Rosalind
by
Audrey Harrison
Published by Audrey Harrison
Copyright 2015 Audrey Harrison
Audrey Harrison asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people.
Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
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This book was proof read by Joan Kelley. Read more about Joan at the end of this story but if you need her, you may reach her at [email protected].
Chapter 1
London 1819
It rained. Well it would, wouldn’t it? Rosalind thought, barely suppressing a grimace. The sun was probably too scared to come out on a day like this. Other brides had flowers, friends, family and a celebration; she had her father, the groom and his solicitor. Her groom had insisted on a small affair even though her father had pressed for a large ceremony with all the pomp that the event deserved. Eventually her father conceded that the groom could have his way on his point; the result was still the same: his eldest daughter was to become the Duchess of Sudworth.
Rosalind had hoped for a happy wedding day, but all she felt was betrayed and let down by her parents. She was the daughter of a ‘cit’, a person who had earned their fortune through business. The type of person the ton looked down their long aristocratic noses at. Rosalind was a realist; she and her type would never be accepted completely into the upper circle, the top level of polite society. She could not understand why her father, a man so astute in all matters of business, could not see this.
Mr Andrew Johnson, Rosalind’s father, had been determined to secure a suitably grand title for his eldest daughter. He held no special affection for his first born; his motivation had been based on a purely tactical move. It was a subject they had argued about before the wedding.
“You have a responsibility to your sisters,” he reminded Rosalind every time she tried to explain why she did not want the marriage to go ahead. “Having a title will open the door to all sorts of events that you can escort your sisters to; they will soon secure good marriages. Their fortunes are as attractive as yours; they just need the opportunity to meet eligible men.”
“I don’t want to marry a man who is a complete stranger, although the thought of getting to know him holds little interest to me, now or in the future,” Rosalind retorted, speaking her mind to her father as she always had.
“Your sisters need you to act for them. All of you are above marriageable age; it is time to set up your own establishments. God willing, I will see the four of you settled,” Mr Johnson said dramatically.
Rosalind fought to bite back the anger that his words stirred; he always used his age when it suited him. Admittedly, he was seven and sixty, but he was still in robust health. Her father’s dramatics might not have made Rosalind more amenable to the situation, but linking her future to her sisters chances at marriages did. Rosalind’s conscience rested heavily with her throughout the preparations of the proposed marriage. She was the eldest of four daughters and had been like a second mother to her younger siblings. Their own mother was more interested in their father and the latest fashions than anyone or anything else. The result of parental neglect was that Rosalind had a sense of responsibility towards her sisters that was stronger than it should have been, but it was there and was an intrinsic part of her.
She acknowledged to herself that, on one point at least, her father was correct: her marriage would put the girls in the forefront of wider society. Their good looks and large fortunes would secure some penniless aristocrat who had squandered his fortune. Just has hers had done. She suppressed a groan. She did not even have the consolation of knowing that her looks or personality had attracted her groom. The marriage had been arranged even before they had met.
“I cannot understand why you are willing to make me the sacrifice,” Rosalind had said bitterly. It was her one and only lapse into self-pity. She had hoped to marry a man she had chosen rather than one forced on her.
“Sometimes, Rosalind, I really do not understand you,” her father said, for once not shouting his viewpoint at her. “Most girls would give their hind teeth to be in your position: a fortune and a title. I’ve looked into the reputation of your husband; he is not a drunk, or a wastrel. So what exactly is the problem?”
“I don’t love him,” Rosalind replied honestly.
“Pah! If that is your reason, you are more foolish than I thought! Whoever married for love when there is business to transact? Be gone, girl! I am wasting no more of my time on your silly notions!” Mr Johnson said dismissing his daughter.
She had appealed to her mother but had received no support from that parent either. Mrs Johnson had little interest in her daughters unless they were asking about the latest dress style. Throughout their lives they had all been no more than items to be picked up when she had wanted some entertainment. All the girls had learned at an early age that their mother had a very short attention span, especially with regards to children. She had shown little motherly affection at any point during their childhood or so far in their adult lives. She could now see the chance of being rid of all four girls in the not too distant future, which pleased her. In her opinion her life would be simpler when she had fewer distractions. As this could be achieved with very little effort on her part, she was fully supportive of the situation. She dismissed Rosalind’s entreaties and returned to her fashion plates, refusing to discuss the issue further.
Rosalind did not consider running away or even refusing the match. Her parents were doing what they thought was right. If she decided to take drastic action against it, it would result in her being cast off. Her father was generous with his money, but he always undertook spending to open up new business opportunities or to secure further land he could use to build on or develop. Rosalind did not know the details of this particular deal, but she knew that her father was handing over a substantial amount of money along with his daughter. There was no doubt that he would benefit from the transaction, or he would not do it. At this moment, she was not sure if it was purely for guarantees to support his other daughters in society.
