How to Please a Lady

by Jane Goodger

  Too many questions. Too many long hours while she watched him rub down her mare or help a foal into the world. Too many happy memories of them riding about the estate, often in the company of her brothers, who tolerated their little sister’s sense of adventure. Years and years of memories. One day, when she was seventeen, he realized little Rose had grown up.

  It had been the worst moment of his life.

  She’d gone away to finishing school and he hadn’t seen her in months. Hadn’t really even given her much thought other than a vague sense that he missed her hanging about. Then she’d come home and headed almost immediately to the stables to say hello to Moonrise, her beloved horse. Maybe it was the way the late-day sunlight hit her face, or the blue dress she wore, or the expression of pure happiness on her face, or the way she closed her eyes and breathed in the scents of the stable as if it were the most wonderful smell in the world. But in that moment, he realized she was a woman and that the casual brotherly love he’d had for her was suddenly something much more. Of course he’d fallen in love with her. Who wouldn’t?

  She looked happy now, dancing with her future husband, no doubt charming the man the way she seemed to charm everyone. Holy God, she looks beautiful.

  “You know, if she knew how you felt about her, she’d find it embarrassing. Or worse, she’d pity you.”

  “Sod off, Harry,” Charlie said good-naturedly.

  Harry, one of Hallstead Manor’s grooms, took a deep drag of his cigarette before tossing it to the ground and stamping it out with a heavy boot. “Just as well you’re leaving,” he said, his tone almost gentle, which made Charlie feel somehow worse. “She the reason? Just wondering. We’re all wondering.”

  Was Rose the reason? Maybe falling in love with a woman he could never have was part of the reason he was going to America. But the bigger reason was that he didn’t want to end up like his father, old and broken down, living on a tiny pension in a rented cottage. His uncle had gone to America ten years prior, owned his own home, had a good-paying job. If Charlie stayed in England, he’d be working in the stables until he couldn’t work anymore. And he’d watch her marry another man, have his babies.

  “No,” he said. “I would have gone anyway.”

  Harry let him be, gazing in a window at a world so far removed, the dancers might as well have been on the moon.

  “Gossip please,” Rose said, coming up to Georgette. She was exceedingly warm and taking a break from the dancing.

  Georgette was standing next to her best friend, Lady Barrington, a woman whose seemingly dour appearance was in sharp contrast to her good humor and lively personality. Indeed, when Rose had first met Lady Barrington, she hadn’t been prepared for the older woman’s sense of the absurd.

  “This is my gossip so I believe I should be allowed to impart it,” Lady Barrington said. Then she spoke directly to Rose. “Your sister-in-law says you are too innocent to hear this, but I said you’re to be married soon enough, and I daresay you won’t swoon.”

  “My, this does sound titillating.”

  “You’ve overdone it, Rebecca,” Georgette said, sounding cross. “Now Rose will expect something more interesting.”

  Lady Barrington huffed, but otherwise ignored her friend. “Rose, do you see that dashing fellow talking to your brother? Tall. Dark. Exceedingly handsome.”

  Rose looked across the room and immediately spotted the man Lady Barrington was talking about. He was the handsomest man she’d ever seen in her life. Strong jaw, perfect hair, clothes tailored to perfection on his tall, lean form. “I see him,” Rose said, trying to keep her voice neutral. She was engaged to be married, after all.

  “He’s an American,” Lady Barrington said.

  As gossip went, that wasn’t terribly interesting, but Rose had a feeling there was more.

  “Apparently he has high political aspirations. Already he works for the State Department, and for a young man, his rise has been quite mercurial. But he has a problem,” she said mysteriously.

  “Oh?” Rose asked, only because she knew she was expected to.

  “He’s not married. A man with high political aspirations must have a wife.”

  Rose wrinkled her brow. “Must he?”

  “Not always,” Lady Barrington said with a telling emphasis on the word always. “But it is certainly prudent when unsavory rumors begin circulating.”

  “Such as the one you are about to spread?” Rose asked, raising a brow.

