As she contemplated what to say to him, she saw his eyes flick to the open door, where a woman, likely the housekeeper, awaited her.
Rosalind rose, feeling herself dismissed, but not before William’s low voice reached her.
“If you need anything, Lady Templeton, please just ask.”
“It’s Rosalind,” she said with a nod, then followed the housekeeper out the door.
The Southam manor might not have been as impressive as some of the other country homes she had visited, but Rosalind found that there was something … cheerful about it. It was filled with color, both on the walls and within the Aubusson carpets lining the floors. Each room seemed to be decorated in a different hue, but whether it was red or blue or green, large windows emitted plenty of light, and white wainscoting softened the intensity. Paintings were primarily floral patterns or natural landscapes. Even William’s ancestors looked down at her with what appeared to be smiles on their faces.
Apparently, whoever had decorated the house also had a voice in the landscaping of the grounds, for Rosalind could see the natural views through the many windows as she walked along.
The room she had been given was primarily white, accented in blue — a pretty wallpaper with an azure floral pattern on white lined walls, while the bed linens were, on closer inspection, a blue so pale they looked almost a neutral color. The furniture was beautiful — this room had obviously been designed for a lady, with a mahogany fauteuil open-armed wood chair placed in front of a toilet. She sank down onto the upholstered seat and looked into the plate glass surrounded by brass ornamentation.
She looked pale, she noted, and pinched her cheeks to try to bring some color into them. She had been staring into the beautiful eyes of William Elliot, and now that she looked at her own, she grimaced. They were a green, yes, but a dull green. They could possibly be called gray, she thought, and seemed to even have a bit of blue in them on occasion, but not a very nice blue. Overall, they were nothing of note, and she wrinkled her nose up at them and turned away. Her entire face, actually, was rather plain. It was not that she wasn’t pretty, she thought, it’s just that she wasn’t really memorable either. She just … was.
Oh, she supposed she shouldn’t be so hard on herself, she thought, rising out of the chair and walking to the window. She had just been so used to her mother pointing out her flaws throughout her entire life that now she always noted them herself.
Mrs. Cranbourn had left her valise in the corner of the room but had not unpacked anything. That was a job for her lady’s maid, but she, of course, did not currently have one. Thank goodness that Alfred and his friend had taken the bag from the carriage in hopes to find something valuable within it. It was not so much the clothing Rosalind needed, although it was helpful to not have to find new attire. No, it was what else the small bag held.
She reached her hand through the layers of fabric until her fingers hit the dark, hard shell of a book. Rosalind drew it out, finding it was not what she was looking for. It took another three volumes until she smiled, seeing the journal in front of her. All was not lost after all, she thought.
7
Dinner with William Elliot, Viscount of Southam, was an event that Rosalind had dreamt about in the past, if she were being honest.
In her dreams, however, she and William were smiling at one another over the candlelit dining table, content in the company of one another and the love they shared.
This dinner was altogether different. They sat across from one another, but the air was tense and she was unsure of what to speak about. So, my lord, please tell me more about your brother who abducted me? Hardly. Or, what did you think of Olivia’s wedding last year? Did it upset you? She thought not. Or she could ask him, How well did you know my husband? Did you frequent the same brothels? Do you know his cousin, who is trying to marry me and make the rest of my life entirely miserable, more so than it would have been even with Harold? Not exactly polite dinner conversation.
And then there was his mother.
Lady Southam sat beside William, the cold pale blue of her eyes, so unlike William’s warm ones, piercing into Rosalind. The woman said nothing, but simply stared at her, as if trying to disconcert her. Rosalind did not want to admit how well it was working.
Rosalind cleared her throat. “’Tis lovely weather we are having, is it not?”
William looked at her through hooded eyes. “It is, Lady Templeton. The spring has been warm this year, and I think the summer should be equally as pleasant.”
She nodded, wishing that this was over, that she could soon be on her way to see Olivia. If her friend was here, she would know how to fill this conversation with words that actually mattered. Despite the atmosphere of the room, the setting was lovely. The walls of the dining room were a pale yellow, with paintings of daisies and fields of sunflowers upon the walls. She looked forward to seeing it in the brightness of the daylight sun.
At the moment, the viscount did not seem particularly thrilled to be having dinner with her, as he was silent and hardly ate. She noted he simply moved the food around on his plate.
“I must tell you that I do have some news,” he said, and she looked up at him.
“As you know,” he continued, “The home of the Duke and Duchess of Breckenridge is but a couple of hours away. The messenger I sent earlier this morning has already returned. It seems that they have departed for a time to Bath, and are not thought to return for a few weeks.”
Her fork clattered to the plate. Olivia hadn’t mentioned to her that she was going anywhere — but then, why would she? Rosalind had given her no reason to believe that she would be seeing her at any time in the near future. In fact, she had hardly spent time with any of her acquaintances. Most of them were now married, and she did not want to foist her problems upon them. Spending time with the happy couples was also rather difficult, though Rosalind knew she must set her own envious feelings aside and simply be happy for them.
