His nose was long and strong, Rosalind smiled to herself. A strong nose: she was sure he would not see it as a compliment, but it fitted the proportions of his face. She was also struck by his mouth; it was full, almost pouting in its state of rest. She had never seen such an appealing set of lips before. She almost laughed at her thoughts; at least her father had bought her something attractive to look at. He moved as if aware of her scrutiny but then settled again. Rosalind had panicked a little at his movement. She truly did not know how to be at ease with the man before her.
He had crossed his arms over his chest in an effort to become more comfortable, and Rosalind’s attention was drawn to his hands. He had taken his gloves and hat off when he entered the carriage and had laid them down beside him. Now in full view, his hands were in contrast to the rest of him, except perhaps his tanned face. His dress was of the finest materials and cut. His shirt collar almost shone white and, although stiff, was not to the extent that the dandies preferred. His pale blue waistcoat contrasted perfectly with the rich blue wool of his frock coat. His breeches were a rich buff colour, fitting him snugly. He might be a poor Duke, but it was obvious that he still paid his tailor. His hands stood out against his fine clothes though; they were coarse: his nails chipped and his skin deeply tanned, matching the colour of his face.
For the first time since meeting the man, a nugget of curiosity stirred in Rosalind. There was obviously more to him than she had first thought. She sighed softly to herself as reality set in. He was not that extraordinary; he had lost a lot of money and accepted a marriage purely for its monetary benefits. He was not that different many others in the ton. Most married to join lands and money, irrespective of the feelings of the parties involved.
Her musings were brought to a stop when the Duke of Sudworth stirred and sat up, rubbing his hands through his hair. He looked at Rosalind and smiled, the first direct look they had shared. Rosalind was struck by how attractive his eyes were: a rich hazel in colour, the shade seeming to be heightened because of the colour of his skin.
“I hope you feel a little rested after your sleep?” he asked, sitting back and stretching his legs out before him. He looked anything but comfortable in such a confined space.
“Thank you for the blanket, Your Grace,” Rosalind said quietly.
“You are very welcome; I did not wish you to feel chilly while sleeping. This is a well cushioned carriage, but even so draughts can force their way in,” Peter responded, friendly but polite.
Rosalind flushed a little, feeling vulnerable that a stranger had seen her sleeping. The fact that the stranger was her husband only made the situation worse. “I was perfectly comfortable, Your Grace.”
Peter groaned inwardly. His wife might be five and twenty, but she appeared to be a meek woman if her responses were anything to go by; this was going to be even more taxing than he had imagined. He needed to make a few things clear to her. The next conversation was not going to be easy for either of them, but it had to be said. With no staff in earshot, now was the perfect opportunity, especially before the first evening stop.
“Rosalind,” Peter started, using her given name, even though she had not given him permission to do so.
“Yes, Your Grace?” came the quiet response.
“Please stop using my formal title!” Peter said. He had not snapped, but his tone was short enough to make her blink at him in surprise. “It was never my title to have. I dislike it and only use it when it is absolutely necessary to do so. Please use my given name, which is Peter,” he explained, his voice returning to its usual calm.
“If you are sure,” Rosalind responded. Again, the nugget of curiosity stirred within her.
“I am,” Peter responded firmly. “I need to clarify a few things with you.” He was amused at the look of interest on her face at his words. “While we are travelling I have given instructions to secure separate bedchambers. You have your maid, and I have my valet, so we shall both be taken care of. I did not think it appropriate at this time to be sharing a chamber.” He could not help notice the deep red flush that had quickly infused across her cheeks at his words.
“And when we arrive at your home?” Rosalind was mortified that the first conversation with her husband was about their sleeping arrangements. Although, to be fair, it had been one of the things that had kept her tossing and turning at night.
“It is our home now,” Peter said. “You have paid enough to earn the right to regard it as your home.” Rosalind flushed again; his words, even though they were not said harshly, made her feel the interloper that she was; she had ultimately bought her title, the reality being that she would have got it no other way. Peter groaned, Rosalind’s expression was such that he knew his words had not been as consoling as he had hoped that they would be. It was a horrendous situation for them both.
He moved on impulse, reaching over and taking her hands in his. He looked at her with his intense hazel eyes. “Rosalind, you have saved my family home for which I am grateful. I may not appear to be, but I am. You have every right to take your place there. I do hope that you come to love it as much as those who have lived in it before. In all this….” Peter waved his hand, taking in the pair of them. “There is one promise that I can make you. I shall not force you into relations with a man you do not know or care about.”
“Oh!” Rosalind exclaimed, surprised and embarrassed at his words. She could feel callouses on his hands as he held hers firmly but gently. She instinctively wanted to pull her hands away, but it was as if he sensed her reluctance at being touched and had gently squeezed her hands as if to reassure her.
