She was no longer sure of her own judge of character. Could she trust William?
Rosalind rose and slowly made her way through the beautiful flowers and greenery of the conservatory, which was lit by the stars of the night sky through the windows, and leaned against the doorjamb of the drawing room. Everyone inside was so happy, so at ease with one another. Would she ever find that kind of joy again? Did she have it in her?
Despite William’s request, she was about to leave, to return to her room, when he caught her eye. He held her gaze, and his lips stretched into a smile just for her. Then he bestowed on her a slow wink, and it was enough to bring her back in.
“Ah, my good man, you truly have some of the best coffee I have ever tasted,” Lord Merryweather said to William the next morning, leaning across the table in the breakfast room. William didn’t think he had ever seen so many people in the room at once before, and he was shocked that all had risen early enough to partake. It had not, however, been a particularly late evening, and he knew they were all looking forward to the day’s activities.
William tipped his own cup to the man, noting that Rosalind, surprisingly, also chose coffee instead of the usual tea most of the young ladies drank. It seemed he learned something more about the woman every day.
She gave him a small smile before Lord Harrington, at her left, re-engaged her in conversation. William found himself feeling a bit jealous of the man at having captured her attention, but quickly he told himself he was being ridiculous, for Harrington was happily married.
He was rather confused over his feelings toward Rosalind. He was attracted to her, that was for certain. She was a woman with depth of character, who had fascinating views on the world and knowledge far beyond what most women possessed. And yet, she chose to hide it from most, which he could not particularly fathom.
What she lacked, more than anything, was belief that she was worthy enough — for him, and to be on equal footing to others of the ton. He didn’t know why she had such doubt in her own character, but he wished she would embrace who she was and all she had to offer the world.
“Good morning!” His mother swept into the room, as effervescent as usual, taking her place in the sole remaining chair, commanding everyone’s attention. “I am so thrilled that today we will be having a musicale, does that not sound lovely? I know all of the young women here with us are accomplished singers or pianists, and I would so love for you all to show us your talents. We shall convene in the conservatory this afternoon!”
William snuck a quick look toward Rosalind. She had closed her eyes for a moment, as if she were trying to convince herself that this was a dream and when she opened them, his mother’s announcement would go away. He felt a twinge of concern, both for her and also regarding her words from the previous evening. Perhaps she was right — perhaps she would be unhappy with his life. He felt his brow furrow in consternation as he sighed to himself.
When Rosalind exited the breakfast room, he followed after her and caught her hand as she entered the stairwell to return to her chamber.
“I have not yet had the opportunity to say good morning,” he said with a quick smile.
“Good morning,” she said in response with a forced smile of her own.
“You do not seem particularly … pleased about the musicale.”
“Not entirely,” she said, nibbling on her lower lip in a way that made him want to kiss away all of her nerves and frustration.
“I have heard you sing before, at a musicale some time ago,” he said. “I seem to recall you having a talent that many admired.”
She shrugged. “I can carry a tune, I suppose. I am not sure anyone will want to hear it, however. The other young ladies will be more than happy to sing for you, so you should not need me—”
“Rosalind,” he stopped her. “Will you please join in? For me?”
She didn’t say anything, her eyes trained on his chest. Finally she raised them and looked him in the eye.
“Fine,” she said, although she didn’t look particularly pleased. He wondered if he was in the wrong. Should he not push her to do this? Yet he felt that she needed a bit of a prod to break down the wall she had built so firmly around herself. He wanted to help her make a crack in it, as slightly uncomfortable as it may be. Was it, however, his place to do so?
“I look forward to it,” he murmured, then let her continue on her way, watching her until she rounded the corner of the stairwell and left his sight.
16
“Thank you, Lady Anne!” William’s mother stood and clapped enthusiastically for the pretty young woman who, it seemed, not only played the pianoforte but accompanied it as well quite pleasantly.
The young woman smiled prettily and nodded her head in response to the applause.
“And now we have Lady Diana,” said Lady Southam, who turned to give William a knowing look as she took her seat at the side of the room. His mother had talked to him the previous evening before he retired. Not only was Lady Diana beautiful and the type of woman she knew William would appreciate, his mother had told him, but she was from a good family, her father a well-respected earl. She had but a brother, so she had a considerable dowry and would be a perfect match for William.
There was only one problem — his heart was beginning to belong to another. After all this time, all the years he thought he had waited for another woman — was it this lady instead who was to be the one for him?
Lady Diana stood beside the piano, where Lady Anne remained to accompany her. She was striking, William had to admit, though his heart didn’t turn when he looked at her, nor did he feel any twinge in his stomach. In fact, he felt rather uncomfortable when she turned and after looking over the assembled guests, seemed to hone in on him. He swallowed.
“Yet him I lov’d so well,
Still in my heart shall dwell;
Oh! I can ne’er forget
Robin Adair.”
She had a strong, vibrant voice, one that resonated with him, and apparently the others in the room as well. She finished with a flourish, her cheeks bright and her smile wide.
