The Duke's Christmas Greetings (Regency Christmas Summons Book 3) (17 page)

“We got back late.” It was the truth, after all. They didn’t need to know what happened between the time they left Danby and the time they arrived at Graveleon Head. “You two were already asleep.”

“So, tell us everything.” Frances bustled her sister into the room and closed the door behind her. “Did you flirt with Anthony? How great was your success? Did you see the Duke of Danby? Did he say that Anthony had to marry the first girl he saw?”

Rosamond shifted slightly on the window seat, which afforded her an excellent view of the snow-covered fields. She had been trying to work up the bravery to see the family, with limited success. Mostly, she had merely pressed her forehead against the windowpane, remembering Anthony’s touch, or how close he had been to her when he awoke her. Her head swirled with memories, and she could not seem to slow them down enough to become her sensible self again.

“I tried to flirt with Bexley,” she admitted. That much she could confess honestly. “I don’t think I was very good at it.”

“What do you mean?” Frances plunked herself down on the window seat beside Rosamond. “Tell us what you said.”

What had she said? It didn’t seem to matter anymore. Anthony had been kneeling beside her, a lock of his black hair falling over his forehead. He was so strong, and as she awoke, she had a hazy feeling of wanting to be gathered into his arms.

“I can’t remember.” She leaned her hot forehead against the frosty windowpane.

Helen groaned. “She is incorrigible. We shall never make her into a diamond of the first water, and now we know that Richard will be here by Christmas Eve.”

A sudden shock went through Rosamond, and she sat upright. “What?”

Helen gave Frances a knowing smile. “That certainly woke her up.”

“It’s true.” Frances grabbed Rosamond’s forearm. “Papa and Mama received a letter from him yesterday. He’s planning to arrive in time for the ball.”

Rosamond’s stomach dropped like a stone. “He will be here?” Why did she have such a difficult time believing it? Although, wasn’t this the very reason she was spending the Christmas holidays with the Carews?

“Yes. So, you see, it’s essential that you redouble your efforts to become the kind of woman he likes,” Helen insisted. “Are you quite all right? You look pale.”

“I don’t feel well.” Maybe if she spent some time alone, she could sort through the addled mess of her feelings, she could pull herself together. She simply must stop thinking about Anthony. She must. Otherwise, she was no better than the type of girl who had jilted him to begin with. A woman must know her own heart. If she could not, then she was a mere flibbertigibbet.

“Poor thing.” Frances patted her shoulder. “I hope you didn’t catch cold, riding in the sleigh yesterday. We’ll leave you alone, then. Will you dine in the great hall later? Or shall we have the cook send something up?”

“I’ll be fine.” Guilt tugged at Rosamond’s conscience. “I shall be down for the midday meal.”

The two sisters exchanged a worried look, but then left her in peace.

She turned away from the window. She must think. She must be a rational creature once more.

Anthony had to find a bride. His position in life dictated that he marry.

She rose from the window seat and began to pace the Oriental carpet, mentally ticking off each item as she completed a circuit.

His betrothal to Genevieve Hopwood had been, while not exactly arranged, more of a foregone conclusion. At least that was what Frances and Helen had said. Genny was an elegant, refined, willowy type of young lady. Very much the sort of woman who would be perfect for the first son of a marquess.

She paused. Her mind was still going in circles. For either man, Richard or Anthony, she would have to fundamentally change herself in order to be attractive. She was not elegant, or beautiful, or cultured, or refined. She was a dismal failure at flirting.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror. Her unruly hair was already unwinding itself from the coil she’d tucked it into that morning. She ran her hands down the front of her dress. She was decidedly not a willowy type. She was short and round, like a little Shetland pony. Sudden tears stung her eyes. She was, in short, disgusting.

And she wanted Anthony so badly, it hurt. She could not stop thinking of him. What had become of her? All of her life, she knew she was destined to be Richard’s bride, if only he could stop for a moment, turn away from the adoring crowd of women surrounding him, and really see her for who she was. Now, after just one evening in Anthony’s company, she was ready to cast aside a lifetime of devotion to Richard. Anthony was just so handsome and strong. He was easy to talk to. They enjoyed the same sorts of things, such as farming. In his company, she felt lively and interesting and pretty.

Moreover, her heart skipped a beat when he touched her.

She really was as bad as Genny, running off with her American cousin.

One simply could not cast one man aside for another. Any woman who did something that dishonorable simply did not know her own mind.

Helen and Frances were working so hard on her behalf. They brought her along on their family holiday journey, and they had been working for weeks now to make sure Richard arrived for Christmas. They spent time doing her hair and selecting a prettier style of dress for her. Whether Richard would want her or not was rather a moot question. Helen and Frances seemed to think he would fall in love with her after just moments of seeing the new Rosamond. Her coquettish airs and fashionable dress would, in their line of thinking, be all she needed to catch his eye.

If they were toiling diligently to help her, it would be ungrateful to refuse their help.

If she was a sane and sensible young woman, she would continue on the path she had first set out upon, without any dithering about Anthony.

