Karen Harbaugh (9 page)

“It does not matter what she believes,” Rothwick said smoothly. “She will not want it bruited about that she forced a young relation of hers to be unaccompanied in the evening on a household errand. Furthermore, she would not want my sister, Lady Wrenton, to cut her, as she is already in jeopardy of it by being too encroaching at the last ball.”

“You are a cynical man, Lord Rothwick.” It was the only thing she could think of to say, for she could not deny the truth of his words.

“No, no, my dear, not cynical. I am merely a realist.” He smiled at her, his eyes amused. “Now, then. I see you are feeling more the thing for a little sparring, as I thought you would. We shall soon be at my sister’s house, and I think you will be better for some refreshment. Do you wish lemonade or ratafia?”

Linnea opened her mouth, then shut it. “Ohhh!” she cried in outrage. She recovered herself, however, and said with as much dignity as she could muster: “I shall require nothing but tea, thank you. Meanwhile, I shall sleep.” She closed her eyes, determined that Rothwick should have no further communication from her. He had a most uncomfortable way of almost reading her thoughts.

“Come now, Miss Ashley. I saw you were anxious—I assume about meeting my sister. I knew any reassurances of mine would not help you recover your calm, or give me your confidence. I merely thought rousing your fighting spirit was far more becoming to you than pale nervousness. Your cheeks glow most charmingly, and your eyes become quite brilliant when you are angry, you know.”

Linnea opened one eye. “You are a most provoking man, my lord.” She opened the other and gazed at him sternly. “I think I must have been mad to agree to marry you.”

“No, most sensible,” said Rothwick. “Seriously, my dear, you know you have no other choice.” He took her hand and patted it in a comforting manner.

But I do indeed, thought Linnea. A dismal one. She thought of going back to Lady Boothe’s and the life she would lead there. She would be in disgrace, she knew, though none of it had been her fault. She thought of her cousin’s weekly lectures to her household staff on the virtues of respectability—and yet she could not spare a maid to accompany Linnea on her various errands. Linnea had been lucky enough to escape being seriously accosted—until lately. She, too, was a realist. If she thought Rothwick’s initial treatment of her shocking, it would have been nothing compared with another, less honorable man’s treatment. She knew also her cousin would have been glad of any excuse to be rid of her.

She had been in a bad situation, her virtue compromised, and she knew she was incredibly fortunate to have Rothwick offer his hand, if not his heart. Yet a small, forlorn part of her wished it could have been his heart as well. Or any man’s, for that matter, she told herself.

Linnea squared her shoulders. She was a realist.

Did not her father always say he should have named her Prudence? At the very least, she would do her duty as she saw it, now that she was promised to him.

“You are right, my lord,” she said, looking at him straightly. “I will try to be a dutiful wife.”

“I am sure you will be.” Rothwick smiled.

He still held her hand. Slowly he took off her sensible York tan glove, sliding one finger off at a time. He raised her hand to his lips.

Linnea found her glove’s removal strangely absorbing, and as he kissed her hand she discovered she was holding her breath. She blushed. She wished she had not let her maid (whom Rothwick had borrowed from the Lion’s Stone) sit on top of the carriage with the coachman.

She had learned in the last two days of travel that Rothwick was an entertaining conversationalist. Away from the maid, they could indulge in talking of more than the commonplace, and this made their journey seem shorter. But this was the first time Linnea had felt the carriage’s enclosure to be so intimate. Yet it was
only
a kiss on the hand.

She looked up at him again and saw he was smiling. There seemed almost a question in his eyes. He must be a practiced seducer, she thought, and removed her hand from his. And then she thought: I am to marry him.

She had to: she was sure the whole inn had known of the contretemps among Lord Rothwick, Miss Amberley, and herself by the time they had left. Her reputation was in shreds. If she wished to have any sort of decent life at all, she had to marry the earl. So when he had pressed her to do so one more time at the inn, she had agreed.

Rothwick still smiled, but the questioning air she imagined was gone. “You might call me by my given name, you know,” he said.

Linnea looked at him blankly, then recovered. “Oh, yes, well, I suppose since we are engaged...” Engaged. The word still seemed strange.

“William. Or you may call me Will.”