  Lady Barrington made a face, and Rose and Georgette laughed. “Don’t ruin her fun, Rose. Go on, Rebecca.”

  She lowered her voice to just above a whisper. “It’s said he’s a sodomite.”

  Rose leaned forward. “What’s a sodomite?”

  Lady Barrington gave her a look, and Georgette said, “She’s only a child, for goodness sake.”

  Georgette’s friend waved a dismissive hand. “She’s to be married in three months.” She turned to Rose. “It’s a man who prefers the company of other men.”

  This did nothing to clear things up for Rose. “Don’t all men?”

  Georgette looked like she was close to laughing aloud. “Not in the bedroom,” she said succinctly.

  Rose looked at them in confusion until her face suddenly cleared, and the two older women laughed aloud.

  “Truly? But he’s so . . .”

  “Handsome. Yes.”

  “And manly,” Rose said, tilting her head and looking at him. “I’m going over to meet him,” she announced, and as she started walking off, Georgette grabbed her arm.

  “Rose, don’t say—”

  “I won’t. Goodness, what kind of a person do you think I am? I’m far more curious about America than I am about what he does in his bedroom at any rate.” Rose had a bit of satisfaction at the stunned expression on the women’s faces before making her way over to where her brother stood with the other man.

  When Marcus spied her, he smiled and held out one hand, welcoming her. “The lady of honor,” he said grandly. “Do you know, Mr. Cartwright, my sister in just a few short months will outrank me and will continue to do so even after the title becomes mine. Please allow me to introduce you to Lady Rose Dunford, soon to be the Duchess of Weston. Rose, Daniel Cartwright. He’s on the staff of the U.S. ambassador, Edwards Pierrepont.”

  “Lovely to make your acquaintance and on such a celebration, Lady Rose,” Mr. Cartwright said, taking her hand and making a small bow.

  Rose’s breath caught, for he was perfectly charming and extraordinarily good-looking, with a strong jaw, straight noble nose, and hazel eyes that were quite remarkable. “The pleasure is mine, I assure you,” Rose said.

  “Have you checked on Moonrise today?” Marcus asked.

  “I have, but Mother forbade me to discuss horses tonight.” She leaned in close. “Charlie says it won’t be for at least another day. Her teats are full, though, so I think it may be tonight or tomorrow.”

  Her brother coughed and gave what appeared to be a look of apology to Mr. Cartwright. “Perhaps you should have followed Mother’s advice and forgone talk of horses.” He turned to the American. “My sister practically grew up in the stables and I fear is not shy about the subject.”

  “Why should I be shy? Certainly Mr. Cartwright understands where foals come from.”

  Mr. Cartwright laughed. “Indeed I do.”

  “I’m just glad Charlie’s here for the foaling. ’Twould have been a pity had he already left,” Marcus said distractedly. He was looking across the ballroom floor where his wife stood with a small group of young people.

  Rose’s stomach took a sharp and unexpected tumble. “What do you mean? Charlie would never miss the birth of a foal and certainly not Moonrise’s.”

  “Didn’t you know?” her brother asked. “Oh, I can see you didn’t. At any rate, Charlie’s off to America in a fortnight. Has some relative there with a nice position for him.”

  “He has a nice position here,” Rose said, her voice small. She couldn’t imagine
their stables without him. He’d been the first person Rose had seen when she’d followed her brothers to the stable that long ago day. She still remembered how he’d looked, a strapping young boy with an easy smile, a curly mop of blond hair, and gentle hands, who hadn’t minded a bit when she followed him about. It seemed completely incomprehensible that their stable would no longer have him there, and even more incomprehensible that when he left, she would never see him again, never be able to ask him questions or watch him rub down their cattle.

  “He’s quite set on going,” Marcus said. “And I say good for him.”

  “Of course, we all want Charlie to be happy,” Rose said, but she felt almost as if she’d learned her dearest friend was going away forever, not a servant.

  “Who is this Charlie?” Mr. Cartwright asked.

