Through the sweeping branches of the willow, crystalline blue-green waters rippled. A speckled deer emerged from the woods and trotted down to the pebbly shoreline. The animal dunked its snout into the water and drank. Out in the middle of the lake, a small island rose with a dwelling which resembled a domed Grecian temple built upon it. Avery and Rosamonde’s father had commissioned the build for his countess, the temple surrounded on one side by dense trees and on the other, the shore.
In his younger years, when he’d returned from Eton with Avery for the summer holidays, he and his friend had taken a rowboat out to the island and enjoyed the peacefulness of the place. Inside under the central domed roof, artwork lined the walls, all of the pieces within painted by Lady Hillhurst who had a wonderfully artistic hand and took great pleasure in the peace and quiet of the temple in which she embraced her muse. It hadn’t always been terribly quiet though, not when little Rosamonde would play with a tea set or her dolls or race about squealing with childhood exuberance.
From near the edge of the island’s shoreline, a male peacock shrieked, its call echoing across the waters and its gloriously colored feathers fanning up and outward. The iridescent colors reflected blue, turquoise, and green in a vivid and artistic display that stunned the eye. The birds had been a frippery purchased by Lord Hillhurst when his wife had commented on how pretty the birds were after seeing them elsewhere. She’d adored the colors of their plumage, and her husband had promptly purchased a pair and set them upon the island for his wife’s pleasure.
A female peahen plodded out from the trees surrounding the temple, pecking at the grass and plants as it foraged for food, likely nabbing an insect or a berry here and there from within the bushes. Several peachicks chased after her then scattered about the shrubbery as they too pecked. The female didn’t join her male at first, not until the peacock let out an impressive musical vocalization. The male spread his train of feathers even wider and shivered them in the air as he attempted to attract his female.
His lady peahen circled closer before she finally gave her mate her back and as soon as she did, the male tucked his plumage away, swept onto her back and aligned his tail feathers overtop of his female’s shorter tail.
They mated and never had he seen anything quite so simplistically beautiful.
The male had no need to attend a Season and run the gamut of the marriage mart as he himself would soon have to do once he’d seen to Olivia’s future. No dilly-dallying for the peacock. The bird had no need to adhere to all of Society’s rules in order to gain his heir. No, he’d have more offspring in a matter of months, more peachicks who’d eventually become fully grown and fly from the island, those birds soon seeking their own place to nest and grow their families.
As the male slid from his female’s back, the crests on the top of both of the birds’ heads swayed and the two of them returned to scouting the bushes for food.
The deed was all but done, which brought forth a swarm of uncomfortable thoughts surrounding the lady seated on the blanket across from him as she took a delicate bite from her sandwich. She was like a peahen, chosen by Roth to provide him solely with offspring and naught else. Roth didn’t want Rosamonde for her compassionate nature, nor for her heartfelt love. He wanted her only for her ability to produce male heirs.
Rosamonde would soon be leaving a family she adored, entering into an arranged marriage, which was unfortunately quite the norm for those of the peerage where couples wed for practical, financial, or even political gain. She certainly attended to Roth dutifully during the picnic, ensuring he had plenty to eat and drink.
The marquess’s manor lay only a short ride beyond the rolling hills to the north of the lake, so much closer than his own country estate which was a four-hour ride south from here. Not that he spent a great deal of time at Winterly Manor. Six months of the year he lived in London, which meant he couldn’t possibly offer her what Roth currently did—daily visits with her family.
“Lord Winterly, did you wish for another sandwich?” Rosamonde eyed him expectantly, her voice a soft whisper as Roth conversed with Avery on the current bill being read in Parliament. “You’re rather quiet. Is, ah, everything all right?” she continued in a soft murmur.
Olivia touched his arm as she sipped her wine. “I was going to ask the same question, brother. I’ve never known you to be so quiet. The temple on the island has held your attention for quite some time.”
