One Perfect Rose (23 page)

That harsh realization was followed by another. If she bore Stephen's baby, she would be unable to return to her family.

She'd married Stephen in the expectation that she would be his companion until he died, then return to her own kind. But a baby would separate her from her old life with the weight and finality of a prison door. A son would be a duke, a daughter a great heiress. As dowager Duchess of Ashburton, it would be Rosalind's duty to raise Stephen's only child in a manner befitting his or her station in life. That meant she must learn to live among his peers.

And the only chance she had of being accepted was at her husband's side. She would have to take advantage of these weeks in London to meet Stephen's friends. If she was presentable, they would probably continue to receive her for the sake of Stephen and his child, if not for her own.

Even more important, she would have to establish relationships with his family, for as the mother of a Kenyon child she would be one of them. She thought of the haughty older sister, the formidable younger brother, and almost groaned aloud. Even if they grudgingly accepted her, they would probably want her to cut all communications with her insufficiently well-bred family. Of course she would never agree to that, but there would surely be pressure.

She sighed and closed her eyes. She'd worry about that later. For now she would concentrate on establishing a toehold in London society. First some fashionable clothing, flowing garments that would tolerate an expanding waistline. Then she and Stephen must attend some of the social events of the Little Season. She'd have to charm his friends so they would not think of her as “that actress who caught Ashburton when he was dying” but as a woman genteel enough to receive in their homes. Otherwise her child would suffer.

Her hand went to her abdomen again, and a slow smile spread across her face. The future didn't look easy—but if she was right, every scrap of difficulty would be worth it.

Stephen leaned back in his carriage with a sigh, thinking that there was nothing like spending a morning with a solicitor, amending one's last will and testament, to lower a man's mood. And there would be similar sessions in the coming days. Though the majority of the Ashburton inheritance was entailed to Michael, Stephen's considerable personal fortune must be disposed of. Dying was a complicated business.

But at least today's session was over, and Stephen could return to Rosalind and her laughter. When he was with her, he could forget fatigue and the chronic ache in his stomach. As soon as he entered Ashburton House, he handed his damp coat and hat to the footman and prepared to go in search of his wife.

Then the knocker sounded again, and the footman admitted the Countess of Herrington. Stephen mentally braced himself. He would have preferred to defer this meeting, but now he had no choice. Putting on a smile, he said, “Good day, Claudia.”

She sailed by the footman, her Kenyon height and chestnut hair polished into elegant hauteur. “I was driving by and saw the knocker was up. I'm glad you've decided to come to London for the Little Season, Ashburton. You'll never find a proper wife down at the abbey.”

After brushing a cool, barely perceptible kiss on his cheek, she continued, “I heard the most preposterous story from my maid this morning. She claimed she'd heard from her cousin, who is employed in one of the houses near here, that you arrived yesterday with a new wife. I told her that she'd misunderstood, of course.”

Not wanting this discussion to take place in front of the footman, he took his sister's arm and guided her to the small drawing room. “You're looking very fine, Claudia. How are Andrew and the children?”

Her mouth widened in a genuine smile. “Very well, thank you. James is enjoying Cambridge. He's really quite the young scholar.”

She gave him other family news while he rang for refreshments. A tray of tea and cakes was brought. When they were private again, Stephen said, “Actually, your maid's information was quite accurate. I did arrive yesterday with my new wife.”

Claudia swallowed her tea the wrong way and began to cough. When she could breathe again, she exclaimed, “How extraordinary! Did you marry Chumleigh's daughter? She's the only eligible female of suitable rank within fifty miles of the abbey. A well-enough-looking girl, though I'm not overimpressed with her bloodlines.”

“You've never met my wife.” Stephen was about to say more when the door opened and Rosalind entered. Smiling, she crossed the room without seeing Claudia, who was seated on the other side of the door.

“Was the solicitor dreadfully boring? I can liven your afternoon if you wish,” she said gaily. She raised her face and kissed him thoroughly.

Knowing the fat was in the fire, he kissed her back, then took a firm hold on her hand and turned to face Claudia. “Rosalind, we have the good fortune to receive our first visit from my sister, Lady Herrington. Claudia, my wife, Rosalind.”

Claudia stared, startled to speechlessness. Pulling herself together, she said, “You must excuse me. This is quite unexpected.”

Rosalind was equally surprised, but she gave a friendly smile. “It's a great pleasure to meet you.”

Stephen was proud of her. Though he saw the tightening around her eyes, her manner could not be faulted.

Claudia frowned. “Your face is familiar, but I can't place it. What is your maiden name?”