“William, then.” Linnea smiled. “You may call me Lin, if you would like. Mother used to call me Linnea, but Father called me Lin.”

“A charming name,” said Rothwick. “ ‘Linnea,’ then.” He looked out the window. “Ah, yes, we are approaching the gate.”

Linnea also looked and was favored with a quite spectacular view of Wrenton Park. It was—in comparison with most country houses—quite modest in size. To Linnea, used to the vicarage and Lady Boothe’s town house in London, it was quite the largest house she had ever seen. The last generation of Wrentons had wisely restrained themselves during the rage for renovation. Instead of adding to the proportions of the house, they had chosen to preserve the exterior and enhance it with carefully landscaped lawns and shrubberies.

“It is beautiful,” she breathed.

“Yes, quite,” replied Rothwick. “But I hope you do not think me too partial when I say I believe you will like Staynes better.”

Linnea was brought back to herself. She was to be mistress of a house as grand as Lady Wrenton’s! She did not know if she liked this but reflected that it did not matter whether she liked it or not: Staynes was to be her home.

After ordering refreshment as soon as they entered the parlour, Rothwick inquired of the butler when Lady Wrenton was to arrive.

“Tomorrow, your lordship,” replied the man, bowing. “Her ladyship did instruct that you were to arrive today. Your usual room is ready, my lord, and the blue room for the lady.” The butler’s gaze held just a hint of curiosity as he looked briefly at Linnea, but the rest of his countenance revealed nothing.

Linnea blushed, wondering what the servants must be thinking about her arrival. There will soon be much more to be talked of, I know, she thought.

A chambermaid led Linnea up to her room. Pink flowers dotted the wallpaper, and the window drapes and bed curtains were a lovely rose satin. The aspect from the large windows showed a large, palette-like green field with splashes of oak and ash throughout.

“I think I will like my stay here,” Linnea said aloud. It gave her a bit of courage to say it. She washed her face, and the maid brushed the dust from her dress. She looked in the mirror. For all that she had gone through, she thought she looked remarkably well. At least, she thought, I no longer have those nasty dark shadows under my eyes. She then gazed at the worn fabric of her dress. For what that is worth, she thought, resigned. Linnea went down to the parlour again.

* * * *

William Rothwick’s temper—in expectation of his sister’s arrival and admirably concealed from Linnea early the next day—was becoming more difficult to contain as the day wore on. It helped little that he brooded all the while upon the words he would have with Lydia when she arrived. As a result, when they heard coach wheels outside in the late afternoon, Linnea was surprised to see an almost savage smile upon his face. She could not think what would have caused it; they had been conversing most amiably for the last quarter hour.

“I think my sister is here,” said Lord Rothwick.

It was a while before Lydia, Lady Wrenton, burst into the room. She had changed from her traveling dress to a charming round dress of pomona green.

“What is all this, William?” she said upon stepping into the room. “I meant to tell you at Lady Strahan’s ball that Paul—” She stopped, looking at the expression on her brother’s face.

“May I present to you, ma’am,” he said, rising slowly to his feet, “Cassey Pickens.” He bowed in ironic formality.

“But that is not—” said Lady Wrenton, confused.

“Exactly.”

“What have you done, Will?” cried her ladyship.

“Absconded with Cassey Pickens, as you asked me to, of course,” he said ruthlessly. “It seems Paul escorted this lady, who fit the description you gave me. I abducted her.”

“Oh, but what a terrible mistake! And all for naught, Will! Why, I did not need to worry about Paul at all, I found. How silly I have been, to be sure!”

“What!” thundered Rothwick.

Her brother’s state of mind finally dawned on Lady Wrenton. She took a step back from him.

“You see, Paul was not in love with Cassey Pickens after all. Well, he is, but only fashionably so—she’s all the crack, although how such a low, vulgar creature can be in fash—”

“Why the devil didn’t you tell me?” roared Rothwick.

“Really, Will, you needn’t shout. And I was going to tell you at Lady Strahan’s, but you never came! How can I be to blame for that?”

Linnea retreated unnoticed, sat on a chair well away from the battleground, and looked on in an interested manner.

“And I assume I am to blame for having the impression that Paul wanted to marry her?” Rothwick said through gritted teeth.