No matter — at the moment, she had to determine what she had best do now.
“I should be happy to provide you transportation to wherever else it is you wish to go,” William continued. “Back to London? To your country home? Perhaps—”
“No,” she said, with more force that she had meant and her next words came softly. “That is, no thank you. It’s just that I … I have nowhere else to go.”
“Whatever do you mean?” he asked, gazing intently at her as his mother snorted and raised her eyebrows incredulously.
“At the moment I … I simply have no other option,” she said, not wanting to explain to him — or, more particularly his mother — her circumstances. William said nothing for a moment, but simply stared at her as if he was trying to will her to open up, but she was resolute. She did not want him to be concerned with her problems. They were for her to deal with.
“Well, then, I do have a solution for you — at the moment,” he said, seemingly frustrated, although she was grateful he didn’t press the matter. “I am to be having a house party this week. You are welcome to stay throughout the gathering. Although you are a widow and my mother is in residence, it would be untoward otherwise for the two of us to be staying here together. However, it will be no matter if there are other guests in the house.”
“William,” his mother finally spoke, interrupting him. “I should hardly think that Lady Templeton would want to be part of a house party at this time. Why, she is barely out of mourning and—”
“Thank you for your offer,” Rosalind said quietly, and the woman raised her eyebrows at her. “I will stay.”
She really had no other option.
“Well,” his mother said with a harumph. “It seems no one cares any longer what I think. There is something you must understand, Lady Templeton. You cannot banish my son. The guests will be expecting Alfred, and he would dearly love to return to the party.”
Rosalind felt her heart beat faster at the woman’s words, and she looked at William imploringly. He sighed.
She wanted to tell him to send Alfred away, to make him pay for what he did. Yet she realized that if he did so, in all likelihood Bart would find out where Alfred had taken her, where she was currently residing. And so, she made the cowardly decision, one to protect herself.
“He can stay,” she choked out, and William nodded, his face serious while a gloating smile spread across his mother’s wide face.
“He will, then, be once again residing in the manor house,” he said. “You understand that?”
“I do,” she nodded, and began pushing around her own food, no longer hungry.
The sooner she could be finished this awkward dinner, the better.
William cursed as he stumbled to his room. He had only just managed to make it through that blasted dinner. He felt like a lout, knowing he had been short with Rosalind and had allowed his mother to be condescending toward her. Rosalind deserved much better treatment from his family, particularly after all she had been put through at the hands of his brother.
He had told Alfred in no uncertain terms that his thievery was to stop now. All that he had stolen was to be on William’s desk in the morning. William would do all he could to return the possessions to their owners. Alfred told him much of it had been sold, but he agreed he would do what he could to help return the remainder. William saw the glint in his eye and knew that likely he would only receive that which had turned out to hold little value, but he was unsure of what else he could do. He had no desire to bail his brother out yet again, but he must right his actions.
William had hardly been able to speak tonight due to the pounding in his head. All he had wanted through that entire dinner was to return to his room, to close his eyes, and slink into the dark of night.
The headaches had begun years ago, although it seemed the older he became, the more intense they were, brought on more frequently by stressful situations — such as the one he currently found himself in. He threw a hand over his eyes as he fell back on his bed.
If only he could keep them at bay until the end of this party, he thought as he reached for the glass of brandy on his nightstand. Keep it together, William, he told himself. He heard a soft scratch on the door, and his valet entered. Roberts had been with him for years and knew what ailed his master. Without words he helped him undress and get into bed. He took the only lit candle in the room with him, shutting the door quietly behind him and allowing William to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.
The next day dawned bright, and William felt great relief upon waking to discover that the pounding pain had left his head, and he felt much more refreshed. Thank God, he thought in genuine gratefulness. The longest a headache had ever lasted had been three days, and it had nearly broken him.
His good mood remained until he entered the breakfast room and found his brother and his mother sitting at the table across from Rosalind. The three sat there, Alfred with a smirk on his face, his mother with a self-satisfied smile, and a silent Rosalind wearing a mask of tight composure. He sighed. Somehow he didn’t think this was going to go well.
“Good morning Mother, Lady Templeton,” he said, making his way over to the sideboard and heaping a plate with eggs, ham, and toast. “Alfred.” He found that after his headache subsided he often had quite an appetite, likely because he usually wasn’t able to eat much while in the throes of it.
“Good morning, William,” Alfred said heartily. “How do you fare this fine day?”
“I am well,” he said. “What are you doing here, Alfred? I thought you were staying … elsewhere until the party.”
“I was,” he said, “But Mother invited me in for breakfast. Is there anything wrong with that? As you have enough food here to feed an entire party, I believe I can partake, can I not? Besides that, our guests will be arriving in but a few days, which is soon enough.”
William inclined his head in recognition of his words as he set down his plate, and pulled out his chair.