“I was reminiscing about old times.” He smiled at his sister then returned his gaze to Rosamonde. “Yes, I would like another sandwich.” He’d polished off his first one while watching the birds.
“What old times do you mean?” Rosamonde asked as she passed him the plate of sandwiches.
“I used to row out to the island with Avery whenever I visited. Does your mother still use her retreat for painting?” He selected one and bit into it.
“Yes, she does. Father brings her to the dock around the bend and rows out to the island with her once a week. Usually I join them, to feed the birds and such.”
Two liveried footmen appeared through the trees with another basket and after Rosamonde beckoned them forward, they removed the empty basket and deposited the other. The servants milled about, stacking up used plates and serving more wine. Rosamonde set an assortment of desserts out, including viands and cheeses for those who might wish for a savory finish to their meal, of which Roth inclined his head with a silent yes when Rosamonde asked him if he wished for her to plate some of the cheeses for him.
Winterly himself accepted a slice of apple pie when Rosamonde passed him a plate since she already knew he adored apple pie. It wasn’t unusual for him to crave a midnight snack, and several times while staying here, he’d snuck downstairs after everyone had gone to bed and found her in the kitchens enjoying a midnight snack as well. Apple pie. The two of them would devour slices of pie together, chatting and laughing. Now, with his dessert fork in hand, he ate a bite as he met her smiling gaze, her thoughts having clearly returned to those special moments too. The apple was deliciously sweet, the pastry light and airy, the perfect combination. “It’s delicious,” he told her. “As always.”
“This is a beautiful spot you have here, Rosamonde.” Olivia stretched out her legs, her leather-soled half boots poking out from underneath the long hem of her daffodil-yellow walking gown. His sister selected a sweet raspberry tart and nibbled delicately on it. “Perhaps we could try fishing again tomorrow since we seem to have neglected the poles.”
The poles had been left on the grass, presumably where Avery and Olivia had dropped them after they’d come running to his and Rosamonde’s aid.
“It might be best if we fished from one of the rowboats, rather than from the shoreline,” Rosamonde declared and got a chuckle from Avery who had turned from his conversation with Roth and caught his sister’s words.
“The poor fish will simply have to scatter farther from you if you do.” Avery rubbed his sister’s arm. “You should stick to stone-skipping.”
“Of all the cheek.” She tossed a slice of cheese at her brother.
Avery deftly swiped the cheese from the air and popped it into his mouth. “Or perhaps, it would be best if you gave fishing up entirely. It isn’t a sport suited to you at all, dear sister.”
“Catching fish in the lake is a far better sport than chasing after a helpless creature while you hunt it in the woods.” Rosamonde wagged a finger at him. “I ride along on the hunts to ensure the animals get a chance to run away.”
“I knew it.” Avery chuckled again. “That’s the first time you’ve admitted to the trickery though.”
“Every lady needs her secrets.”
“Well, as lovely as this picnic has been,” Roth muttered as he stood, a huff and a puff of his chest as he nodded curtly at them all. “Do please excuse Lady Rosamonde and I. We have matters to discuss regarding our forthcoming wedding.”
“Oh, we do?” Rosamonde pushed to her feet and brushed crumbs from her skirts.
“Yes, I’d like to speak to your father before this day is done.”
“Of course.” She sent Olivia a fretful look. “I’m sorry. Will you be able to return to the house with your brother?”
“Yes, without any issue. You go.” Olivia waved her away. “We can catch up later this afternoon.”
“Thank you.” Rosamonde squeezed Olivia’s hand and accepted Roth’s arm.
The last thing Winterly wanted to do was watch Roth leading Rosamonde away, but he couldn’t pull his gaze from either of them, not as Roth retrieved his horse and led his mount by the reins past them. One of the footmen followed a suitable distance behind as Roth walked along the path where the tracks of a cart cut through the grass in a direct line back toward Hillhurst Hall on the hilly rise. The two-story house held large wings off each side with stables and service quarters in behind, the home boasting over one-hundred and fifty rooms, including a lavish ballroom. It was a palatial residence, surrounded by extensive gardens. Sophisticated and stately, it had been the home to the Raven family for countless generations.
