosalind’s happiness at finding her sister. This was where she belonged: in this grand house, with these grand people.
Wolf could see that the two woman shared the same hazel eyes. Indeed, from the physical resemblance between them, it was clear they were sisters, although his Rosalind was not as tall and her hair was darker than Lady Stanegate’s. His Rosalind? She was not his any longer. He wondered if she ever really had been. He took his leave of Stanegate and made to slip away. He was at the drawing room door when Rosalind saw him. ‘Wolf.’
He stopped, reticent to look round, not wanting to make this any harder for himself than it already was. There was little choice. He turned to face her. ‘Miss Wardale,’ he said carefully.
‘You are leaving?’ The colour that had flushed her cheeks on seeing her sister seemed to fade.
‘I am,’ he said. ‘My job is done. You are returned safely to your sister.’
She caught her teeth at her lower lip as if to stay the words that she would have spoken. She was staring at him, and just for a moment, the mask of politeness upon her face slipped and he saw there hurt and loneliness and devastation—just for a moment—and then it was gone, hidden quickly away. But Wolf had seen her pain, and the thought that he had caused it was like a rock in his gullet. She recovered herself, her fingers smoothing out imaginary wrinkles upon her skirt. ‘I thank you, sir, for all of your assistance.’
A single nod of his head. He knew he must go, but she was still looking at him and he thought that the image of her standing there so pale and still, yet with such gritty pride, would be etched upon his memory for ever.
‘Goodbye, Miss Wardale,’ he forced the words out.
She hesitated, her eyes still clinging to his. ‘Goodbye, Mr Wolversley.’
His heart was aching. He turned away while he still could and left Rosalind at Bruton Street—to her sister, to the life to which she was born…without him.
Chapter Seventeen
It was five days since Wolf had gone, and Rosalind was only just starting to accept the finality of their parting. For those first few days, she had been unable to rid herself of the notion that he would come back for her. Now, she knew that he would not.
She was delighted to be reunited with her sister, but no matter how she denied it to herself, she missed Wolf. She smiled across at where Nell rested upon the sofa, and lifted the baby on to her knee. William was a sturdy boy of nine months with chubby pink cheeks, a cherubic little mouth and his father’s dark grey eyes. William wriggled on her knee. She dropped a kiss on to the top of his fine golden hair and slid him down that he might play once more with the rag doll at her feet. The sun shone in through the windows of Nell’s private apartment making the room bright and warm.
‘I am sure that we can make you a good match, Rosalind. Marcus has so many contacts.’ There was an excited twinkle in Nell’s eyes.
‘But I do not wish to make a match. I am quite happy to stay here and help you with baby William, and—’ she glanced towards Nell’s stomach ‘—the new little one, when he or she arrives later this year.’ A sudden thought struck her. ‘Unless you would prefer that I did not, that is.’
‘Of course I wish you to stay, dearest sister.’ Nell smiled, and Rosalind could see her sister’s sincerity. ‘We have so much still to catch up on. But we must consider what is best for your future. Marcus is quite convinced that he can find you a man that would make you happy.’ Rosalind noticed how her sister’s face lit up and her voice softened when she spoke her husband’s name.
‘As Marcus makes you happy?’ she asked.
‘Oh, yes,’ Nell sighed. ‘More happy than you can imagine. There is such joy to be found in marriage, Rosalind. I cannot imagine my life without Marcus. He saved me.’
‘Saved you from what?’ Rosalind asked. ‘Will you not tell me what happened, Nell, after Mama died and you were alone?’
But Nell shook the question off just as she had done every time that Rosalind had tried to ask it. She laughed and said in a mock scolding voice, ‘Do not seek to change the subject; I know what you are about, Rosalind Wardale. I mean to find you a husband that will make you as happy as Marcus makes me.’
‘Nell, there is no need. I am too old for such nonsense and decidedly happy upon the shelf.’ She wondered if she would ever be happy again. ‘I shall be an old maid and help you with your nursery of children.’ She said it with laughter in her voice, but her heart was heavy beneath the pretence.
‘Tush!’ said Nell sternly. ‘You are but five and twenty, plenty young enough to be a bride. We could have a summer wedding at Stanegate Court, Marcus’s country house. It is in the most delightful location on the edge of the Chiltern hills and overlooking the vale of Aylesbury. It would be wonderful.’
wonderful was not what Rosalind was thinking, but Nell’s face was animated with excitement. She chattered on before stopping suddenly, her expression more excited than ever. ‘Why did I not think of it before? There is Hal, Marcus’s younger brother. He is a major in the Dragoons, and is very dashing, and almost as handsome as Marcus—’ she smiled ‘—but not quite. He is currently with his regiment in Brussels but I am sure that he shall be returning home soon for a visit.’
‘Nell—’ Rosalind tried to interject.