The sensation the contact created made Rosalind flush even more. Even through her own gloves, she could feel the heat from his hands. She glanced down at her own hands, now swallowed in the strong grasp. She was not accustomed to feeling small, but his size made her feel delicate, a feeling that made her heart speed up. Her situation had just become even more confusing; she should not be feeling anything towards him, but he was causing her usual calm to disappear.
“What about an heir?” Rosalind had uttered the words before she could stop herself. It was the aim of every man she had ever known, to sire an heir. Her own father had been very disappointed that no son had been born to take over his empire when he was eventually too old to continue. He spent an inordinate amount of time desperately trying to plan a way of keeping the business within the family, none of which seemed to satisfy him.
Peter smiled, but it was a bitter smile. “I have come to the conclusion that bad blood runs through the Sudworth veins. Society would be better if the line and the name ended with me.”
“Why did you need my father’s money if it wasn’t to secure your future? Surely you could have reduced your household so that you could have lived comfortably enough?” Rosalind asked, her tone incredulous. She was unable to continue being demure when faced with such contradictory behaviour.
Peter let go of her hands and sat back on the carriage seat. He let out a long slow breath; he needed to be honest with her. “I had not lived at Sudworth Hall for six years before my father died. I had my own farm in the south of the county and was happy there, very happy there in fact. The financial situation after my father’s passing forced me to sell my property and move back to the family home. When my brother died, the enormity of the situation became apparent, my brother had added to the debt, rather than reducing it. I cannot rest while so much money is owed to all and sundry. My family’s folly should not impact the livelihood of others. It would not be just.”
Peter inwardly cursed himself. When he had the perfect opportunity, he had let it pass and had not told her everything. He did not know why; he was not usually such a coward, but he did not feel the time was right for letting her know what the reality of his household was.
Rosalind looked at Peter. Although she did not like being a commodity, she had to accept that in this circumstance she was just that. She was not one to ignore the reality of her situation, and
pining over her lot would not change it. Her father would not be happy to find out that there would be no children from the match. He wanted to fill society with Johnson descendants; he had made that clear on more than one occasion. Rosalind was sure that he must not have been told of Peter’s views on children before the agreement had been made.
She was not sure how Peter’s announcement made her feel. The thought of sharing a bed with a stranger had terrified her; there was no doubt of that. On the other hand though, she had always presumed that she would have a family of her own. Looking after her sisters had brought out the natural mother in her. There was also something else making her long for children. She wanted to show her children what it was like to be loved for who they were, not as an occasional item of interest. She had been certain that she would give her own children a loving, secure upbringing—something that neither she nor her sisters had experienced. Peter’s words meant that she would not have that option, and a lump developed in her chest at the thought.
“I see,” she responded. “At least I am under no illusion as to what you expect. I am to be a wife in name only. I get the title, you get the money.”
Peter winced a little at her words. He had never really thought about marriage. A man of nine and twenty had lots of time before he needed to settle down and find a wife. Until the reality of what his father and brother had done had sunk in, he had actually intended marrying and having a family. Their actions had made him bitter enough to want to end the Sudworth line, so thoughts of marriage had also disappeared until he was given this option.
Married in this way, though, went against everything he believed in. His relations’ actions had removed his choice, and his wife was a complete stranger to him. The whole situation was difficult, but he would try and make things as comfortable as he could for both their sakes. He tried to lighten the mood. “Your title is one of the highest in the land. You will have three houses to manage, every social event you could wish for, and all the clothes you could want. Won’t that be enough to make this arrangement more attractive?”
Rosalind squared her shoulders. He was clearly under the impression that she had wanted his title. It was time to put him right; after all, he had been frank with her. “Let me be clear,” she started, meeting his gaze, no longer feeling daunted by the man before her. “I’ve already had as many clothes and fripperies throughout my life as I could possibly want. I have never wished to leave my social sphere. I wished only for one home not numerous. The only title I ever coveted, was that of ‘Mrs’. I am doing what I was obliged to do by my father. Do not be under any doubt that any of this was my idea.”
Peter stared at the young woman across from him. Her blunt words stunned him. The situation was even worse than he had thought. He had presumed, or hoped, he supposed if he was honest with himself, that she was agreeable to the scheme. It seemed that his first instinct was correct; she had been forced into the marriage.
He wondered why. She was pretty, very pretty actually, surely a suitable husband could have been found? Her hair was a glistening black, and her eyes were large and the deepest brown. She was taller than many women, which could restrict her choice in husband he supposed. He had felt comfortable standing next to her in the church, so there must be other men of his stature who would feel the same. She was pale; but that was the fashion, and it contrasted against her hair and eyes to emphasise them. Her lips gave her face colour, the red contrasting against the paleness. Yes, he thought, she was very pretty; so why was she here with him?
“I am sorry that is the case,” he said, genuine in his apology. “I will do everything I can to try and make this farce as comfortable and pleasant for you as I possibly can. Maybe one day we can at least be friends.”