It would be where he would have to suffer watching Lord Roth and Rosamonde together during the remainder of this house party. No longer was he looking forward to even a single moment of that time.
Chapter 5
Later that evening, Rosamonde stood alone at the base of the stairs near the drawing room where her parents now entertained their guests, the chatter of voices drifting through from under the closed door. Earlier in the day when she’d returned to the hall with Lord Roth, he’d reprimanded her severely. He’d certainly been holding his tongue during their picnic because by golly, he’d been incredibly livid at finding her alone with Lord Winterly and hadn’t had any issue stating so, even more so than he had at the time he’d found her.
After handing his horse to a stable hand, Roth had then marched her inside, directly into a small parlor down a side hallway where one could be assured of some peace and quiet. He’d closed the door and when she’d told him it must remain open, he’d told her quite bluntly that as an engaged couple, they could spend a few minutes alone together. It was expected, and would ensure neither of them could set their betrothal aside without causing a complete scandal for the other. He’d then demanded her earlier behavior with Winterly never be repeated again, and that should he ever find her alone with a gentleman, any gentleman, she would suffer his wrath for her disobedience.
Even now, several hours later, she could still feel the strength of his grip on her wrist and she rubbed the achy spot. Thankfully, once she’d conceded her agreement to his decree, he’d released his punishing hold on her and had allowed her to retire to her chamber for a rest.
Never had she witnessed her own father manhandling her mother in such a way, although she’d heard of husbands who could be rough with their wives. So too, once they were wed, she would be his property, which sent chills shuddering through her. He could beat her black and blue if he so desired, although she sincerely doubted he would, not when it was his wish to procure an heir from her. Perhaps she should tell her father what had transpired, but guilt ate at her. Not only would that place her father in a difficult situation, but in truth she shouldn’t have been alone with Winterly in the first place, and certainly not kissing him as scandalously as she had.
It was her duty to aid her family wherever possible, which meant aligning herself in marriage with Roth. A debt remained in place, one her father couldn’t repay, a fact which she shouldn’t forget. The last thing she wanted was for her parents to lose any property or have to sell personal items to meet the payment of any bills.
“Lady Rosamonde!” Lord Roth strode along the upper landing overlooking the banister, his gray, flinty gaze locked on her. With a flick of his black coattails, he marched downstairs. “Wait right there. I shan’t be a moment.”
Even though she tried to straighten her shoulders, she couldn’t help but flinch as he descended the stairs, his shoes clomping and his walking cane thumping on the polished wooden steps. As he halted in front of her, bringing with him that positively awful scent of pipe-smoke, she dipped into a curtsy and pushed a smile onto her face. “Good evening, my lord.”
“You didn’t join us for dinner. Why not?” Another thump of this cane, his displeasure clear to see.
“I, ah, was a little under the weather after such a long day out. I’m feeling much better now though. Thank you for inquiring about my health.” She kept her smile in place, rather valiantly. When she’d missed the dinner hour due to the turmoil of the afternoon which had caused her belly to roll with unease, she’d sent her maid with a message to her parents saying that she’d be down after the dinner hour following a short rest. Thankfully, they hadn’t questioned her decision to miss the meal.
Roth gripped her elbow, right over the fine blush-colored lace of her evening gown’s sleeves, his gnarly fingers pinching in hard. “Come with me.”
“There is no need—”
“Come.” He steered her along the hallway, past the butler standing near the front door and back down another hallway within the eastern wing before urging her into the dreaded parlor where he’d been too rough with her earlier.
