Rosalind didn’t know how to respond. What Tillie said sounded so simple, and yet her words resonated in a way that no other advice or ideas ever had.
“Thank you, Tillie,” she said, a bit of warmth radiating over her, finally. “I shall do you as you say. If Lord Southam should feel the same, then we will see what can come of it. Though whatever I feel for him, I am not sure I can find myself with a man simply as his second choice.”
The young duchess tilted her head as she looked at her, finally nodding. “That is understandable,” she said. “Though sometimes the love a young man feels is much different than that of one who has experienced some of life. You will know in your heart what is best. Simply give it time.” She took Rosalind’s hand and squeezed it before rising to her feet with an air of grace. “Now, let us have a lovely dinner, staying far from the horns of Lady Hester, shall we not?”
“We shall,” Rosalind said with a smile, finally feeling that she was no longer alone.
17
Rosalind’s heart felt lifted as they walked into the drawing room, though she was slightly disappointed to find William was not yet among the guests, which was unusual, considering he was their host. No matter, she thought, making idle chitchat with Lady Anne and Tillie. She was grateful there were truly genuine women among the guests. It wasn’t that she abhorred all social events — just those where she felt she had to make forced pleasantries.
“Can you not picture it? Oh, but she was so beautiful, and so gifted that it was hard to imagine her as anything other than Ophelia!”
Anne had recently been to the theatre in London, and was describing to them the performance of Hamlet she had recently witnessed. The girl was in love with the stage, that much was clear, thought Rosalind with a smile, knowing Anne had talent but, unfortunately, as the sister of a Duke would never, of course, find herself anywhere near a stage herself. She would have to be happy performing in the odd musicale at parties such as this one.
All of Rosalind’s thoughts disappeared, however, when William walked into the room. His strides were heavy, his brow furrowed, and he already had a drink in hand, the short glass filled nearly to the rim with an amber liquid. Concern rose in her as she watched him. His fingers twitched as he looked around the room, not settling on anyone in particular.
“There you are, William!” his mother called out to him, and Rosalind could see the look of resignation on his face. “Come, darling, Lady Diana has just told us the most wondrous tale of her recent encounter with the Earl of Arrondale! She has a marvelous way of storytelling, I must say…”
Rosalind tried to block the words from her hearing. William’s mother preferred Lady Diana, not William himself. She didn’t have a chance to speak to William prior to dinner, although was pleased to find herself seated next to him.
“Lord Southam,” she said, smiling at him. “How are you?” She tried to infuse in her words all of the warmth, all of the emotion she was feeling, but when he looked at her, there was a hardness to his eyes, and the slight upturn of his lips didn’t reach the rest of his face.
“I am well, thank you, Lady Templeton,” he said, and she was startled by the coldness of his words.
“Did you … did you enjoy the musicale this afternoon?” she asked.
“You know I did,” he said, taking a hearty swig from the glass of wine in front of him. “Did I not tell you so when I was seated next to you?”
“You did,” she said, feeling a flush come over her cheeks. Why was he being so cold to her? Had he listened to his mother’s words, and come to new conclusions regarding her?
“And … the rest of your day, was it—”
“My day was fine, Rosalind,” he said cutting her off. “Why are you asking such inane questions? We both know that you could care less about such trivial matters.”
She sat back, feeling as though she had been slapped. What had she done to cause such a reaction from him? She wanted to challenge him on it, to ask him why he was being so … so callous and unlike himself, but she also didn’t want to draw the attention of the rest of the party. Even now, a few guests had begun to look their way. Rosalind managed a slight smile as if to show that nothing was amiss, and took a healthy swallow of her own drink before focusing on her plate.
Just an hour ago, happiness had seemed potentially within her reach. Why was it now proving so hard to attain?
William savored the burning of the liquid as he poured it down his throat before it pooled in his stomach. Sometimes, when his head ached to the extent it did now, the only way to manage the pain was to drink it away until he felt numb.
He knew he was being an ass. He would apologize later, to his mother, and, most of all, to Rosalind. He knew he was giving her the wrong impression, and he could see the hurt on her face. But at the moment, it was all he could do to make it through this dinner.
He hardly ate a morsel of food, his attention instead on his wine glass. When he finally heard his mother suggesting the ladies follow her to the drawing room, he was blessedly relieved. The gentlemen would be more forgiving if he preferred to sit in silence. He lit a cheroot and leaned back in his chair, allowing the men around him to speak as they wished. He closed his eyes as he tilted his head back, pushing his chair slightly away from the table.
William’s headache had come on quite quickly after his mother had visited him in his office. He had only wanted a moment alone to see to some of his affairs, and she had come bursting in, full of opinions and ideas on what his life should be. He appreciated her concern, for it seemed she only wanted him to be happy, but why could she not trust that he was capable to find happiness for himself? He was a grown man, a viscount, and yet she felt the need to guide him on the romantic area of his life. It was ridiculous.