‘He is perfect for you, and he would have no objections to our friendship.’ A tiny frown wrinkled Nell’s nose. ‘But he does have a rather wild reckless streak.’ She chewed at her lip. ‘He quite worries Marcus to death with his exploits. And I seem to recall from his last letter to Marcus…’ A faint flush rose in her cheeks and neck. ‘But—’ she hesitated ‘—never mind that.’
‘Nell—’
‘All rakes can be reformed, and I am sure that his reputation is much exaggerated. I will speak to Marcus—’
Rosalind could not let it continue. ‘Please do not; I cannot marry Hal. I cannot marry any man.’
Nell stopped
and looked at Rosalind. ‘Forgive me, I had no wish to distress you.’
Rosalind shook her head. ‘It is I who should beg your forgiveness. You are only trying to help.’
Nell’s eyes were too seeing, her thinking too like Rosalind’s own. The small silence seemed to stretch.
‘Who is he, Rosalind, this man to whom you have already given your heart?’
‘You are mistaken, sister. There is no one.’ But the hot blush on Rosalind’s cheeks gave lie to her denial.
Nell swung her slippered feet on to the rug and sat upright. There was another short silence before she spoke quietly, with certainty in her voice. ‘It is Mr Wolversley, is it not?’
‘No!’ Rosalind’s heart began to race. ‘Of course not. Mr Wolversley is…Mr Wolversley…’ She began again but she could think of no words.
‘The day he brought you here, I saw the way he looked at you. I saw too the way you looked at him. Like lovers.’ She gave a soft laugh. ‘How could I not have realized?’
Rosalind should have been denying it. She should have told Nell that Wolf was nothing to her, but she could not speak the lie. The seconds ticked by until she said quietly, ‘Yes…like lovers.’
‘You have given yourself to him?’ Nell asked.
Rosalind nodded, and the memory of their loving was strong in her mind.
‘Then there could be a child…’
‘And if there is, I shall love it and care for it the best that I can.’
‘Oh, Rosalind,’ her sister said softly.
‘Are you appalled that I am a fallen woman? I will understand if you wish me to leave your house.’
Nell shook her head. ‘Foolish sister, you are going nowhere. I have lost you once and will not do so again.’
Rosalind felt her heart well with love and gratitude.
There was a small silence.
‘A match could be arranged between you and Mr Wolversley. Indeed in the circumstances—’
‘No.’ The word was categorical and irrefutable.
‘But if there was to be—’
‘Mr Wolversley has made it clear that he does not favour an alliance with me, and I would never use a child to force him to a union he does not want.’
‘Mr Wolversley’s affections did not appear that way to me, Rosalind.’
‘I assure you that it is the truth,’ said Rosalind, and she could not keep the edge of anger from her voice.
Nell said nothing. This strong, angry Rosalind was quite unlike the meek sister she had known.
Rosalind reached for her sister’s hand. ‘I am sorry, Nell. I do not mean to hurt you. I should not have spoken of Mr Wolversley. Let us not speak of him ever again.’
Nell nodded, but there was a thoughtful look upon her face.
Inside the murky interior of the Red Lion, Wolf sat alone at a table in the corner of the taproom. It was a shabby tavern and a popular haunt of old soldiers, with enough of a dubious reputation to guarantee an evening free from the company of gentlemen. The usual crowd were in tonight but Wolf kept to himself, his expression enough to warn away any company. He sipped slowly at his ale, knowing that he needed to keep a clear head. There was the crack of logs on the small fire, and the buzz of low level conversation.
Wolf had kept himself busy these last days, anything other than allow himself time to think of Rosalind. Yet she was in his head now, just as she ever was. Across the room, he saw the burly figure of Campbell duck his head to pass under the door lintel. The Scotsman took a few moments to readjust his eyes to the tavern’s gloom before heading over to Wolf.
He slipped his hat from his head, smiling broadly as a tavern wench brought him over a tankard of ale. He took a swig and sighed his appreciation as if the cheap watery ale were the finest brandy.
‘My, but that tastes good.’
Wolf smiled. ‘Only when you have not had it for a while.’ Campbell laughed.
Wolf did not ask. He knew that Struan would tell him soon enough.
Campbell set the tankard down and looked across the small scrubbed table at Wolf. ‘Johnny came back wi’ the information you were asking for.’
Wolf smiled again.
‘You were right about Stephano Beshaley and Stephen Hebden being one in the same. But that isnae the best of it. It seems that Hebden’s got a history. His father was Christopher Hebden…’ Campbell paused for effect.
‘Get on with it.’
‘Lord Framlingham,’ said Campbell with a smug expression. ‘And?’ Framlingham. A faint recollection whispered through Wolf’s mind. ‘Framlingham,’ he said aloud, and he knew where he had heard the name before—where he had read it, to be precise: in the newspaper article delivered to Rosalind. Framlingham was the man that Rosalind Wardale’s father had murdered. ‘Oh, hell,’ he muttered.
‘Hell, indeed,’ said Campbell. ‘It looks like your man Beshaley has something of a score to settle.’