“That was absolutely lovely, Lady Diana,” his mother said, her applause embarrassingly exuberant. “And now, last but not least we have…” she looked down at the paper in front of her, apparently forgetting who else might be among their party and available to sing. “Oh yes! Lady Templeton. I was told that you have a remarkable voice and therefore should entertain us all.”
All emotion masked from her face, Rosalind rose and walked over to the pianoforte, slightly unsteady on her feet, although William was sure no one else noticed. He hadn’t known she played the pianoforte, but she sat down behind it, her fingers resting on the keys for a moment, as if she were summoning strength from the instrument.
Then they began to move, in a tune that he did not recognize, but one which began softly and slowly. Her voice grew with the song, a haunting, chilling melody, and the low vibrato she began with slowly began to climb, until her voice rang out through the room. How could he have forgotten a voice like hers? It seemed to pierce his very soul, and he realized it wasn’t just him. She didn’t have a perfect voice to be sure; he was no musician but he wasn’t sure she was completely on the note or the pitch. And yet, there was something about the song, perhaps the depth of feeling that accompanied it, that meant it didn’t matter if she was completely perfect.
She sang of sorrow, of a love that had not only been lost, but never found. Of the unrequited love of a woman who longed for more.
When she finished, everyone in the room was mesmerized, and when she stood from the piano, there was a pause before anyone reacted. Finally William, noting how hesitant she was looking out over them, began the applause, which everyone readily joined. It was only when Rosalind had taken her seat once more that Lady Hester leaned over and said, loudly enough for the whole to hear, “My goodness, Lady Templeton, that may have been lovely, but you’ve ruined the mood for the entire party!”
Rosalin
d said nothing, but turned to face the front as his mother congratulated them all.
William strode through the room from where he had been standing at the back, and took the seat next to Rosalind. “That was beautiful,” he whispered to her, wanting so badly to take her hand and stroke the soft skin as she kept her eyes toward the front of the conservatory. “I’ve never heard it before. Who is the composer?”
She still didn’t turn and look at him, but kept her gaze forward and away.
“Me.”
What had possessed her to tell him that? Rosalind thought as she made her way down the staircase to join the party in the drawing room prior to the evening’s dinner. Tonight she had decided to dispense with the gray and lavender — in fact, she hardly had a choice, given that she had worn those gowns far too many times already and the gray, while cleaned, had not quite recovered intact from its time in the pond.
She was still in purple, but tonight she wore a more vibrant shade. It was fairly simple, as all her dresses were, a striped chiffon with gold lace trim along the square bodice and hem. She had worried what some of the others would think of a recent widow in such a dress, but she finally resolved that she would let them think what they pleased. She knew she would still feel the stares, even if they were imagined, but it was time she broke free of such thoughts that really served no purpose.
Before joining them, however, she needed to speak to William. She had seen him making his way toward his office, at the opposite end of the corridor from her guest chamber. She could admit to herself that she felt something for him. She had always had a bit of a penchant for him, of course, but it went beyond that now. She was, in fact, drawn to him in a way that she couldn’t exactly explain. She needed, now, to know how he felt. If he truly thought something could come of the apparent attraction they felt for one another, then she was more than willing to explore it and see what could come of it.
If not, well then, as painful as it would be, it would hurt less were she to distance herself from him now rather than in the future.
As she came closer to his office door, she heard voices from within, and she slowed her footsteps. Should she wait? Or come back? She wasn’t sure if she could manage another dinner without knowing what he thought or felt.
“William, dear, I am displeased with you,” Lady Southam’s voice echoed throughout the room loudly enough that Rosalind could hear it from the hall.
“And for what reason would that now be, Mother?” William asked, with what sounded to Rosalind like a note of weariness to his tone. She couldn’t hear him nearly as well as his mother, and had to inch closer to the door. She put her ear to it, feeling quite guilty as she knew it was wrong, and yet she wanted to know more of what they were speaking. What could William possibly have done that would have so vexed his mother?
“Lady Diana Watson is perfect for you — perfect! And yet, you have barely paid her any attention these past couple of days. You always told me you wanted a woman who spoke her mind, who loved social gatherings as much as you, who could command a crowd so that you did not have to ensure her enjoyment. This woman certainly is all of that and more. She is beautiful. Her parents are lovely. Her father is an earl, and she has a tremendous dowry! What more could you ask for?”
Rosalind’s heart sank. Lady Southam was right. Lady Diana was the perfect woman for William.
“What you say is true, Mother,” William responded. “However, it seems my heart has been captured by another.”
“Who, then? Lady Anne? She is enchanting, quite a vivacious little thing. Although, it may be a bit close, with Olivia married to her brother, and you still holding onto your little affection toward her but—”
“No, Mother, not Lady Anne.”
“Lady Frances? She is rather dull and always wears a pointed look, I suppose you could call it, but still, she would do fine. Her parents — oh do not shake your head at me, son. I certainly hope you do not mean Lady Hester. She certainly says what she thinks, although I find she has a certain bite to her that I do not care for.”
“Lady Templeton, Mother.”