Wanting to draw as much as possible of the inevitable fire on himself, Stephen said, “Fitzgerald. But Rosalind was widowed, and her married name was Jordan.”

There was a moment of silence. Then Claudia shot out of her chair. “Now I know where I saw you! It was in that play at Candover's castle. You're an actress! You played a fairy in a most indecent costume.”

“You have a good memory for faces, Lady Herrington,” Rosalind said mildly.

Ignoring the comment, Claudia spun to face her brother. “Ashburton, how
could
you marry a common actress?” She stopped, then said almost pleadingly, “This is your idea of a joke, isn't it? She's really your mistress. You always did have a strange sense of humor. It's not at all in good taste to introduce your mistress to your sister.”

Stephen took a deep breath. “I'm not joking, Claudia. Rosalind is my wife, and the Duchess of Ashburton.”

After a stunned moment, Claudia's hazel eyes filled with fury. “You…you disgusting lecher. A gentleman beds his mistress, he doesn't marry her. Have you no sense of decency? Of propriety? What would Father say?” She cast a loathing glance over Rosalind. “It would kill him if he knew what disgrace you have brought to us!”

Rosalind's hand began to tremble within Stephen's clasp. For an instant his own temper flared to white heat. He clamped down on it, remembering that one of his goals before his death was to build a better relationship with his only sister. If he didn't restrain his tongue now, there'd be no hope of that.

“I'm sure the old duke would not have approved,” he said dryly. “On the other hand, I didn't always approve of his actions, either, so that's only fair.”

Claudia flushed violently. For a moment he thought she was going to hurl her reticule at him. “This is no joking matter! Merciful heaven, I've often wondered how someone with so little sense of decorum could be sired by a real man like Father. Or are you a product of one of Mother's damnable affairs?”

“Enough!” he said sharply. “I know you are shocked. If I'd had the time, I would have broken the news to you more gently. But the fact is that Rosalind is my wife, and I will not allow you to insult her.”

“But you don't mind if I insult you?” Claudia asked bitterly. “You're a coward, Stephen, not worthy to carry the Ashburton name.”

Rosalind gasped at the vicious comment. Afraid she would say something, Stephen tightened his grip on her hand warningly. “I'm afraid that I can't agree with your definition of worth.” He softened his voice. “Claudia, all I ask is that you take the time to become acquainted with Rosalind. When you do, you will realize that she will be a credit to the name she bears.” His tone became dry again. “Certainly she is more moral and ladylike than our own mother was.”

“If Father were alive, he'd disown you,” his sister said in a shaking voice. “Since he is not, I must do that in his stead.” She spun and headed toward the door.

Stephen's anger was tempered by pity. “Claudia, I realize that no one could ever live up to your image of the old duke, and you resent the fact that I don't even try. Nonetheless, the fact remains that I am the fifth Duke of Ashburton and head of the family. An estrangement will benefit no one, and will cause pain to those who are dearest to us. Can't you at least try to accept me and the woman I've chosen as my wife?”

His sister stopped for a moment, her face turning chalk-white. “I can't, Stephen,” she whispered. “I can't.” She bolted for the door, tears in her eyes.

The silence after the door slammed was deafening. Stephen drew a shaken breath. “I'm sorry you had to witness that, Rosalind.”

Though she was struggling to remain calm, her voice was unsteady when she turned to him. “I knew our marriage would cause trouble, but not that it would separate you from your only sister. Oh, Stephen, I'm so sorry to be the cause of that.”

He drew her into his arms, as much for his comfort as hers. “The blame belongs to Claudia, not you. She spent most of her life struggling to please a father who could not be pleased. My brother and I, in our separate ways, came to understand that nothing we did would ever be good enough. Michael became an outright rebel, while I suppose I turned quietly subversive. But poor Claudia tried desperately to be the perfect daughter.”

He thought sadly of the times when they had played as children, Claudia patiently shortening her steps so that he could keep up. She had been a little mother, a role for which she had more talent than their real mother. One of the earliest memories of his childhood was her calling him to come to her for a hug. He'd always run right into her arms. “As part of her efforts, eventually she took on the worst of his prejudices.”

Rosalind hid her face against his shoulder. “Will your brother react as badly?”

“No. Michael will be startled, and possibly disapproving at first. But he, at least, will take the time to know you.” Stephen stroked her hair and hoped that he was correct in his analysis. “And when he does, he will understand and accept.”

She lifted her head and tried to smile. “Do you know, after you left this morning, I'd quite made up my mind to go into society with you so no one will think your wife is too vulgar to be seen. But now…” Her voice broke for an instant. “I'm not sure if I have the courage even to suggest that.”