In truth, she could not consider any other course than the one her father had chosen for her. She saw the squalor that existed not too far from the streets she frequented. She knew without a doubt that a single woman with no family or financial support had few options open to her. She would get no respectable employment without support, and she could not face any of the less respectable professions. Her position was inescapable.
So, one month after that unwelcome conversation, Rosalind was faced with a journey to the church with her father that would change her life forever. She had met her groom just once before the wedding. They had not been left alone at all; Rosalind was convinced it was because her father did not trust her not to sabotage the match.
She had been as polite as her groom had been to her, but she had not been welcoming. He was lucky to be faced with civilities; he had arranged everything with her father without even making the slightest attempt at any sort of courtship. Rosalind had sat in the drawing room and gained at least some satisfaction that her groom looked as uncomfortable with the situation as she felt. She fumed to herself that his discomfort was more likely because he was lowering hi
mself by marrying her rather than remorse at the situation itself. He was receiving a substantial amount of money that would ease his concern at marrying someone not previously known to him. She pondered that he must be desperate to taint his heritage with a ‘cit’s’ daughter.
She had dressed carefully for her wedding day. The preparation of her wedding trousseau had been the only pleasant experience during the month before the wedding. Rosalind felt shallow at the feelings of pleasure she had experienced when picking out materials, dresses and accessories to take away with her. Her justification was that the acquaintances she would come into contact with in her new home would have no complaint with regards to her style even if they condemned her for her background.
She chose an ivory dupion dress with a lace overlay for the ceremony. The lace had tiny embroidered lilac flowers all over it, and her colouring contrasted perfectly with the ivory. She carried a posy of cream and lilac flowers, which her sister Grace had made. Her bonnet was coloured in matching ivory material and edged with lilac ribbon and flowers. She wore an opal and diamond necklace and bracelet, the diamonds flickering in the candlelight of the church.
The ceremony was short, and the party did not stand around exchanging idle chitchat after the register had been signed. Mr Johnson nodded a farewell to his daughter and left the group. Rosalind could have cried at the lack of familial affection; she had not even been allowed to bring her sisters to her wedding. Their presence would have made the farce bearable, because she would have had them in front of her as a reminder as to why she was going through with the situation.
The solicitor waited until the Duke of Sudworth handed his bride into his carriage and then stepped back, glad to have a conclusion to the business.
Rosalind sat at the opposite side of the carriage to the Duke and stared out of the window. They were to have a four-day journey to the north, something that, at the moment, Rosalind was not sure how she was going to get through. She had no idea of what to say to the man sitting with her; he was a complete stranger, and yet her fate was now in his hands. He lived in Sudworth Hall, a large property in Lancashire, where she was now mistress. The enormity of the situation made her even angrier than she had been before the wedding. She stared determinedly away from her husband and gritted her teeth. She hoped she had the strength to get through the coming months and years.
*
Peter Gilbert, Duke of Sudworth looked at his bride with all the foreboding that had been with him since he had started on the ridiculous scheme. He actually felt a little sorry for the young woman; she was five and twenty and married to a man she had met only once before. He had to presume that she was happy with her part of the settlement. After today she had a title and a grand house along with two smaller houses to preside over, but her behaviour did not support his presumption.
She seemed determined to stare out of the window, and he had to suppress a smile, the first sign of amusement he had felt for many days. If she travelled the whole of the journey in such a position, she would probably be permanently twisted by the time they arrived in Lancashire.
His amusement did not last long. Peter sighed and turned to look out of his own window. How had he been reduced to this? He was the second son, or had been until a year ago. His father had died over four years ago, leaving the estate in dire financial straits. Neither Peter nor his older brother Robert had realised to what extent their father had gambled away the family money. They should have been more involved he supposed, but hindsight was a wonderful thing. He was as guilty as the others in his family in going about as if money was no object and life was there for living. He had never once suspected the extent of debt the family was in.
Prior to his father’s death, Peter had become a gentleman farmer on a small estate in South Lancashire. The family home was farther north towards the town of Preston. When the reality of the family finances was realised Peter had sold his farm and pledged his help and support to his brother Robert, to try and reverse the situation they were in. There was one flaw in the plan and that had been Robert himself. Peter had always known his elder brother was like his father: outgoing, a drinker and a gambler. Peter was the quiet, steady one, more in keeping with his mother’s quiet ways. She had died in childbirth along with a third son, so Peter’s was a lone voice of reason in the boisterous, hedonistic household.
Robert had lived the life of a Duke to the full after he had inherited the title, always promising to retrench but never achieving any savings. He had then decided on a trip around Europe, leaving Peter in charge of the estates. He had gone on his travels, promising to return with a rich heiress. He had reached Italy, of that Peter was sure, having received two letters, but then the correspondence had stopped.