The parlor windows remained open, the gentle nighttime breeze swaying the burgundy drapes and golden tasseled ties securing the thick folds of fabric back. This time he left the door open, then stepped away from her and rested a hand on the mantel over the fireplace stacked with wood ready to be lit should the fire be needed. A lone candle flickered from atop a side table, while a basket of her mother’s embroidery threads were tucked away next to the burgundy padded corner armchair. She gestured to the drinks cabinet. “Would you care for a brandy?”
“No.” A snappy return. “Has your father made you aware of the conversation he and I had earlier this afternoon while you were resting in your chamber?”
“He didn’t.” The dreaded chills returned.
“Then I shall inform you. The funds set aside for your dowry—twenty thousand pounds to be exact—will be paid to me as due, although I’ve kindly offered to reduce your father’s debt by the same figure.” A glint lit his eyes, an unsavory glint. “Call it my wedding gift to you.”
“I see.” She clasped her hands behind her back and tried heartedly hard to reinsert her usual calm control. Allowing him to believe she had no backbone wasn’t acceptable. “My lord, your generosity knows no bounds. I graciously thank you.”
“His debt to me is rather substantial, twenty thousand pounds being a miniscule amount compared to the full sum of the loan. A hundred and fifty thousand pounds, in case you weren’t aware.”
“Oh my.” She clasped a hand to her mouth, having had no idea the loan had been that high. Such an exorbitant amount. Father would have to sell unentailed property to meet such a huge debt. He’d already told her he had several investments on the go, but none he’d be able to cash in. The profits from those investments wouldn’t be available for five years, which meant she was stuck in her current predicament with no other way out.
“With your father’s debt being rather substantial, so now is your debt to me, a debt which must also be repaid.” His gaze swept lasciviously down her neck to the low cut neckline of her gown, his appraisal of her breasts clear to see as he smirked.
She shuddered with revolt. Desperately she wished to cover herself up, but instead she maintained her position with her hands clasped behind her back.
Booted footsteps echoed down the hallway and she closed her eyes and prayed that it would be Avery, then she just as swiftly prayed it wouldn’t be. Her brother had always been one of her staunchest protectors and ever since Father had announced her betrothal in his study, her brother had been pushing her at every opportunity for an explanation as to why she’d so swiftly agreed to the match. Of course, he understood she’d done so in order for the alliance which would benefit their family, but he knew deep down there was more to it. What he wasn’t aware of was the loan, or that Roth had been set to wed their m
other all those years ago. If Father wished to speak of either issue to Avery then he would. It was most certainly not her place to share the details, otherwise she might very well be causing more problems than she ever would in solving them. Meanwhile, the marquess was right. She now owed him a great debt, one representing the sum of twenty thousand pounds, a debt that could only be repaid by birthing him a son.
“Look at me, Lady Rosamonde.” A command from Roth as he stepped closer, the smoky scent surrounding him clogging her throat. With one knobby finger under her chin, his nail scraping her skin, he leaned in. “You will provide me with—”
“Do pardon me. I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.” Winterly stood in the doorway, his nostrils flaring as he glared at Roth. In his fisted hand he gripped a sealed letter and he extended it toward Roth. “A message from Rothgale Manor. I was walking through the front foyer when your coachman arrived with it. Your servant awaits outside for your answer.”
Roth continued to stare at her, then snorted as he shot Winterly a glare. Slowly, Roth eased back a step, his fingernail scraping her skin before he lowered his hand and turned toward Winterly and accepted the letter. Roth slid his thumb under the seal and broke it, removed his eyeglasses from his jacket pocket and unfolded the paper. Wandering closer to the light of the candle, he read the missive with deep furrows lining his weathered brow.
More footsteps and Avery stepped into the parlor, his gaze moving from Winterly to Roth, then to her then Winterly again. Her brother didn’t utter a word as he moved directly to her side, as if he were aware she required his strength at this moment.
Winterly moved swiftly to her other side and she struggled to breathe under the joint force of their commanding presence. Still, she needed them both in this moment and no matter she hadn’t been able to convey that to either of them with words, they’d still somehow sensed her need and understood all the same.
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