“Are you well this morning, Lady Templeton?” he asked, taking a closer look at Rosalind. Her face was pale and drawn, and he realized that while he understood her reluctance of wanting to be in the presence of Alfred, with his own ailment yesterday he hadn’t really thought much about her entire ordeal and how much it would have frightened her. These were treacherous waters, and he wasn’t entirely sure how to navigate them. There was that feeling again pulling at him, but stronger this time, that made him want to reach out, wrap his arms around her and protect her from any and all that threatened to do her harm. And she was, he realized, altogether lovely. His sudden sentiments shocked him, and he didn’t know what to make of them. He shook them off and focused on her words.
“Good morning Lord Southam,” she said tightly but kept her eyes down on her plate, which looked untouched. It seemed that when the woman did not feel comfortable, she withdrew into herself, and William wasn’t quite sure how to draw her out.
“Speaking of the upcoming party,” Alfred said, “Will the future Viscountess of Southam be one of our guests?”
That seemed to catch Rosalind’s attention, as her head snapped up to look back and forth between Alfred and William.
“Are you looking for a wife, my lord?” she asked, her eyes wide.
William cleared his throat. This wasn’t a conversation he felt like having in front of Rosalind, although he wasn’t quite certain why that would be so.
“I am not entirely sure,” he said after a moment of hesitation. “I suppose it is time I found a wife, although I do not exactly want to force the issue.”
“William has had a difficult time finding anyone to measure up to his goddess, Lady Olivia,” said Alfred, a smirk crossing his face, which William wanted to reach over and smack.
Instead he tried to maintain calm. “Alfred, you are now fabricating something that is simply not true.”
“No? You mean you can tell me with all honesty that you have not spent your life in love with a woman who sees you as nothing more than a friend?” Alfred let out a laugh that sent sparks of irritation up and down William’s spine. He wanted to shake his brother, but doing so would only prove him right.
“I am sure Lady Templeton is not particularly enjoying listening to the bantering between us.”
“No? She looks interested, are you not, Lady Templeton?” They both looked over at Rosalind, who had her hands folded in her lap, seemingly disinterested, although William could see her studying him out of the corner of her eye.
“I am sure that whatever your interests or intentions may be, they are certainly none of my concern,” she said, with the politeness he knew she had been raised to portray. As much as he realized this was the way of women in society, he longed for her to shed the facade and tell him with blunt openness exactly what she thought.
“Well, let me tell you, Lady Templeton, our William here has always fancied himself in love with your good friend. Alas, now that she is married, he will have to look elsewhere, no?” Alfred continued on, as William’s grip tightened on his fork. He felt the dull throb beginning in the back of his head, and he closed his eyes, trying to will it away. “Anyway, fortunately for him, Lady Diana Watson will be attending our little party and, while perhaps not quite as striking and forthright as Lady Olivia, she is, at the very least, of a similar pattern as her, is she not, William?”
“She is,” added his mother with a smile when he said nothing. “You will quite enjoy her company William, I am sure.”
“I hardly know the woman, Mother, Alfred,” he said, glaring at the t
wo of them in turn from across the round table. “And, as I mentioned, this is not a conversation that Lady Templeton is interested in listening to for many reasons, but certainly first and foremost that none of it is true nor has any bearing on the future. I have no feelings for the Duchess of Breckenridge besides that of a longstanding friend, and I shall marry when I feel the opportunity presents itself. Now, perhaps we should move on to another subject, all right? Such as the fact that, Alfred, I wish you had not returned to the house until I had asked it of you.”
Alfred sighed and shook his head in mockery of him. “Come, now, brother, what are you going to do with me? You know to tell anyone of the happenings would only put a stain on the reputation of our dear Lady Templeton here, and you wouldn’t want that, would you, my lady? Now, if you want to change subjects, my dear brother, I am interested in learning more about this woman in our midst. Tell me, Lady Templeton, are you enjoying your stay?”
William saw a pink stain begin to seep into Rosalind’s cheeks as she looked up at Alfred, her eyes casting daggers that she did not put into words. “Your brother has been more than kind,” she said tersely. “And I appreciate his invitation to stay for the upcoming party.”
“Well, it’s not as if you have much choice, do you?” Alfred asked, leering at her. “For as you well know, no one else cares enough to take you.”
William was about to admonish his brother when an icy gleam filled Rosalind’s eyes, and she leaned toward him over the table. “I am making my own way in the world, Mr. Elliot, instead of leeching off my family members or committing crimes in order to sustain myself.”
Well, well. So the woman did have some backbone. Brava, Rosalind, William thought. Unfortunately, her words seemed to fuel the flame of Alfred’s disdain.
“I must tell you, Lady Templeton, I had the privilege of knowing your late husband. We frequented the same … establishments, if you will. I hear tell he had a penchant for certain forms of entertainment that I should not like to speak about in polite company. I suppose that is why he spent so much time away from the bedroom at home, for he was likely unable to find himself satisfied by his dear lady wife, eh?”
Loved by the Viscount_A Historical Regency Romance Page 5