For almost twelve months Peter had struggled in vain to create more money where there was none, and then the news had arrived: Robert had died in Italy. He had developed severe pains in the stomach and had died within a few days. There was no further explanation about the death; there was none needed. Robert had probably died through excess of some form; it was definitely a case of like father, like son. Peter was deeply upset at losing his two closest relatives in such a short period of time. The shock increased when the realisation sank in that he was the only surviving male relative of the Sudworth line. The shock turned to anger when soon after notification of Robert’s death, a whole new set of outstanding bills was received. Robert’s legacy was to have been the complete bankruptcy of the estate.
Peter had worked with the family solicitor for over six months before the solicitor had offered a solution to Peter’s predicament. He had hesitantly explained that another client, linked to his London office, was an extremely rich man and was looking to marry his daughter to a titled gentleman.
He had dismissed the scheme at first, but as the days passed, he was forced to reconsider. He realised that although it galled him, it was the only realistic solution to his problems; he needed to marry an heiress. He had convinced himself that the daughter was a willing participant, that she wanted the marriage and title, just as much as her father did. He had arranged to meet his solicitor in London to go through with the agreement and then the marriage. The thoughts of the young lady’s willingness for the scheme helped him justify such a transaction, but their one meeting had made him wonder if that were the case.
Her demeanour had been that of forced co-operation. She had barely spoken and had been watched closely by her father. He had been mortified with the realisation that the young woman might not wish for the marriage to go ahead. As a result of the new information, he had insisted that his solicitor visit him the following morning.
He greeted the solicitor with a statement that made the gentleman speechless for a few moments. “I want to withdraw from the marriage agreement,” Peter said firmly.
“But your Grace....” the solicitor stammered, finally finding his voice.
“His daughter does not wish any part of it; a blind man could see that! She barely said a word yesterday. Hardly the behaviour of a woman eager to become a Duchess!” the usually calm Peter snapped. He felt the tension of the last months bubbling to the surface and could barely keep himself under control.
“She would have been nervous, that is all. It was a first meeting; ladies are delicate creatures,” the solicitor soothed, not relishing informing Mr Johnson of the Duke of Sudworth’s change of heart.
“This was an idiotic idea; it will never work! I want nothing more to do with it!” Peter growled.
As it had been the solicitor’s idea, Peter’s remarks caused offence to the man standing before him. The usually obliging man decided that the time for pandering was at an end. No matter that the gentleman he had been pandering to held one of the highest titles in the land. The solicitor’s response was direct and delivered without compassion. “Mr Johnson is entitled to sue you for breach of promise, and I can assure you that he has chased people for far less. His claim on you will ensure you lose the Sudworth estate. Even without the claim, if
the marriage does not go ahead, you won’t receive the money that will come as part of your marriage; the estate will be lost anyway. There is no better alternative. What will happen to Annie then? Have you thought of other methods to support her?”
Peter dragged his hand through his hair in frustration. “Damn my father and brother!” he snapped. He stood, turning to look out of the window of Sudworth House. The London square that the house overlooked was nothing compared to the rolling hills of Lancashire, visible as far as the eye could see from the windows of Sudworth Hall. Could he let it all go? It would seem such a waste for his father and brother’s foolishness to cause the loss of the estate and name forever, but there was more to it than that.
He had been happy to live on his farm in South Lancashire; he had been content with his lot and a natural to the business of farming. It was because of Annie that he wanted to preserve Sudworth Hall. Without it he had no idea what would become of her. It was not the title or wanting to keep the property himself; he had never coveted that. The thought of losing the place and forcing Annie from all she had known was too much for him to consider.
“I will go ahead with the marriage and just hope that the girl can forgive me,” he finally said, accepting that, as selfish as it might seem, he needed to keep his ancestral home.
Chapter 2
Rosalind awoke with a start. A blanket was draped over her, and she pulled it closer, enjoying the warmth before she realised who must have covered her with it. She peeped around the edge of the blanket; the Duke of Sudworth was asleep on the opposite seat. She relaxed a little and sat up, carefully taking the opportunity to look at her new husband; she had only glanced at him before that moment.
He lay with his head on the cushioned interior of the carriage. His hair was a deep, rich brown but only slightly wavy. It was not adorned with the usual fashionable curls that most gentlemen tried to create, and it was longer than the usual style. His skin was tanned, something that surprised Rosalind: usually the aristocracy preferred a pale complexion. His colouring suited him though; it contrasted against the white of his neckcloth. Rosalind knew he was tall; he had stood at least six inches above her in the church. She was no petite miss; her own height reaching five feet ten inches, a problem at the assemblies that she had attended. Men did not like to be towered over by their dancing partner. The thought passed quickly through her mind that it would be an advantage to have a husband who stood at around six feet four inches tall.
Rosalind: A Regency Romance (The Four Sisters Series Book 1) Page 1
