Annie Burrows (5 page)

She’d never raised her voice to him before and he clearly didn’t know how to take it.

‘I’m only trying to protect her,’ he protested, looking for all the world like a man who had gone to pick an apple and accidentally put his hand in a wasp’s nest. ‘She is so innocent...’

‘But she is not a fool. You should let her associate with all sorts of men, Robert, and let her judge for herself. Do you really think she is the sort to be taken in by a handsome face and a lot of flummery?’

‘You never know.’ He sighed. ‘You hear about it all the time. And Rose is not only extremely wealthy, but extraordinarily pretty, too.’

He pulled out the chair behind which he was standing, so that he could squeeze through, and sit next to Lydia.

‘The only danger, so far as I can see,’ she said, ‘comes from you keeping her on too tight a leash. I wouldn’t put it past her to start a flirtation with the most unsuitable man she can find just to teach you a lesson.’ She looked pointedly at Rose as she skipped down the set with a hard-faced Lord Rothersthorpe.

‘I suppose it could have been worse.’ Robert sighed. ‘If she had to choose someone to be her rebellion, then at least it is a man to whom I cannot object for himself.’

‘I should have thought he was exactly the sort of man you would object to. You have been at pains to shield Rose from so very many other penniless peers.’

Robert shot her a quick frown. ‘Rothersthorpe is not penniless. I won’t say that he’s wealthy, exactly, but he has prospects.’

‘Prospects? What do you mean, prospects?’

‘Well, it is some kind of uncle, or cousin, or something. I’m not sure of the exact details. But it is well known that some elderly bachelor related to him has decided to make him his heir, since he has no other. Rothersthorpe stands to inherit mills and mines and what-have-you from him. Because of the way he turned his own estates around.’

‘He did what?’

‘I know. Hard to believe of the young scapegrace we knew back then, isn’t it? But apparently, when his father died, Rothersthorpe worked like the very devil to bring his holdings back from the verge of bankruptcy.’

Hard to believe? Impossible to believe! He’d been hopeless with money. And as for
working,
at any level, let alone like a devil...no, she just could not credit it.

‘Rose could do a lot worse,’ he said thoughtfully, his eyes following the couple as they conversed whilst passing each other in the set.

‘Y-you mean, you seriously think that Rose, and Lord Rothersthorpe...’

‘I don’t see why not. You heard what he said. He’s obviously come to town to look for a bride.’

Rose and Lord Rothersthorpe. Her head began to spin. It couldn’t be...

And yet they did make an extraordinarily handsome couple—him with his fair athleticism, and her with all her dark, spirited beauty.

‘I’ve seen it before with men of his class,’ Robert continued. ‘All of a sudden, they abandon their wild ways, make themselves a list of the qualities they want from a wife and come up to town to find a woman who has them. At least if Rothersthorpe does start to court her in earnest, we can rest assured that he wants her for herself. He has no pressing need of her fortune.’

Robert might as well have slapped her repeatedly in the face as deliver all those salient facts in such a blunt manner.

Eight years ago, Rothersthorpe had been so terrified of the prospect of matrimony that he’d fled at the mere mention of something that might have put him in danger of getting leg-shackled. But during the years they’d been apart, he’d turned his fortunes around through dint of hard work. And now he’d come to town to crown his achievements by acquiring a wife to preserve his proud lineage.

She did not need to ask Robert what Lord Rothersthorpe would require of a wife. Her own chaperon, Mrs Westerly, had told her often enough. Men of rank wanted an ornament to grace their house. And a substantial portion to swell their coffers. They also wanted a woman in the full bloom of health, so that they could be fairly sure of getting heirs and spares.

But, above all, they wanted a virgin.

She forced herself to watch Rose and Lord Rothersthorpe, as they circled one another on the dance floor, though their delight in each other was making her feel so old, and unwanted, and unattractive. And second-hand, to boot. She knew that she was not completely worthless in the scheme of things, but now her value was more like that of a chipped vase. One that had been removed from the best rooms and put to utilitarian purpose in the kitchens.

And she would just have to accept it.

They had all come to town, after all, to see if Rose could find a man who would
want her for herself.

If it had been anyone but Rothersthorpe showing an interest in her, anyone but he who’d broken through Robert’s defences, she would be thrilled. He was exactly the kind of man they had hoped she would find.

She should be smiling with approval as they twirled round the ballroom with their arms round each other’s waists.

It was what everyone would expect from her.