Friends, Rosalind thought to herself, turning back to the window. This was not how she had anticipated marriage when she had planned it as a young girl. Some people would say that she was lucky. Her husband was handsome, they were rich, and she had a title; but the whole situation left her feeling cold.
As she sat watching the countryside pass her by, her practical side emerged as it had done in every set-back she had faced. She determined to use the opportunity to make sure each of her sisters would have a marriage in which they were happy. It would not matter what her father said; she would use her position and the protection of a husband to aid her sisters—aid she had needed. No one else in her family would face such an unpromising start to a marriage.
She sighed. Love was to be one of those emotions that she would never truly feel. She was lucky, she told herself; her position could have been a lot worse. She would make the best of this; it was the only way she would tolerate what she faced.
Chapter 3
Four days travel and hardly a word spoken, Peter thought to himself as the journey neared its end. They had been polite to each other. They had commented on the state of the inns and the food served in each. The weather was discussed each morning and again at each stopping point, but there was no real conversation.
He had not seen anything of the fiery woman from the first day. If he was honest, he did not know what to make of her. She was pleasant to him, but seemed cold in her manner. It did not bode well for when they reached Sudworth Hall. He cursed himself when he mulled over the implications of bringing a character into the household who was distant and unfeeling He should have thought more about what she would have to deal with in the future rather than grasping onto the money the way he had.
A few times, he had tried to raise the subject that was Annie, but each time he had decided against it and returned to looking out of the window. As each day passed it became harder to start the conversation. The atmosphere became more strained rather than less, neither becoming familiar with or amenable to the other.
As they neared the estate, he was forced into starting the conversation: he could delay it no longer. “Rosalind, there will be someone else living with us at Sudworth Hall,” he started when they were but two miles away from the property.
“Oh?” Rosalind turned away from the window. For once she had been looking closely at the scenery, genuinely interested in the landscape that was to be her home.
“My younger sister lives at Sudworth,” Peter explained.
“I did not realise there were any other family members apart from your brother and yourself,” Rosalind said. “What age is she?”
“She is two and twenty,” Peter said hesitantly. “But she is very young for her age.”
Peter’s hesitancy was putting Rosalind on the alert, but she continued to ask her questions. “She is the same age as my own sister, Annabelle. I’m presuming that she had her first season some time ago?” Rosalind was actually asking why the daughter of a Duke was not married at the age of two and twenty. She supposed the lack of funds in the family could have had an impact on marriage proposals, but that would not necessarily have left her still unmarried at such an age. She knew full well that by the time a girl reached twenty, she was considered on the shelf. It was only her own father’s determination for her to marry a title that had seen her remain unmarried at five and twenty. She had been a fool to suppose the lack of pressure from her parents had been as a result of them waiting until she had met someone she loved. The reality was that she was no longer needed as substitute mother, so she was free to marry.
Peter looked uncomfortable. He decided that it would be better if Rosalind found out the truth fully when she met Annie. “She has not had a season; it was not considered wise at the time,” he replied, evading the question.
“Will I bring her into society, along with my sisters?” Rosalind asked. The thought did not trouble her; one more sister would cause her no hardship. Caring for another would not overwhelm one who was naturally maternal.
“No, that wouldn’t be appropriate,” Peter responded. The panic that her words caused within him made his response sound more abrupt than he would have normally done.
Rosalind mistook his response to mean that he did not want h
is sister associating with her own sisters. “As you wish,” she answered, her offence his words had caused showing clearly in her tone.
“Rosalind, I didn’t mean……” Peter started, but he realised that he had left it too late; they were turning into the driveway of the Hall. “Damn it!” he muttered to himself.
Rosalind heard the curse and chose to ignore it. It was best that she knew his opinions of herself and her family at the start. It was no real surprise, but she wished that it was not quite so obvious. It would make life so much more uncomfortable.
Peter started to speak again. “This is the parkland leading up to the house. The house is set three miles into the land. An ancestor wanted to be a distance from the road.”
“He would not want to be sullied by the lower classes, I imagine,” Rosalind responded, still offended.
Peter ignored the jibe. “There are farms attached to our land, but they are mainly to the north, so we are a little top heavy; some houses have their land completely encircling the house, ours doesn’t. I think one of my ancestors sold off some of the property, probably to pay off debts. I suppose you could say that we have been lucky not to have lost the estate earlier,” he said ruefully.
Rosalind did not respond, and Peter continued. “We are self-sufficient now; we weren’t when my father was alive. I managed to introduce some of the techniques I learned while owning my own farm. The house as you will see, has been neglected and will require a programme of work to bring it up to standard. My father and brother both thought their own amusement was more important than repairs or redecoration.”
Rosalind: A Regency Romance (The Four Sisters Series Book 1) Page 2
