It would be the last quiet any of them would enjoy before tackling the remainder of a day that promised all sorts of busy celebrations.
Two hours later, stifling a yawn, Rose considered that perhaps the quiet wasn’t at all what she needed. The vicar’s voice droned endlessly on in a perfect monotone. Sitting beside the Viscount and Viscountess Danbury, sixth row from the front, it would not do to be seen struggling to remain awake.
She rubbed her eyes and then studied the gilded cross hanging at the altar. A statue of an angel hovered above it. Along the sides of the church, stained glass windows depicted various biblical stories in vivid colors.
Lovely, really, with the sun shining in from behind. She twisted to attempt to identify one with a small boy and as she did so, a steady blue gaze caught her eye.
Three rows back, to the right and behind her, Lord Darlington sat elegantly dressed, his back straight and eyes clear, appearing far differently than he had the night before. Clean-shaven, his cravat tied impeccably, he appeared more his respectable self, alert but also withdrawn from those around him. Formal, cool… a tad forbidding.
Most who knew him assumed there was little more to him than the hardworking, somber man he presented.
She now knew differently.
He neither smiled nor frowned in her direction, his lips pressed tightly together, his jaw stern, his chin tilted up.
Rose twisted toward the front with a jerk and tried focusing on the vicar’s words. She could not ignore, however, that the hair on the back of her neck seemed to be standing on end. His gaze, boring into the back of her head, denied her the peace she’d sought.
“I can provide for all of your needs.”
She shivered.
“It’s freezing in here,” Penelope whispered beside her ear. “I’m sorry I made you come along. If you fall ill, I’ll never forgive myself.”
Her husband hushed her from her opposite side and Penelope frowned but then leaned into him.
What would that be like? Having a companion who was your equal. Not that all marriages panned out that way, in fact, most did not. Penelope was a very different sort of wife.
But the duke and his duchess seemed equally close. They showed one another an affectionate respect. As did Lady Hawthorne and her earl.
That was not the sort of circumstance Lord Darlington had proposed the night before.
Ah, no. He would be her employer. He’d even offered to make all of it legal.
“I’ll draw up a contract to assure you’ve security for life.”
Prickles danced down her spine as though he was actually touching her. He’d imbibed before asking her, but he’d known what he was doing.
And his kiss.
He’d known what he was doing when he’d kissed her. It was as though someone had given him the key to her soul. Told him where to touch her and how.
“The peace of God which passeth all understanding, keep your hearts and minds in the knowledge and love of God, and of his Son Jesus Christ our Lord…”
Rose closed her eyes. She wouldn’t know a moment of peace with Lord Darlington sitting behind her. The urge to twist around again and send him a stern frown was strong, but his were not the only eyes behind her. Other guests would see.
Perhaps he wasn’t even watching her. Perhaps he was solemnly giving all of his attention to the vicar.
The organ struck a chord, jolting her from her thoughts, and then the choir filled the sanctuary with their voices.
One quick glance.
This time, his eyes narrowed.
He knows that I know that he is watching. And he knew it made her uncomfortable. His lips mouthed the words to the song. Was he really singing?
Sometimes he seemed so kind, so human, and yet other moments he was such a… viscount! Worse than that, a man!
That mouth.
He’d trailed it along her skin in the most tantalizing fashion. Rose clasped her hands together just beneath her breasts. Breasts which for no reason at all suddenly ached and felt heavy.
Whereas before the cold had bothered her, she now felt hot inside. She wished she had a fan to wave before her face, though she could practically see her breath in the air.
This service needed to end before she made a fool of herself.
“How many birds do you think were killed in the making of that hat?” Penelope nudged her, indicating a woman two rows in front of them.
Yes, this. This was what she needed. “Where exactly does one find red feathers?” she whispered back.
“I don’t believe they are natural. They must be dyed.”
“But so many.” Penelope snickered into her gloves. Rose caught sight of Lord Danbury rolling his eyes at them.
Penelope was a welcome distraction, however. As were the various muffs and gowns and feathered ornamentation on the poor church goer’s heads in front of them. By the time they stepped outside beneath the gloomy sky, Rose had nearly forgotten all about Viscount Darlington. Or so she convinced herself.
“Happy Christmas, My Lord.” The vicar approached to shake Danbury’s hand heartily before bowing his head in Penelope’s direction. “My Lady.” He turned to Rose. “Who is this vision you brought along today?”
Rose braced herself for the awkward moment when Penelope would respond that Rose was her maid. But before that could happen, a hand grasped her elbow from behind. She stiffened at his touch.
“Happy Christmas,” Lord Darlington greeted the vicar as he reached around her to shake the man’s hand. “Miss Ursula Waring is a family friend.”
Penelope glared at Darlington and then shifted to hold Rose’s gaze, asking a multitude of questions without uttering a single word.
“Miss Waring.” The vicar seized Rose’s hand just as though she was any other lady and bowed slightly. “My pleasure. Are you staying at Summers Park as well?” Only he seemed to clasp her hand a moment longer than was strictly proper.