Rosalind’s breath caught in her throat and she straightened, her hands coming to her cheeks. She knew William felt something for her — clearly, he had shown her that with his kisses, but to say something to his mother?
“Lady Templeton?” His mother gasped. Apparently Lady Southam was in as much disbelief as Rosalind herself. “William, whatever are you thinking?”
“Yes, Mother,” he said. “I have come to know her quite well over the past few days. She is an intriguing woman. She has read more than any man I’ve ever known. She is intelligent, and while she does not speak her opinion often, when she does, it is worth listening to because she has clearly thought things through. She has such a depth of emotion, for both people and animals. She really is lovely, Mother.”
“I thought you wanted a woman at ease in society. I can tell you she certainly is not,” his mother responded. “Oh, she sits there prettily enough, but that smile is a bit forced. And the song she sang today — William, it was positively ghastly. The woman must still be in mourning. You would surely not want to take such a woman on?”
“I believe I am old enough to know my mind.”
“And William … would she have any sort of dowry?”
“No, Mother.”
“But … but William, we need it!”
“We shall find a way without relying on a dowry.”
“Will you please think about this before making any rash decision?”
“I will, Mother,” he responded, before adding, “Will you leave me be, please? I have some business to attend to before coming down for dinner.”
Rosalind pushed back from the door, hurrying down the hall lest she be seen when his mother emerged from the room. Skirts flying, she turned the corner, rushing down the stairs and into the inner courtyard, where she could find solitude to process all she had just heard. She pushed open the door. The greenery within was slightly overgrown due to the neglect of the lazy groundskeeper Creighton, but there was a lovely fountain in the middle, which she walked around to find her way to a stone bench in the corner. She leaned back against the solid brick of the wall, the coolness of it a balm to the heat that coursed through her body.
William wanted to pursue something with her. And yet, she was entirely all wrong for him. It didn’t seem anyone felt they would make a match, not even herself, if she were to be honest. As for William—
“Lady Templeton?”
A crisp, clear voice cut through the air, and Rosalind inwardly groaned. Who could have known she was in here?
“Lady Templeton, I saw you entering the courtyard. I simply wanted to know if all was all right?”
Rosalind rose from the bench, emerging from behind the tree that had hidden her from view.
“Your Grace,” she said, curtsying to the Duchess of Barre. “All is well, but I thank you for asking.”
“Oh, please, we can dispense with the formalities,” the Duchess waved her had in the air. “Call me Tillie.”
“I — I am not sure I could. Perhaps Lady Matilda, or —”
“Do you know who I was before I married the Duke of Barre?” the woman asked, interrupting her without apology. “I was the daughter of a shipping merchant. A prosperous one, to be sure, but a merchant, all the same. My family had no ties whatsoever to gentility, besides the fact that my very best friend, the daughter of a baron and a milliner of all things, married a duke herself. So you see, Lady Templeton — or, if I may be so bold to call you Rosalind in return — I am not much for titles and the like.”
Rosalind was stunned by her speech. There had been talk, of course, of the Duchess of Barre and her humble beginnings, but she had never been quite sure of what to believe. One never knew with the gossips of the ton.
She finally managed a small smile for the woman who looked at her so expectantly.
“Tillie, then,” she said. “Thank you for your concern.”
“Now,” the woman said briskly. “You must tell me what is the matter. And please do not insult me by saying once more than everything is fine. I can see by the look on your face that something has upset you, and I would be willing to bet it has everything to do with Lord Southam.”
Rosalind felt her eyes widening.
“I, um, I am not sure —”
“One would have to either be blind or a fool not to see the way the two of you look at one another, and I assure you that I am neither of these things,” the woman continued. “Come, let us sit and you will tell me what is bothering you. It is always much better to talk it out, you see.”
Rosalind smiled at the Duchess’s forwardness, and found herself being led to the very bench she had occupied but moments before. They sat, and Rosalind looked at her hands for a moment before beginning.
She told Tillie of her tendre for William, how she had simply a penchant for him until recently, when she found herself experiencing emotions toward him she hadn’t thought possible. She told her of William’s love for Olivia, and of Olivia’s marriage to the Duke of Breckenridge. She explained her own marriage, and her arrival here at the Southam home. And then she told her of how she and William had grown closer over the past few days, and of the words she had heard his mother say to him.
Tillie was a good listener, Rosalind had to admit. She let her talk without interrupting, rather simply nodding her head with a sympathetic smile on her face.
“Well,” she said when Rosalind was finally silent. “That is quite the love story, I must say.”
“A love story?”
“Why yes! That is how you feel for our Lord Southam, is it not?”
“I am not sure … I … that is…”
“Well, only you can determine your true feelings,” Tillie said gently, placing a hand over Rosalind’s. “I cannot say my love story was simple either. The good ones never are. But what I can tell you is this. Follow your heart. Your mind may tell you one thing, people around you may tell you another. But if you stay true to yourself and what you feel, Rosalind, not what you think, then you cannot go wrong. You have one life to live. Do you not deserve to be happy?”
Loved by the Viscount_A Historical Regency Romance Page 11