His anger with Claudia turned into resolve. “By God, that's the answer. We'll deck you out in London finery and I'll show you off to everyone. The fashionable world will know that the Duke of Ashburton is proud of his wife.” He kissed her, then looked intently into her dark eyes. “What happened with Claudia was the worst. Everything else will be easier. I swear it.”

He doubted that she was convinced, but she raised her chin bravely. “I'll do my best not to disgrace you.”

“You won't. Even though Claudia is carrying on as if I've committed high treason, I'm hardly the first lord to marry an actress. Elizabeth Farren was the daughter of strolling players, and she starred at both Covent Garden and Drury Lane. Now she's the Countess of Derby, and quite respectable. So you see, there are precedents for our marriage.”

Rosalind smiled ruefully. “It sounds as if Miss Farren was a better actress than I. Does that make a difference in being accepted?”

“What matters is your character, not where you performed.” He thought a moment. “Since the word of our marriage has gone out on the servants' network, by this time half the beau monde must know. We'll have to start showing you off tonight, at Drury Lane. We can go to a modiste this afternoon, but it will take a couple of days for her to produce any new garments, which won't help us tonight. Let's see if Catherine has left anything suitable.” He took Rosalind's hand and led her from the drawing room.

“What do you mean?” she asked warily.

“Michael and his wife use this house as their own, and Catherine keeps some of her most formal clothing here, since she has little need for finery in Wales.” His approving gaze went over her. “You're a bit taller, but there's a general similarity in size and shape. One of her gowns should do for you to wear to the theater tonight.”

Rosalind gasped and came to a stop, literally digging in her heels. “I can't wear another woman's clothing without permission! That is guaranteed to make an enemy of your sister-in-law, and probably her husband as well.”

“Catherine won't mind. Truly, she won't.”

Rosalind snorted. “Only a man could say that. Jessica and I shared a room for fifteen years, and I still would hesitate to borrow anything of hers without permission.”

“Catherine isn't Jessica,” he said cheerfully. “Now come along and we'll see what she's left here.”

Rosalind gave in and let him take her to his brother's apartments, largely because it was easier to go and hope there was nothing suitable than to argue with a man who clearly did not have a basic grasp of female nature.

Michael and Catherine's rooms were as splendid as the ducal chambers. Rosalind entered uneasily, half expecting a man “with a thousand-yard stare,” as Michael had been described, to step out and scowl at her. But the apartment was quiet, the furniture under holland covers as the rooms waited for their occupants to return. Stephen led her to a dressing room with wardrobes at both ends. He threw open the doors of one. “What do you think?”

Rosalind's eyes widened. Onstage she'd worn everything from crude rags to aristocratic discards that had been bought and altered into stage costumes. But she'd never seen such a magnificent collection of beautiful garments in one place. Shimmering silks, rich subtle velvets, cascades of intricate lace. Lady Michael had wonderful taste.

Suppressing the urge to touch the fabrics, she said, “Obviously Lady Michael has dark hair. These aren't the right colors for me.”

“Her coloring is almost the reverse of yours, brunette with eyes an interesting shade of blue-green,” he agreed. “But there have to be a few things that will suit you also.” He surveyed the garments, then pulled out a silk evening gown in a beautiful shade of blue. “This, for example.”

He draped the dress across her, then turned her to face the pier-glass mirror. She caught her breath. The man had a damnably good eye for color. The blue-green fabric looked wonderful with her fair hair and complexion. “The gown is pretty, but it might not fit,” she said weakly. “There's rather a lot of me.”

He grinned. “You have a gloriously feminine figure, a trait shared by Catherine. Try the gown on.”

She still hesitated. “This is terribly presumptuous.”

He shook his head. “Catherine was an army wife who followed the drum across Spain. She's been threatened by French soldiers, searched for the wounded on battlefields, and nursed dying men in hellish emergency hospitals. As a result, she has a firm grasp of what matters most, and it isn't clothing. She will not be disturbed to learn that you had need of one of her gowns for an evening.”

Stephen's explanation was convincing in a way that his glib assurances hadn't been. Silently she turned so that he could unfasten her morning dress. He'd become very adept at taking off her clothing during their honeymoon. The thought made her smile.

And he was right about the gown, too. The simple, high-waisted style suited her very well, though it revealed a rather spectacular amount of cleavage. She glanced down at the crystal-studded bodice dubiously. “Are you sure this will convince society that I'm respectable? It's as low as anything I've ever worn onstage.”