Her words about Rosalind rankled with him. True, Rosalind was not one completely at ease in many a setting. He had realized this himself. Once she felt comfortable, however, she was one of the friendliest, most direct women he knew. If only his mother could see what he saw. And if only Rosalind could see it herself. For whatever reason, she seemed convinced that she was not worthy of him, and it rankled at him that she would think so.
“I say, Southam, are you all right?”
William realized he was slightly weaving in his chair, and as he opened his eyes, he found it hard to make out the features of the men around him. He wasn’t sure if it was the headache or the alcohol, but either way the world was turning hazy and he was well past the point of recovery.
“My apologies, men,” he said, as he rose unsteadily to his feet. “I believe I must retire for the evening.”
He began stumbling out of the room, someone — Merryweather, he thought —rising to help him. William waved him away, and instead found his valet waiting for him at the door. The man was aware of such episodes, and apparently had noticed William’s sour mood earlier and knew what was to come. The man helped him to his rooms and nearly had him to the door, when he heard quick, light footsteps coming from behind him down the hallway.
“William?”
He cursed. He didn’t want Rosalind to see him like this, nor did he feel like speaking to her once more when he was in such a condition.
“What is it?” He turned around, and he could see his valet looking at him with concern. “Wait for me inside, Roberts,” he said. “I’ll be but a minute.”
He couldn’t grasp the man’s reply, but noted the absence of his presence, as he left him alone with Rosalind.
“I saw you leave the dining room and you seemed … unwell,” she finally managed. “Is everything all right?”
“I told you I was fine,” he said, realizing his words were slurred and he tried to piece them together as best he could. He had to make her leave him before he said anything, did anything that he shouldn’t. “Rosalind. Could you, please, leave me alone?”
She took a step back, stumbling slightly, and he reached an arm to catch her, but as he did he lost his own balance, and came toppling down over her.
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Rosalind gave a bit of a shriek, and he cursed as the feeling of her soft body under his where they now sprawled on the floor felt all too good.
“William,” she said, her voice coming in a bit of a pant, and he groaned, his desire for her cutting through his numbed senses. “William!” she said with more urgency this time. “I — please — you’re hurting me!”
He realized then that her tiny body was absorbing the entirety of his weight, and he rolled off of her as best he could, coming to lie in a heap beside her.
“Rosalind,” he said, his voice tight, as he heard the door opening and his valet come rushing out. “Leave. Me. Now.”
He heard the rustle of her skirts as she rose and scurried down the hallway, her footsteps retreating. William closed his eyes in relief, finally, as Roberts put his capable hands under his shoulders and carried him into his room.
Rosalind took deep breaths as she found herself retreating once again. She wanted nothing more than to run back to her own rooms, to fling herself onto her bed, and to drown herself in her own tears.
Tillie’s words, however, resonated with her, as did William’s own, ironically, from a few days prior. She was better than that. She was better than this, than how William had treated her upstairs in the corridor. She had already had one husband with a penchant for drink, and that had ended rather badly. This was also the second time in a matter of a few days that she had seen William become someone entirely different than the man she thought she knew. She had forgiven and forgotten the first time, but she was becoming a bit uncomfortable with the thought that this was a pattern of behavior he seemed unlikely to break.
She stepped back into the hall, taking a moment to gather her thoughts and her wits before re-entering the drawing room. It broke her heart to think that William might not be the man she had initially thought he was. She still felt drawn to him and wanted to help him with whatever he was battling. And yet … she thought of Harold, of the man he had been and what her life with him had become. In the end, all he had wanted was to drink himself out of the reality of his current life and into another.
Rosalind wished William would share with her what was driving him to partake in the spirits as he did. For his regular demeanor was nothing like the man she had seen tonight. She realized now that his coldness upon her arrival was similar to the countenance he bore tonight. He was one man one day, and another the next. It was exhausting, the play it had on her emotions, and she didn’t know how to properly deal with it.
She wanted to help him, truly she did, but she also knew that she had to put herself, and her happiness, first before she could truly love another. She wiped the tear from her eye that was threatening to release down her face, squared her shoulders, held her chin high, and returned down the stairs, crying out with a start as she rounded the corner of the landing.
“Lady Templeton.”
Alfred awaited her, his big body leaning against the stairwell. He was dressed, of course, in the finery expected of him, and yet despite the cravat and well-tailored evening jacket, all she could see was the man who had stood in front of the stagecoach, who had taken her to that cottage in the woods where she had waited to die.
“What do you want?” she asked, looking around for a means to get by him.
“I take it my brother is feeling unwell?” He asked with a grin. “Did you find a means by which to soothe him?”
“I did nothing untoward. I was simply collecting something from my chamber,” she said. “Please let me by.”
“Or what?” He asked, leaning toward her. “You shall tell someone? What do you suppose will happen? You hold nothing over me, Lady Templeton, do not forget that. To ruin my reputation would be to forsake your own. And if you should forget, well, have no fear. I shall be there to remind you.”
She opened her mouth to retort — though what she was to say, she wasn’t sure, when movement down the corridor caught her eye.
“Lady Templeton,” Hester made her way toward them. “Whatever are the two of you doing out here?”