Wolf felt the dread whip through him. ‘Maybe ruining Rosalind’s reputation isn’t going to be enough for Beshaley. If he’s watching her, he’ll know that we did not take her back to Evedon.’
‘She should be safe enough with Stanegate.’
‘She should be, but best not take any chances. We better warn Stanegate about Beshaley. Besides, if Beshaley’s targeting Rosalind, there’s every chance that he’ll go after her sister and brother too. If he hasn’t already.’
‘You’ll be paying Lord Stanegate a wee visit in the morning then?’
‘Aye.’
‘And what of Miss Wardale? Will you be seeing her at Bruton Street?’
God only knew how much Wolf wanted to see Rosalind. He wanted it so much that it was like a physical ache. But Rosalind was beyond his reach now. ‘No. I’ll speak to Stanegate. He’ll see that she’s kept safe.’ His eyes met those of Campbell. ‘It’s for the best.’
‘If that’s what you think, Wolf,’ but Campbell’s dark gaze was dubious. He lifted his tankard and drained it before calling the serving wench over to refill both his and Wolf’s cups once more.
It was too early in the morning for Nell to have risen. Rosalind faced Marcus Carlow across his study. The viscount was seated at his desk reading through papers.
Rosalind had slept poorly since her arrival at Bruton Street, waking before dawn each morning. Today she was taking advantage of her early rising to speak to Marcus without her sister. There were questions that she needed to ask, questions that were too distressing to Nell.
Marcus raised a single disapproving eyebrow at the sight of her and then continued with his writing. ‘Nell is still abed. I suggest that you come back later.’
‘It is you to whom I wish to speak.’
The eyebrow raised further still. His writing stilled and he laid down his pen before fixing her with an eye that could hardly be described as encouraging. Not so long ago his manner would have intimidated Rosalind, but the past weeks had changed her, perhaps more than she wished to admit.
‘I have come to ask if you know of my mother’s burial place. I would like very much to visit her grave. I have tried to ask Nell, but the subject of my mother’s illness and death dis tresses her greatly and I have no wish to cause her suffering.’
‘I am relieved to hear it,’ he said, and Rosalind could see how very protective he was of her sister. ‘Nell had Mrs Wardale buried in the graveyard of Christ Church in Spitalfields.’
‘Is the grave marked by a stone?’
‘It is now. Nell was penniless at the time of your mother’s death and could afford nothing more than a pauper’s grave. After we were married, we had a gravestone erected.’
‘Thank you,’ Rosalind said. ‘So you met and married Nell after my mother’s death?’
‘Yes.’
Rosalind took a deep breath. ‘The time when Nell was alone…she will not speak of it.’
‘That is her prerogative. She will tell you of it when she is ready.’
‘I am worried as to what she suffered.’
‘Nell is
safe now, and I do everything in my power to see that she is happy.’
There it was again, that word ‘safe’, which only made Rosalind worry even more as to her sister. She had the distinct feeling that something terrible had happened, some past threat to Nell’s safety. But neither Nell nor Marcus were going to tell her. ‘I have never seen her happier, sir.’
Marcus gave no response, but his face softened and the hint of a smile played about his mouth as if he were thinking of Nell. And then the smile was gone, and he was looking at Rosalind again. ‘If there is nothing else, Miss Wardale…Rosalind, I have much to attend to.’
Rosalind blushed at her overt dismissal. ‘Of course, sir, and I thank you.’ She hurried from the study and almost collided with a sleepy-looking Nell crossing the hall.
‘Rosalind, have you been breakfasting with Marcus?’ Nell smiled, but she was looking rather pale. ‘I swear I cannot look at food this morning.’
‘You should go back to bed and rest.’
Nell chuckled. ‘You are beginning to sound like Marcus. I am here to check that my dear husband is not working too hard. He has been up since the crack of dawn, and would be every morning if I did not stop him.’
Rosalind knew by her sister’s words that Marcus must share Nell’s bed each night. The study door opened and Marcus popped his head out. Rosalind marvelled at how his face seemed to light up at the sight of his wife.
‘Darling Nell, what are you doing up? Return to bed at once.’
Nell drew Rosalind an ‘I told you so’ look and, with a warm, liquid smile, ignored her husband’s command and walked towards him. Rosalind nipped up the , glancing back to see Marcus and Nell locked in a passionate embrace in the threshold to his study. Their love for one another was so radiant that it seemed to fill the whole house.
Rosalind reached her bedchamber and locked the door behind her. She stood by the window looking out at the start of what promised to be a day of fine weather. The sky was a cloudless blue, and sunshine flooded through the panes of glass to cast the room in bright warm light that shimmered and sparkled upon the crystal chandelier and cast rainbows on the soft feathered bed beneath. Such a beautiful day in such luxurious surroundings, Rosalind should have been happy. She was safe from Evedon and reunited with Nell. Yet she had never felt more miserable.
Unlacing the Innocent Miss Page 22