“Of course not, for it was what I had thought, too!”

“I will thank you, Lydia, if you would kindly keep your thoughts to yourself in the future. So far as I can see, they are clearly not based on anything comprehensible to rational humankind.”

Silence reigned for a few moments while brother and sister glared at each other.

“Excuse me, but would either of you like some refreshment—some tea, perhaps?”

Two heads turned as one, and Lord Rothwick and his sister stared at Linnea as if they were only just aware that she existed. And that is not far from the truth, I am sure, thought Linnea, suppressing a giggle. She repeated her question.

A dull red flush crept into Lord Rothwick’s cheeks, and he looked quickly away from her.

“You must excuse our ill manners, Miss Ashley,” he said stiffly. “My temper was such that—But that is neither here nor there. You may be sure you will not witness any such again.”

Lady Wrenton surveyed her brother’s reddened cheeks with interest but turned to Linnea and said: “Please, do forgive us, my dear. How thoughtless of us! And we have not even been properly introduced!” Rothwick, belatedly, introduced them.

Linnea suppressed a smile, wondering if they made a habit of arguing before people to whom they had been properly introduced. She looked at Rothwick’s stiff expression and decided not. “No doubt your travel here has discomposed you somewhat. I find that tea has a most settling effect on me,” she said gently. “I do not want to presume, but perhaps you would like me to pour you a dish?”

Lydia, recalled to her sense of duty as hostess, declined Linnea’s service and fluttered to the tea-tray. Linnea cast a look at Rothwick. His expression was neutral as he took and sipped his tea, but she could still sense a hint of anger in him. He put down his cup and turned to Lydia.

“You will be glad to know,” he said sarcastically, “that my betrothal to Sophia Amberley is all but at an end.”

“Oh, is it?” Lydia said brightly, then quickly changed her expression to one of deep regret when she caught Rothwick’s fiery glance. “Oh, dear, I mean, how sad.” She looked at him cautiously. “How—how did it come about?”

He told her. Linnea thought Lydia did not find it a bad thing at all that the betrothal was off, for her expression shifted from consternation to a barely suppressed joy. At the end of the earl’s narrative, Lydia looked at Linnea with unconcealed approval.

“Well, there is nothing for it but that Will should marry you, Miss Ashley,” said Lydia.

“But surely there is something else I may do,” said Linnea. “Perhaps you know of a position available amongst your friends, one for a governess or a companion?”

Lydia looked at her regretfully and shook her head. “How would it be when your employer found out that you are related to Lady Boothe? They will surely ask questions, and then what will you do? No, no, the only thing you must do is to do as William says. Surely you can see it is your only solution.”

“So Lord Rothwick has said,” replied Linnea. “But I cannot see that it is right.”

“No doubt Will has told you in a rag-mannered way,” said Lydia, casting a scornful look at her brother. He opened his mouth to protest, then closed it, shrugging his shoulders. Apparently he understood Lydia was making amends by trying to persuade Linnea, and wisely he did not interfere.

“Come, my dear, we shall be private, so I may explain all to you. No doubt my brother can occupy himself in the library, perhaps.” Lydia looked meaningfully at him.

Rothwick bowed. “Most certainly. But before I go, I must tell you that now you are here, I leave for London tomorrow.”

A sinking feeling caught Linnea unawares. She looked at him questioningly, wondering when he would be back.

“Oh, Will, how could you!” cried Lydia.

“Very easily. I have business I must attend to if the formal ending of my betrothal to Miss Amberley is to go as smoothly as it should. And then, of course, I shall need to procure a special license. I shall not be gone much longer than a sennight, I believe.”

“Oh, very well! But how intolerably dull of you.” Lydia looked at Linnea speculatively. “I am sure we shall deal very well on our own.”

Linnea swallowed the lump that had grown in her throat when the earl had mentioned the special license. She made herself smile, however, and held out her hand to him. “I have enjoyed our conversations, my lord,” she said formally. “I am looking forward to continuing them.”

Rothwick took her hand and kissed it slowly. She wondered how he could make such an action so absorbing. He lifted his head at her and smiled. “I, too,” he replied.

She blushed, looked away, and caught Lydia’s interested eye. “Yes, of course,” she said, flustered.