So she smiled. And waved her fan indolently before her cheeks, as though everything was as it should be. Whilst inside...

She’d got out of the habit of pretending to be content with her lot, that was the trouble. Since Colonel Morgan’s death, she hadn’t
had
to pretend quite so often.

Well, she’d have to get back in the habit, that was all. She wasn’t going to let anything spoil Rose’s Season. Rose needed her to stand up to Robert and be her friend and advisor, not start acting like a silly, jealous schoolgirl.

She pulled on her social armour, rather in the same way she would have reached for a fire screen to shield herself from the heat of a blazing fire. And after a while, her smile began to feel less forced. Her manner towards Robert became more natural as she obliged him to chat of this and that.

Mrs Westerly would have been proud of her. She was elegant and poised. It might only be on the outside, but at least nobody, looking at her, would ever guess she felt as though she had been fatally wounded.

Chapter Three

‘M
ama Lyddy, can you show me how to press flowers?’

Lydia looked up from her perusal of the meagre stock of invitations spread upon the desk. There were only two events they might attend tonight. A musical evening at Lord and Lady Chepstow’s, or a sort of rout party at the Lutterworths’.

She knew Robert would want her to persuade Rose to attend the musical evening. They did not receive many such invitations from persons of rank. Society hostesses were not warming to Rose. With all her money, and her exotic beauty, she was a distinct threat to the chances of their own daughters. And Robert would keep discouraging the ones who had sons who would definitely have benefited from a match with the daughter of a nabob.

Not that Rose looked at all downcast. In fact, she was smiling broadly as she waved her corsage from the night before.

‘I want to do what you did,’ she said. ‘I want to keep a scrapbook of my Season. And so I simply must preserve a bloom from the corsage I wore on the night I danced with my very first aristocrat.’

As Rose smiled dreamily, Lydia wondered how many scrapbooks had been filled with flowers hopelessly smitten young girls had preserved as mementoes of an encounter with Lord Rothersthorpe.

‘Of course, it is not as if I have a posy from an admirer, yet,’ Rose continued. ‘Not like you.’ She plumped herself down on a stool at Lydia’s side. ‘Oh, won’t you tell me all about the man who sent you those violets you have in your own scrapbook? You must have had very strong feelings for whoever gave them to you. For you sighed and went all misty-eyed when you turned over that page.’

Had she? Oh, lord, she’d tried so hard not to reveal her weakness for Lord Rothersthorpe, as she must now think of him. While Rose’s father had still been alive, she’d deliberately suppressed all thoughts of him, not wanting to be disloyal. And even once he’d died, well...it would still have been a form of betrayal to wish things had been other than they were. Colonel Morgan had been very good to her, in his way.

‘It was a silly infatuation, nothing more,’ she said. And last night had proved just how silly.

‘But you just said you were infatuated with him. So you must have—’

‘I did as I was told,’ she interrupted. ‘It was my duenna who insisted I create that scrapbook I showed you. I think she thought it would give me gainful employment during slack hours when she didn’t know quite what to do with me.’ She rubbed at a tension spot she could feel forming in the very centre of her forehead. She really, really did not want Rose badgering her about anything that might lead to her discovering that, once, Lord Rothersthorpe had got to the brink of proposing to her, before coming to his senses. He’d made it so obvious, last night, that he’d considered he’d had a lucky escape that she couldn’t bear to let anyone discover how deeply her feelings for him had run.

‘I really don’t even know why I kept the silly thing all these years. Or why I dragged it out to show you when we were discussing your Season. I was utterly miserable the whole time.’

‘Not the whole time, surely?’ Rose leant her elbow on the desk and rested her chin on her cupped palm. ‘Or you would not have spent three whole minutes staring at that arrangement of dried violets with that faraway look in your eyes.’

‘Three whole minutes?’ She shifted in her seat, taking care to avoid Rose’s inquisitive stare. ‘You are surely exaggerating.’

‘Oh, but it was.’

‘I was probably thinking of something quite different. A...a shopping list. Or wondering how soon we would be able to discover who are the best modistes this year. I am so out of touch.’

‘You are trying to hide something!’ Rose grinned impishly. ‘Were you in love with someone, before you married Papa? Did you have an admirer? Oh, how romantic! Won’t you tell me?’

Sometimes, she did not know quite how to handle Rose. She was so perceptive it was no easy matter to fob her off.