Heat flooded her cheeks. Danbury pinched his lips together. There were times Rose perceived that Penelope’s husband understood her plight in ways that Penelope did not.
“I am.” Rose dropped her lashes and stared at the ground.
“Ah, well, I look forward to seeing you when I next visit. The duke and duchess always welcome me. It is not unusual for my dearest aunt and me to take tea with Their Graces.”
It would be abundantly awkward if he were to ask after a Miss Waring—Rose—Rosie—on one of his visits.
“Miss Waring is leaving the area shortly.” Lord Darlington tucked her hand in the crook of his arm.
“Ah, yes.” Penelope finally spoke up beside her. “To travel north with my sister-in-law.”
Clouds had moved in and tiny snowflakes danced back and forth before lazily settling on the ground. A few carriages had arrived with familiar outriders who stood beside them beckoningly.
“Best wishes in the new year, Vicar.” Lord Danbury took hold of Penelope’s arm. “The servants must have seen the snow and decided we may not be as enthusiastic to walk back. Shall we take advantage, My Lady?”
Penelope nodded and huddled into her husband. “My bones are chilled through and through. Let’s go, Rose, shall we?”
“I don’t mind walking.” Rose would walk back by herself. She’d spent too much time inside over the past few weeks and needed to rid herself of this nervous confusion brought on by a certain viscount.
“I will escort Miss Waring so she does not have to walk alone.”
“That’s not necessary,” Rose said quickly. Had she hoped he would offer? What a hypocrite she was!
Penelope’s eyes narrowed. “That’s very… accommodating of you, Rome.”
Viscount Darlington stood slightly behind her so Rose could not see his response to such skepticism.
“It’s my pleasure,” he returned.
“That’s settled then. Come along, Pen.” Her husband tugged at her arm. “Let’s get you inside the coach and your feet on a warm brick.”
Penelope r
esisted him for a moment, sending a stern look in Darlington’s direction before shifting her gaze to Rose. “Are you quite sure?”
Rose ought to go along with Penelope and Danbury. Penelope was certain to give her an earful when she returned, and she’d be quite right in doing so.
Rose shouldn’t allow herself any more time alone with him.
And yet, she caught a whiff of his scent on the cool breeze and already her bones seemed to be melting.
Being with him was exciting and not much had excited her lately. If ever.
“I’m sure.” She avoided Penelope’s eyes as she answered.
“Come along then, Pen,” Danbury urged. Rose glanced up in time to see the marked concern on her friend’s face as her husband assisted her into the coach, leaving Rose standing alone with Viscount Darlington.
A man who, only last night, had asked her to be his mistress.
I can provide for all your needs…
“You’d best button up.” Rose glanced down just as his hands landed on the edges of her collar. Touching her like this was most inappropriate. She oughtn’t to even be talking with him. With her back to the remaining churchgoers, she hoped nobody noticed.
Oh, but of course somebody would notice. He was a viscount. Who was she? A nobody.
“You mustn’t.” Her voice came out little more than a whisper.
And yet she tilted her chin so he could fasten her top buttons and then adjust her scarf. The other guests who’d chosen to walk were already marching in the direction of Summers Park.
Facing him now, she could not avoid his eyes. They weren’t smiling; he looked rather grim. Was he sorry about last night?
Although his quiet unnerved her, she did not resist when he took her arm and turned them toward Summers Park.
“I was angry with you for leaving me,” he said once they were underway. “But I was angrier with myself.”
Most servants imagined their employers always got what they wanted. Rose knew better. That hadn’t always been the case for either Penelope or Danbury. And she’d heard other stories…
“I’m certain you’ll have no difficulty finding an alternate prospect. I’m quite happy with Lady Danbury.” She forced the words out of her mouth. Denying him also meant denying herself.
Her father would disown her.
Her mother would go into mourning.
Her brother would suffer as well. None of his schooling or betterment would be worth a fig if it became known that his sister had become some nob’s mistress.
“I envy you such a friendship.” His words took her by surprise.
Guilt had weighed heavy on Rome since the moment he’d opened his eyes. He wanted her, yes, he was coming to realize the reality of the emotions she stirred in him. His lust had overtaken reason last night.
He’d insulted her.
It bothered him that he couldn’t offer her anything more than the position of mistress but there was nothing to be done about it.
He was his father’s heir and his father held one of the most powerful earldoms in England. She’d been living and working as a maid for a good portion of her life.
And yet, he was drawn to her.
“I’m not a man who cultivates close friends.”
The crunching of their steps sounded loudly.
“I am lucky. The relationship between a lady and her maid holds a myriad of potential for difficulty but also, companionship. Even so, if Penelope and I had not been friends, I would love her. She is good to me. She’s not afraid to hear criticism and she treats me almost as an equal—most of the time. I am her maid, after all. But she is not overly demanding. We are more than friends, and we are more than servant and employer.” As though she’d considered his statement, she asked, “You must have someone? Is it not similar with Mr. Pierce? With your valet?”
Rome appreciated her candor, if not the topic of this conversation. But talking with her was safe. He did not have to worry that she would share his words with his colleagues or with any of the gossiping gooses in Society.
