Miss Lacey's Last Fling (A Regency Romance) (22 page)

"What about Lord Bigelow?"

"Pamela!"

"Was he one of your circle? He was a great flirt, as I recall, but I do not know if he would be considered a rake, precisely."

"I do not believe I met him."

"Never met him? Hmm. Who else? Oh, and there is Lord Overton, of course. We were all most particularly warned about him. Did you meet him?"

"Briefly," she said through clenched teeth. "I only danced with him once."

Pamela clapped her hands and bounced with glee. "Famous! I will wager you even knew Max Davenant, the most notorious rake of them all and as handsome a man as you're ever likely to meet. Except for my John, of course. Mr. Davenant stayed away from young girls like me, though. But you are so much older. Did you meet him, too? Was he another one of your rakes?"

Rosie stood up and walked toward one of the lattice-work arbors. Her hands were shaking. She had so hoped his name would not come up. "I'd like to go inside now. I believe I have the headache. I think I'd like to lie down for a while."

Pamela came and put an arm around Rosie's shoulder. "I'm sorry. I should not have pressed you. If you really do not wish to talk about London, then I will trouble you no more. But you cannot blame me for being interested. It all sounds so exciting. And so unlike you. I mean, Rosie, you are such a quiet, reserved sort of person. Not at all the sort one would associate with rakes and high jinks and who knows what else. It is fascinating because it doesn't sound at all like you. What possessed you?"

"I don't know, Pam. Some demon from hell, I daresay. I just wish it had never happened, and I do not want to talk about it any more."

"All right, Rosie. I'm sorry I've made you sad. Perhaps one day you will tell me everything. In the meantime, I will ask no more."

At least there was one thing she need never tell. Rosie was not pregnant. She wished she had waited before telling Papa. He might never have had to know.

Instead, he would never be able to look at her in the same way. In his eyes, despite his kind words, she would always be ruined.

A tear rolled down her cheek and she pondered how grief was just as powerful, even when the thing lost had never existed.

Chapter 14

"This had better be important." Max had received an urgent note from Fanny, asking him to come to Berkeley Square at once. "If this is about Rosalind—"

"Sit down, Max, and try not to glower."

He entered the sitting room and took his customary seat, keeping a wary eye on Fanny. He crossed one leg languidly over the other, tugged at the ends of his waistcoat, flicked a piece of lint off his sleeve, and lifted an expectant brow.

"Now, don't eat me, Max. It is about Rosalind."

He shot to his feet and headed toward the door. By Jove, he'd had enough.

"Wait, Max. I've had a letter from Edmund. I think you'd better hear what he has to say."

Max halted in the doorway. Would this be the explanation he'd wanted? Was he finally to learn the truth regarding Rosalind's sudden departure?

He turned slowly to face Fanny. His stomach tied itself into knots of tension. After all the uncertainty, he was almost afraid to discover the truth. He walked back into the room and resumed his seat. "Well? What does he say?"

Fanny smiled and a softness in her eyes gave him cause to hope. "It is quite extraordinary, really," she said. "One doesn't know whether to laugh or cry, it was all so ludicrous. I'm afraid it's a long story."

"Then you had better begin."

She breathed a little sigh and met his gaze squarely. "A few months back, Rosalind developed symptoms that resembled those her mother had experienced before her death. The details do not matter. Suffice it to say that a quack doctor confirmed Rosalind's own diagnosis and led her to believe she had only a few months to live."

Oh, God. She really had been ill? A jolt of fear shot through him like an electrical charge. Was she going to die? Oh, God.

"For reasons only she can explain, Rosalind did not tell anyone of her presumed fate. Instead, she decided to use the last months of her life to... to do all the things she'd always wanted to do. She meant to cram a lifetime of living into a few short months."

"Her list!"

"Yes. It was not simply a list of sights and events and activities to be found in London. It was a list..." Her voiced cracked a little and she took a breath to compose herself. "It was a list of all the things she wanted to do before she died."

"Dear God. No wonder she seemed so hungry for experience, so open to any new idea or suggestion." Fanny had been right. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry. There was something pathetic and sad about such a list. But there was also a sort of cockeyed logic to it that seemed uniquely Rosalind.

Fanny brushed at her eyes but kept a smile in place. "It also explains why she thumbed her nose at convention. It didn't matter to her. Why bother to maintain a respectable reputation when she would not be around to enjoy it? The truly sad part is that the poor girl carried around all that pain and fear without telling a single soul. Except—"

"Leighton."

"Just so. Apparently she thought it wise to consult a London physician, in case her condition worsened and she needed help. He was able to wheedle from her the name of her mother's physician. He discovered two things. First, her mother's condition had not been hereditary and Rosalind did not suffer from it. Second, the symptoms she had suffered were the result of some sort of poisoning of the water in a nearby stream. A temporary reaction, not fatal."

"She is not going to die, then?"

"Not for many long years, I hope."

Max expelled a pent-up breath in a long, shuddery sigh. "Thank God."

"Sir Nigel wrote to tell her his discovery. She received his letter when she returned home—from your bed?—the night before she left."

"Are you saying she left because of his letter? I do not understand."

"I'm not sure I do either, but then neither of us was inside her mind to know what nonsense she was thinking. All Edmund says is that she is mortified at all she did here, the name she made for herself, the reputation she earned for being a bit wild, a little fast, up for anything. She could not face all she'd done, and went home to hide."

Max could no longer suppress a smile. "Fanny! Is that it? That's why she left?"

"Apparently."