‘He did not send me this posy because he wished to become my suitor. He sent it out of sympathy because I had been ill, that was all.’ Though now she wasn’t looking at everything Rothersthorpe did through blinkers, she recalled that she’d been ill several times and he’d only sent her a posy once.

At the time, she’d been elated by the note that had accompanied it, which told her that he’d missed her at the ball she had told him she was to attend and how he hoped she would recover speedily so he could dance with her again.

And then almost crushed by his awkwardness the next time they’d met. The way he’d attempted to brush aside the whole incident, making up some tale about a ragged flower seller and a win on the horses, and what was a fellow to do?

And he’d looked so worried he might have raised false hopes by sending her those flowers, she’d felt obliged to reassure him.

‘You should take care,’ she’d said playfully, ‘not to make a habit of sending poorly young ladies flowers in that fashion, or one day one of them might get the wrong idea. And then where would you be?’

His relief had been so palpable it had cut her to the quick.

Had he ever done anything but hurt her?

‘It was ridiculously sentimental of me to preserve the entire thing,’ right down to the ribbon, she finally admitted, to herself as much as Rose. ‘But then it was the only posy I received my entire Season. From any man. For whatever reason. But I repeat, there was never any chance of anything romantic developing between us,’ she said, with just a touch of asperity creeping into her voice as she recalled his words from the night before. ‘The romantic thing was the way your father came to my rescue...’

‘Pooh,’ said Rose scornfully. ‘There was never a man less romantic than Papa. He treated you as though you were one of his platoon most of the time. Barking orders at you and practically expecting you to salute...’

‘Rose, you will not speak with such disrespect of your papa. He was a good man. A decent man. He gave me a home and—’

‘And made you work hard for your keep,’ Rose persisted.

‘He gave me a home and a family,’ Lydia continued firmly. ‘And I grew very fond of him. I know he had a bit of a temper, but you yourself know that his bark was always worse than his bite. For heaven’s sake, he’d been in the army all his life. Of course he was prone to
barking orders,
as you put it. It was just his way. And what is more, young lady, it was you who taught me exactly how little he truly was to be feared. I was not in your house five minutes before I saw you had him wrapped round your little finger, you and your sister both. The way you used to just sit there, waiting until he’d finished his tirade, and then tilt your heads to one side and smile up at him in the full knowledge that he was helpless to refuse you two anything. And he expected
me
to teach you and Marigold how to behave!’ She flung up her hands in mock horror, causing Rose to giggle.

‘Well, I could never teach either of you anything about how to wrap poor unsuspecting males around your fingers, but if you really want to begin a scrapbook,’ she said, turning to the corsage Rose had tossed on to the desk, ‘I
can
teach you how to preserve flowers.’

‘I think you are trying to steer me away from the subject of your own posy,’ Rose observed astutely.

‘Yes, because it is painful for me to think about it,’ she admitted. ‘I...well, I did become rather too attached to him.’

‘Oh,’ said Rose, immediately contrite. ‘I would not hurt you for the world. And if he really was your first love, and then you had to marry Papa instead...oh...I am sorry. Forgive me?’

‘I never said he was my first love,’ she protested, blushing.

‘I will not mention him again,’ said Rose, filling Lydia with relief. ‘Though I should love to know who it was. And if he is married now...’

Lydia winced. She might have known that Rose’s idea of not mentioning the donor of her posy of violets would be to launch immediately into a volley of questions.

‘The first thing we need to do,’ said Lydia, firmly changing the subject, ‘is to separate the bunch, so that we can press each flower individually. Although it might be better to select just one bloom, or we will need a dozen scrapbooks. You will have many occasions you may want to commemorate in a similar way.’

‘Do you think so?’

‘Of course you will. I dare say you already have a pile of tickets and programmes from various events we have attended already.’

‘That’s true.’

‘But before we start, I am mindful that in a very short while we are likely to have a room full of callers—’ one of whom was bound to be Lord Rothersthorpe, since a man should always call upon his partners from the previous night’s entertainment ‘—and we have not yet discussed which event you would like to attend this evening.’

Rose beamed at her. ‘That is what I love about you, Mama Lyddy. You never try to dictate to me.’

‘What would be the point?’ Lydia pursed her lips. ‘I learned long ago that it is far too much like hard work to attempt to cross you. Besides, I never felt I was old enough to tell you what to do. I feel more like...an older sister, than a mother to you.’ At least, she had until last night, when for the first time Lord Rothersthorpe’s cutting comments had made her feel every inch the chaperon.