She turned away from the mirror. She could no longer gaze at herself as she was, a useless lump of dough. She had some blessed time to herself, and she could use that time to just feel miserable. By dinnertime she would have to appear cheerful and vivacious for Helen and Frances. She would also have to appear completely unaffected by Anthony.

That was likely to be more difficult than even changing her personality to better suit Richard.

Could she possibly do it?

She climbed back into her bed and pulled the covers over her head.

She must get over her sudden
tendre
for Anthony. She simply must.

On any other day, Anthony would have awoken and taken himself off to the barn early, and seen to all the animals himself. Instead, he had lain in bed, staring up at the ceiling.

He could not rid himself of the sight of Rosamond when she had first awoken, her tangled curls waving back from her forehead and tumbling down her back. Her wide, sleepy brown eyes had searched his as though she were seeking some sort of answer from him. He could still detect her scent of sandalwood, even though he had washed his hands several times. The exotic, woodsy fragrance must still cling to some article of his clothing. He was wrapped in it as though he was wound around with a piece of netting, and he wasn’t entirely sure he cared to free himself.

At length, Anthony dressed and went downstairs. If he found Helen and Frances, he would probably find Rosamond. He needed to see her. He needed to make sure she was still there, in the flesh. What if she looked at him again in the same way? Would he ask the question she had been seeking?

He walked to the study, opened the door and stopped completely. His sisters were here reading, but Rosamond was not with them. A strong wave of disappointment washed over him.

“Hello, Anthony,” Frances said, glancing up from her book as he walked in. “I must say, you kept Rosie out far too long last night. I think she’s coming down with a cold and it’s all your fault.”

Rosie? He gave an inward grimace at the nickname. Rosamond’s name suited her as it was, for it was earthy and sensuous, just like she. Rosie sounded girlish and silly, two things that Rosamond was not.

Rosamond must have told his sisters something of the adventure they shared, but how much? He must be cagey and not give too many details away until he was sure of what they knew.

“I agree.”  Helen closed her book with a snap and glared at her brother. “If she gets a red nose and puffy eyes before Richard comes, then I shall be furious with you. As it is, I’m most displeased.”

“Why does it matter if Richard is here or not?” He selected a book from a nearby shelf and opened it.

“It matters because Rosie has set her cap for him,” Helen explained in the sort of heavy, portentous tone she would use for explaining difficult matters to an imbecile. “She can’t win his heart if she looks a fright. You know how terribly particular Richard is about the women he courts.”

Rosamond liked
Richard
? An unseen fist had punched him in the gut. He froze, staring down at the pages of the book. All the lines had blurred together into one black and white blob.

“We’ve been trying to turn her into the kind of girl Richard likes,” Frances added, putting her book aside. “Trying to get her to be more flirtatious, and dressing better than she did before. It’s hard work, I can tell you. But it will be worth it once we can call her sister.”

He closed the book and held it against his chest. “She wants to be changed?”

“Well, yes, of course.” Helen gave him a strange look. “Why wouldn’t she want to make herself into the kind of woman he adores? She’s been in love with Richard since we were children.”

All those times Rosamond had been at their home, he had thought she had been visiting his sisters, if he gave it any consideration at all. Growing up, he found her mildly bothersome, particularly when she would go along with one of his sisters’ harebrained schemes. The other day, for example, when she bumped into him in the hall. She had been almost certainly eavesdropping on his conversation with Mother and Father, along with his sisters.

This was galling enough, but then to know that she was willing to transform herself into some kind of silly flirt just to attract his brother’s attention was infinitely worse. He was disappointed in Rosamond. He had thought she was a rare creature, blessed with both intelligence and beauty. That she was willing to throw her natural self away to attract the attention of a man was just—well, he didn’t like it. Not one bit.

“I’m off to the stables,” he announced tersely. “Try not to cause too many disasters while I am gone.”

“Oh, we shall cause just enough of them,” Helen replied saucily, while Frances rolled her eyes in his general direction.

He flung himself out of the house and down to the barn. The fresh, cold air was invigorating. Out here, he could forget the scent of sandalwood, and the look in Rosamond’s eyes when she awoke to find him beside her.

He would work all day in the barn, for hard work was the only thing that would make him stop thinking about Rosamond. He would work like a stable lad, mucking out stalls, cleaning harnesses and saddles, and grooming the horses. Only when he finally got to the point of physical exhaustion would he stop. Then, the next day, he might go to Danby and work in the duke’s stables. He would continue until he had driven all thoughts of Rosamond Hughes completely from his mind.

Once inside the barn, he shed his greatcoat. As he grabbed a pitchfork off the wall, a sudden thought flashed into his mind. He could never steal his brother’s girl. Even if he loved Rosamond, even if he got over his disappointment in her transformation, even if he needed to marry a girl and was under pressure to marry the first one who came along—he could not betray his brother.

He and Richard had always gotten along well enough. He didn’t think much of Richard’s carousing, but it wasn’t his life, and it wasn’t bad enough to sully the Carew name, so he kept his counsel. He loved Richard, and he wanted him to be happy.

He wanted to rid himself of Rosamond’s spell before he had thought of Richard. Now, however, it was imperative. He had to, as a man of honor, let her go.