"Ha!" He jumped to his feet, unable to contain the sudden burst of jubilant energy that charged through his body. "The little fool!" He began to laugh—for joy that she had not rejected him for some more credible reason, for the absurdity of her reaction to learning she was going to live, for hope that he might still be able to marry her. "You were right, Fanny, she had indeed been in my bed that night, and now she must believe she is ruined. Ha! If only she had stayed a few more hours she would have had my offer. She is not ruined. She is simply cork-brained."

"And are you finally going to go after her, then?"

"Of course I am! I love the little idiot."

"Max, darling, I am so pleased. Edmund asked about you, by the way. Quite a lot of questions about you."

Max lifted his eyebrows. "He did?"

"Rosalind confessed everything to him.
Everything
."

"Egad. Is he preparing to come after me with a gun, to force me into marriage with her?" Max grinned so hard his face hurt. "He needn't bother. I'll be there with bells on."

"He only asked about your character, not about your intentions."

"I trust you will paint a glowing picture of me, my dear, leaving out all the sordid bits, of course."

"I will tell him you are a handsome, intelligent, honorable man who has waited his whole life to find the right woman, and has finally found her in Rosalind. I will tell him that though you can be a tad stubborn—after all, you could have learned this whole story weeks ago if only you'd followed her to Devon— on the whole, you are a marvelous man."

Max grabbed her and hugged her tight. "Thank you, my dear. Rosalind is not the only woman in my life. I love you too, Fanny."

"Darling boy."

*          *          *

Max was glad he'd decided to ride the entire way to Wycombe. He made better time, and it allowed him to work off the excess energy that would continue to keep him on edge until he finally saw her again.

When he reached Upper Wycombe, he had stopped at an inn to clean up before presenting himself to Rosalind. With Wycombe Hall in sight just beyond the copse, he was itching to ride hell for leather to the front door. But, vain creature that he was, Max did not want to undo all he had done to make himself presentable. Even without Hughes to help, Max was quite sure he looked an exquisite picture of manly perfection: claret coat, blue embroidered waistcoat, buff breeches, and gleaming top boots.

He swung down from the saddle and began to walk. He'd had several days on the road to compose what he would say to Rosalind, and he went over the words again as he approached the house.

"Hullo! What's a flash cove like you doing at Wycombe?"

Max stopped and looked around but saw no one.

"Capital neckcloth. Mathematical, ain't it?"

The same voice from a different direction. What the devil?

"Don't be daft, Robbie, it's an oriental."

Two voices?

"Up here, mister."

Max looked up to find a lanky boy of about thirteen or fourteen perched on a tree limb high above the left side of the lane. His curly chestnut hair and generous mouth marked him as a relation of Rosalind's.

"Good afternoon," Max said. "And whom do I have the honor of addressing? Mr. Lacey, perhaps?"

"Right you are, sir. How'd you know? We ain't met, have we?"

"I do not believe I've had the pleasure. My name is Davenant."

"How d'you do? I'm Robert Lacey at your service." He bowed from the waist without losing his balance. "And over there—" he pointed across the lane to another boy perched on a limb "—is m'brother David."

Max turned to the second boy and swept a bow. The two were as alike as buttons on a waistcoat. "I am pleased to meet you both. And you are correct, David, this is an oriental."

"Ha! Told you, Robbie. Say, do you know my brother, Thomas?"

"We have met."

"Thought so. Recognized the name. Hey, Robbie, this here gent is the ivory-turner Tommy told us about. Prime player, he says. You coming to visit Tommy? Would you teach us to play hazard?"

"Actually, I've come to see your sister, Miss Rosalind Lacey."

"Rosie?" This was from Robert. "What you want to see her for?"

"We have a bit of unfinished business."

"You and Rosie?" Robert said. "What's a swell like you want with her?"

Max smiled. Like most brothers, they did not appreciate the finer points of their sister. "I'm afraid it is a private matter."

"She went up to London a while back," David said. "Is that where you know her from?"

"Yes, it is. I say, fellows, could you do a chap a favor and hop down to ground level? My neck's growing stiff."

With identical lanky grace, the boys scrambled down from their respective perches and jumped to the ground. The Laceys were a tall family. These young cubs were almost as tall as Max.

"I am much obliged, gentlemen. Now, perhaps you can tell me where I might find your sister Rosalind at this time of day. Will she be up at the house?"

"Never heard anybody call her Rosalind," David said. "Sounds kind of funny. She's just plain old Rosie to us."

"I daresay you will find her in the herb garden," Robert said. "She'll be gathering plants and such for the still room. We can take you there."

"I would appreciate it," Max said.

They led the way and he followed, walking alongside the hired horse, a skittish little mare who seemed anxious to do more than trot along at a sedate pace.

"Still don't get it," David said. At least Max thought it was David. "Can't imagine what sort of business you have with Rosie."

"He already said it was private, Davey. Stubble it."

"Hold on," David said, turning around to walk backward and fixing his gaze on Max. "You ain't... what d'you call it?... coming to pay your addresses?"

"Don't be daft, Davey. Nobody comes to court Rosie. She ain't that type of female."

"Yes, she is," Max said, and grinned when both boys stopped dead in their tracks.

"Rosie?" they said in squeaky unison.

"Gentlemen, you obviously do not realize what a remarkable sister you have."

"You're right there," Robert said.

"Do you know," Max said, "when she was in London, she was the most sought-after female in town?"

"Rosie?" Again, two voices in incredulous unison.

"Yes, Rosie." Max was thoroughly enjoying their stunned disbelief. "Devilish good sport, up to any rig. Your sister was more fun than any woman ever to visit the Metropolis."