Although she would not, absolutely not be the kind of chaperon he so despised. She was not, and never would be, a dragon, pushing her charge into situations that would make her miserable.

‘I shall, of course, give you my advice, but that is all. You must make up your own mind.’

‘I only wish I could. About where I want to go tonight, I mean. I...I think,’ she said, with a slight blush, ‘that I shall be able to tell you later, though.’

‘Oh?’ It was not like Rose to be so indecisive, but then she’d never come under the influence of a practised charmer like Rothersthorpe before. If she knew anything about Rose, she was not going to declare her intentions about where to go tonight until she’d discovered where he meant to go. She took a penknife and sliced through the ribbon which had held Rose’s corsage together with jerky finality.

‘Well, there is no rush,’ she said to Rose as she pulled the corsage apart. ‘It would just be preferable to warn Robert, one way or the other. He has not your love of spontaneity.’

They spent the next few minutes selecting the best blooms for preservation, finding sheets of blotting paper and dragging the heaviest books down from the shelves.

By the time the doorknocker heralded the arrival of their first morning caller, not only Lydia’s writing desk, but also the marble-topped console table under the window were strewn with all the paraphernalia associated with their activity.

Rose glanced at the mess they’d made, then at the door with alarm.

‘Do not be afraid to let your admirers see you employed in some genteel pursuit, Rose. My own chaperon told me that men like to imagine their future wives being gainfully employed.’ Though what was gainful about pressing flowers, or, in her own case, creating acres of decorative embroidery, she could not think.

Surely it would be better to demonstrate an ability to plan a menu for twenty guests at a moment’s notice, or deal with the personal problems of servants in such a way that the household continued to run smoothly? In her experience, that was what her husband had valued about her.

If Colonel Morgan had thought all she did all day was sit around pressing flowers, he would have been most annoyed.

Still, they were not talking about her, but about Rose. And she was determined to prove to Lord Rothersthorpe that their relationship was a good one. The kind of chaperon he’d implied she was would never let her charge enjoy herself so much that the room got strewn with flowers and books like this, would she? She would have her sitting on a chair looking like a waxwork dummy. Only rather more rigid.

Though the effect was spoiled, somewhat, when he didn’t come with the first wave of gentlemen. Mr Crimmer and Mr Bentley, who were sons of wealthy businessmen, grinned at one another when they realised they were first and, making straight for Rose, they pulled up seats as close to her as they dared.

She would greet him as graciously as she received any of the others, of course. And no matter what he said, or did, she was not going to lash out as she’d done the night before. She’d spent many hours, when she should have been asleep, reliving the few minutes when he’d dumped her on Colonel Morgan’s sofa, then fled for the hills. And come to the conclusion that if he could look upon it as a lucky escape, then so could she.

Next to arrive were the two naval officers whose names she could never recall. She really ought to, they were here so often. The trouble was that in almost identical uniforms, and with their blue eyes, fair hair and hard jaws, there was little to tell them apart.

Although when pressed, Robert declared he couldn’t recall the names of half the fellows who cluttered up his house these days, either. ‘Never knew I had so many friends, until I produced an attractive sister,’ he’d snarled.

In the light of his usually overprotective attitude towards Rose, she was a little surprised he had not come in the moment the clock struck eleven, to keep a watchful eye on proceedings. He always grumbled that though he could not actually bar any of these fellows from his house, he could at least let them know he would not permit any of them to take liberties with his sister.

Was it too much to hope he’d taken her words last night to heart?

Or had it been the way Rose had deliberately caused a stir by dancing, when Robert’s earlier refusal had meant she should not have done so?

Well, whatever had caused him to stay away, Lydia could only be glad. The atmosphere was a lot less fraught than usual. Mr Crimmer and Mr Bentley were genially competing to be the one from whom she accepted her scissors, or a withered bloom.

But in spite of the atmosphere that prevailed over the others, every time the doorknocker sounded, she felt herself winding up a little tighter.

The room was feeling somewhat crowded when a young lawyer and Lord Abergele came in one after the other. She had to admire Lord Abergele’s persistence. In spite of Robert’s continual discouragement, he kept on coming right back for yet another rebuff. She supposed he had hopes that his handsome face, and the speaking looks he gave Rose from those limpid green eyes, would soften her to the extent she would defy her brother. He might well succeed. There was nothing Rose liked more than a challenge.