“Pierce and I get along fine.” Rome contemplated his relationship with his valet. Rome felt a responsibility to him, a loyalty. At times Pierce rather reminded him of his father. His valet, too, had expectations of Rome. He could also be very protective. “But I would not say that we are friends.”
“I suppose men find it difficult to show affection, or caring, for one another.” Her words reminded him of what she’d suspected him of not quite a week ago. She, too, seemed to realize this. “And you have quite corrected my earlier assumption. I am merely speaking in the general sense.”
That reminded him that he needed to nip that rumor in the bud before it became problematic. He had a few ideas…
“But your valet spends time with you on a daily basis. I would think you could not help but be close to one another.”
“Pierce is my employee.” And yet, there was more to his relationship with the valet than existed between Rome and, say, the stable master, or any of the estate managers.
“He dresses you. He prepares you to appear in Society. Your manner of dress, your demeanor in public reflects upon him. It is your valet who sends you into battle. Just as a lady’s maid sends her mistress into Society.”
Rome could not help but chuckle at this. “You see Society as a battleground?”
“Oh, most definitely. And a very tricky one at that. In Society, a lady does not always recognize her enemies. She must step carefully. One wrong move and she could easily find herself in a scandal, effectively putting an end to her standing.” She slowed and he felt her turn to look at him. “What is your battle, My Lord?”
Which one? But he would tell her the most obvious. “A man must appear strong and not overly self-indulgent. The peerage, although inherently privileged, may very well be the source of its own demise. Tenants and employees, the workers—they see far more than many of my peers comprehend. And they will tolerate some extravagance on our part but less when their own roofs need repair, when their families’ stomachs go empty. My battle is to preserve the tenuous balance that is required in order for my father’s estates to thrive.” Which was proving rather difficult these days.
“If this is so important, why do most peers live extravagantly?”
“Ah, the irony.” Rome pushed some branches out of the way so she could pass through without them catching on her coat. “The show of power. It is meant to awe and intimidate. And it works, to some extent, upon other peers as well as the lower classes. But I fear it will eventually bring about the opposite effect.”
“Much as in France.”
“Indeed.”
Rome smiled to himself. He was discussing politics and philosophy with Lady Danbury’s maid. Strike that. With Miss Ursula Waring.
“I find it admirable that you go to battle, that you do not waste your position and resources on frivolity.”
“You are in the minority, Miss Waring.” Many of his peers found fault with his dedication, with his willingness to compromise and negotiate. Only a few shared his philosophies. Cortland and Danbury fought battles in the House of Lords, whereas, Rome fought on the front lines. Inroads needed to be made on both fronts if they were to stand a chance at winning the war.
Although, he doubted it was a war that would ever come to an end.
She squeezed his arm. “Be smart, then, My Lord. Be smart.”
He supposed the proposition he’d presented to her the night before had not been smart on his part.
“What do you fear, Miss Waring, aside from losing your livelihood?” The sounds of their footsteps ringing out against the quiet of the crisp cold air, as well as the snow falling around them, seemed to invite such confidences. “Tell me one of your battles.”
She did not answer right away.
“I am afraid that someday, I’m going to look back on my life with regret. I am afraid that this,” she waved her hand around her, “is all I will ever know. And yet, to want anything more is greedy and reckless.�
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The moment the words tumbled from her, Rome realized he’d suspected this already.
“You are disappointed. You thought you’d have more.”
“It’s ungrateful of me, I know. There are days where I convince myself to be grateful but lately, there have been less and less of them. And I hate how this makes me sound. Whiney, churlish, unappreciative.”
She stopped and stared up at the sky, closing her eyes as the snowflakes landed on her face. “I could be worse off in so many ways.”
Rome studied her, feeling her passion, her hunger, and for a fleeting second, recognizing both as something similar deep within himself. When she finally opened her eyes again, she stared back at him unflinchingly, hiding nothing from him.
He’d never before considered himself a passionate man. Level-headed, practical, strong-willed, but never passionate. How had this young woman managed to expose these longings he’d kept hidden, not only from his family and friends, but from himself?
She turned them both to begin walking again. “I suppose we all have something.” She attempted to make light of her admission.
“I have a son.” Rome glanced at her sideways as he told her something few people in the world knew.
“A bastard.” She stated the term baldly, not missing a step.
“Yes. You asked me why I am not like other gentlemen of my class.” He didn’t understand why he was telling her this. “I learned early in life that repercussions can be far-reaching when a man eschews honorable behavior.” They walked several steps in silence.
“Why now, then? And why me? What has changed?” Her questions were reasonable enough.
“I don’t know.” He paused. “His mother died in childbirth.” For some reason he needed her to know the extent of it. “I won’t allow that to happen again.”
The bark of laughter she let out had him frowning. “You find a woman’s death humorous?”
“I find nothing humorous. I find your confidence in such an assertion comical.” Her hand, tucked in the crook of his arm, squeezed gently. “I am sorry for your loss, for your son’s loss. Forgive me?”
Lady Be Good: Lord Love a Lady Series, Book 5 Page 11