  “Our head groom. He’s on to bigger and better things, I suppose,” her brother said, as if losing Charlie wasn’t devastating . . . to the stables and horses, of course. It was ridiculous that she should feel so sad; after all, she wouldn’t even be living here in a short few months. Charlie was part of her childhood and she supposed saying good-bye to that idyllic time would be difficult. Tonight, though, she refused to become morose and dwell on sad things. She refused to allow anything to ruin her evening. Looking around, she felt a large sense of satisfaction seeing her smiling guests. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves immensely; it appeared all her mother’s hard work was paying off in spades. Then she spied Lady Priscilla Whitmore, standing quite alone and looking less than happy.

  “Marcus, do please ask Lady Priscilla to dance. I will not allow anyone to stand in a corner for this most important evening. She looks like a regular wallflower and I’m certain Eleanor won’t mind.”

  “Eleanor always has a grand time and Lady Priscilla is a regular wallflower.”

  Rose flashed him a smile. “Not tonight.”

  Marcus laughed, then bowed, leaving her to chat with Mr. Cartwright. She adored his accent and had never had an actual conversation with an American. A school friend had married an American, but Rose had never had the opportunity to meet her husband before she departed for the States.

  “I hear you are interested in politics, Mr. Cartwright,” she said, thinking to begin the conversation with a topic he was certain to enjoy.

  “Are you interested in politics, Lady Rose?” he asked with a small smile.

  “Not at all. I was being polite.”

  Mr. Cartwright laughed aloud. “Thank you for your honesty.”

  “Actually, I’m much more fascinated with America. Where do you live?”

  “New York City. Have you ever been?”

  Rose shook her head. “No, but I hope to someday. I have a school friend who lived in New York for a time. She was a bit older than I, but we corresponded quite regularly after her wedding. She married a banker. Alas, I have lost touch with her. She lived on Fifth Avenue.”

  Mr. Cartwright jerked his head back as if shocked. “Not Caroline St. Pierre.”

  “Why yes. Don’t say you know her.”

  “Know her! She was my neighbor for two years. They’re in Philadelphia now. She was eight hundred eight and I am eight hundred twelve. A new couple lives there now. She’s the granddaughter of the Duke of Glastonbury. Perhaps you know her; she’s not that much older than you are.”

  Rose smiled. “Now you are surely jesting with me. I met her just this last season. Her Grace was quite enthusiastic about bringing Lady Genevieve out and she was the talk of London for a time.” A sudden blush stained Rose’s cheeks when she remembered more about Glastonbury’s granddaughter. “She seemed like a lovely girl, but she did cause a bit of a scandal now that I recall. There was a story in an American newspaper. It caused quite a stir here.”

  “I must have missed it, and I’m not one to read society pages at any rate,” Mr. Cartwright said, with the smallest hint of censure in his voice. “The Campbells are good neighbors and seem pleasant enough.”

  “I’m certain they are. I did not mean to imply the opposite, truly, but I was taken aback by how coincidental it is that you’ve had not one but two of my acquaintances as neighbors. I hope Caroline was a good neighbor.”

  “She was. I dined at their home several times and they at mine. I was sad to see them leave.”

  “Is New York very different from London?”

  “Vastly. Everything is new there. Even the buildings that are meant to look old are new. We are such a young country, it’s quite striking to be in a place where a new building is one built in the last two centuries.”

  “And which do you prefer?”

  “They both have their charms,” he said diplomatically.

  “You truly do have a fine future in politics,” Rose said, laughing lightly. “Do you wish to be president some day?”

  “I’m afraid nothing as lofty as that.”

  “You will have a duchess in your corner, whatever you choose.”

  He smiled, and again she was taken aback by just how very handsome he was. “I am grateful. For now, though, I would be content with a dance. Will you do me the honor?”

  Rose glanced at her dance card and nodded. “Of course.”

  The rest of the evening was like a pleasant dream. She danced with her father, who again told her how very proud he was, and Rose beamed a smile up at him. She’d never in her life felt so special, so loved, so full of hope for the future. As evening grew into morning and guests either left in their carriages or retired to their rooms, Rose sat next to her mother, who was exhausted but happy.