There was a gleam to the woman’s eye, but Rosalind would have none of it. The woman had attempted to ruin her friend’s life by capturing her in the same sort of situation, but it would not happen to Rosalind — particularly not with Alfred.
“Nothing at all, Hester,” she said, moving around Alfred and down the hall. “Is your life that dismal that you must create such entertainment and make-believe stories for yourself? It truly is rather sad.”
With a smile on her face, proud of herself and her quick wit for once, Rosalind brushed past an aghast Hester and continued down the hall to rejoin the ladies.
18
He needed water — badly. William sat up in bed, running his hand over his face. His tongue felt thick in his mouth, and his head was throbbing. Not the throb of a megrim coming on, but of overindulgence. He cursed. Why could he never learn? The drink helped in the moment, but it never actually cured him of his ailment. No, it only made it worse.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, making his way to the basin of water in the corner. He cupped his hands in it, splashing water onto his face. It helped him feel somewhat better as he leaned over the washstand, letting it take his weight as he paused for a moment.
When Roberts came in with a tray of coffee, orange juice, and pastries, William could have kissed him.
“Ah Roberts, you are a Godsend,” he said to the man as he placed the tray on the bedside table. Friday followed him into the room and William reached down to give the dog a pat on the head, though Friday was much more interested in the tray of food before him. “Your timing is impeccable. How did you know this is exactly what I needed?”
The man cleared his throat as if unsure what to say, before delicately telling him, “I have been with you long enough, my lord, to know what you prefer following an evening in which you are … feeling poorly.”
William sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I am afraid I let the drink get the better of me last night, Roberts,” he said. “My head was pounding so, and I was simply doing all I could to make it through the evening as a polite host, though I apparently failed at that as well. I hope I was not rude to you, Roberts. If I was, my apologies. You know it was not my intention.”
“Nothing to apologize for, my lord,” Roberts said as he poured William a cup of coffee. “Although perhaps…” he paused, as if he wasn’t sure he should continue.
“What is it, Roberts? Please tell me.”
“Perhaps Lady Templeton may have … received the wrong impression last night.”
William groaned. “Oh, bloody hell, Roberts, what did I do?”
“I believe it was primarily your state that seemed to vex her, as it caused you to lose your footing. You were also quite adamant you wanted her to leave you be.”
William closed his eyes for a moment, as images from last night came flooding back to him. He would have to apologize and explain to her what had happened.
“Very well, Roberts,” he said. “Thank you for your tact. I will make amends with the lady. Now, as long as I have a cup of coffee or two before going down, I believe I shall be able to face my guests shortly. How much longer are they staying?”
“Two days, for the most of them, my lord.”
“Very good,” he said, though part of him wished, for once, that the party would simply leave. “Now, Roberts, I should be dressed. I believe we have outdoor games planned for today with a hunt tomorrow. At least the weather is fine, is it not?”
As he spoke with his valet, dressed, and drank his coffee, William felt a knot of worry growing in his stomach despite his smiling face. What had he said to Rosalind, and how was he going to fix it?
Breakfast was a short affair, as William had risen rather late and most of his guests had already eaten. Rosalind was finishing as William entered the breakfast room, but she kept her head down, barely acknowledging him; instead, speaking with Lord Merryweather. William narrowed his eyes at the two of them, feel
ing the jealousy growing inside as he saw the way they smiled at one another. He pushed the food around his own plate, attempting to join in the conversation, but Rosalind was rather short and continued to pay her attentions to the other man as well as Lady Anne across from her.
He saw Lady Hester watch the two of them with something of delight beginning to grow in her eye, and eventually William gave in and engaged the woman in conversation so as to distract her.
He found no occasion to speak with Rosalind prior to the outdoor games, and now he stood in the sunshine, croquet mallet in hand, as he tried to find an opportunity to pull her aside.
She was seemingly ignoring him, however, and, finding him alone, Lady Diana continued to chatter away at him, with encouraging nods from her mother and his. His sour mood was no fault of Lady Diana’s, and he did all he could to be pleasant to her.
The croquet game was taking place on the round lawn to the south of the house. The gardener had managed to somewhat clean it up for the house party, although the colorful flower border could certainly use a bit more work, William thought with a bit of a sigh as Lady Diana began speaking about some sort of outdoor costume she was wearing, although currently William could have cared less. He looked across the lawn. Today, Rosalind was wearing a pale blue morning dress that gracefully floated around her legs while she walked. Funny, he had never before been particularly interested in a lady’s garments. In fact, while he cared little of what Diana was speaking about, he could not take his eyes from Rosalind.
He was pleased she had stepped out of the dull grays and muted lavenders of half-mourning. Blue looked well on her. He finally looked over to Lady Diana.
“Excuse me, my lady, but there is a matter I must attend to,” he said, attempting a charming smile as he saw her face fall. It wasn’t that he wanted to hurt the girl, it was simply that he did not care for her in the way she deserved, and he would prefer to maintain his distance than to pretend something was there and hurt her later on.
Loved by the Viscount_A Historical Regency Romance Page 12