  “I think the evening went quite well, Rose, quite well. His Grace remarked that you have comported yourself excellently all evening, and I think he is quite pleased with his choice.”

  “I’m glad. He seems a very pleasant man and I do believe we shall get on well.” Rose wanted to believe her words, even though she still was more nervous than anything else around the man. It was his age, the way he looked at her, the way they didn’t seem to have a single thing in common other than the fact they were marrying each other. While they were dancing their second waltz, she mentioned the possibility of going to the continent for their wedding trip, but he dismissed the idea immediately. “I do apologize, my dear, but going to the continent doesn’t appeal to me in the least.”

  Rose swallowed her disappointment, for she’d been secretly hoping for a lengthy wedding trip where she would finally be able to see the things she’d only been able to read about. Rome with its Colosseum, Greece with its Parthenon, Egypt with its pyramids. Everything seemed so exciting, but it was clear her future husband had no interest in travel.

  “Now all you have to do is plan the perfect wedding, Mother,” Rose said with a tired laugh.

  “I’m too exhausted to even give that a thought,” her mother said. “I’m off to bed. We’ll have a late luncheon to allow everyone to get a good night’s rest. Goodness, it’s after four in the morning. Good night, Rose. I was so proud of you this evening and the envy of every mother here.” Her mother stood, then bent and kissed Rose’s cheek.

  “Good night, Mama.” Her mother smiled; Rose hadn’t called her mother Mama in years.

  She watched her mother head upstairs to bed, but as sleepy as she was, Rose did not follow her. All night, Moonrise had been on her mind, so instead of climbing sleepily up to her room, she headed to the stables.

  The sky was just beginning to lighten when Charlie stepped into Moonrise’s stall to check on the mare. She’d been a bit restless the previous evening, and after he’d tortured himself watching Lady Rose with her new fiancé, he’d walked the horse around the grounds to settle her down.

  “How are you this morning, girl?” he asked, placing a palm against the mare’s neck and giving it a good rub. Moonrise nickered lightly, almost as if answering. And Charlie, who knew horses better than people, figured she’d just told him she was holding up but a little worried about the strange thing that seemed to be happening to her.

  The mare was show
ing all the right signs that she’d be foaling within the next day. He wondered if Lady Rose would be able to be there to comfort her mare. Or would she be caught up in the festivities that surrounded her engagement? He knew, given a choice, Lady Rose would rather be by Moonrise’s side, just as he knew if her mother demanded her presence in the house, she would not be present when the little foal came into the world.

  Light footsteps on the stone floor drew Charlie’s attention away from the mare. “Hell,” he muttered, and leaned his head briefly against the mare’s neck. He knew those footsteps, knew they belonged to the very lady he’d just been thinking about. He took a breath, trying to stop the sudden surge of longing that flooded him whenever he saw her. It was a damned nuisance. No matter how many times he braced for it, it came, unmanning and humiliating. Thank the Lord Jesus and all the Catholic saints that Lady Rose was completely oblivious to just how much he loved her.

  “My lady,” he said, steeling himself for the smile he knew would appear on her lovely face. “You’re up early.” He realized then she was still wearing her ball gown and looking far lovelier than a woman ought after dancing the night away. “Or is it late?”

  “Late,” she said, indicating her gown and walking to the stall. She placed her gloved hands atop the smooth gate and looked worriedly at her mare. “How is she?”

  “We’ll have a foal before the day is out, I should think. She’s waxing, you see. And there’s been just a bit of milk.”

  Lady Rose let herself into the stall and gave the mare a hug, completely ignoring the fact that her ball gown was brushing the floor, which wasn’t entirely clean. Another sign a mare was about to foal was an increased appetite and thirst, the results of which were difficult to keep up with.

  “How’s my beautiful girl?” she said, her voice deep and soothing. She was still embracing the animal when she said, “I understand you’re leaving us, Charlie. I heard from Marcus this evening.”

  “Yes, my lady. It’s off to America for me.”

  She looked at him then and his heart gave a bit of a tumble to see her eyes had gone misty. “We all shall miss you. Terribly.”