Chapter 6
“Your Grace,” said Lady Whiteridge, inclining her head from her seat at the table, both acknowledging his presence and looking down her nose at him. “Will you care to join us?”
Since they had traveled such a long way to Carden Hall, Felix had taken the liberty of inviting the Whiteridges to stay overnight, though he noted the awkward silence in the dining room as soon as he trailed in.
His boots landed in time with the ancient clock’s chime, and he wondered whether the chill in his chest was the weather or something of his own design.
He cleared his throat, bowing to the countess a hair too much for the occasion, but the woman seemed to enjoy his flattery.
“I hope the accommodations are to your satisfaction, my lady.”
Lord Whiteridge grunted. “They are palatial. One imagines one could be lost in here for days and not be found.”
“Only if one wished to be lost,” said Lady Whiteridge, with a sliver of a smile. “But then, people do turn up in the oddest places.”
Rose hummed from the table’s far end, cradling Lizzie with the kind of determined, unsleeping focus that mothers in paintings always seemed to have, but which Felix previously doubted existed in nature.
Her hair, loosed from its usual braid, fell about her shoulders in a way that made her look both younger and immeasurably tired.
Her eyes, already fixed on him as he entered, carried no warmth.
To Rose’s left sat her parents, the Earl and Countess Whiteridge.
He had not met them in person until last night’s frosty greeting, and now he knew they matched the rumors around the ton: the countess, upright and pinched, eyes always hunting for social missteps, and the earl, already half-gone to liver spots, but still game for a political quarrel even at the breakfast table.
Between them, an array of dishes, from everything to eggs to a bowl of chocolates gleaming in the morning light, testified to the staff’s over-preparedness. The butler stood in his customary post near the door, unreadable as always.
Felix slid into the seat at Lady Rose’s right. He did not look at her directly, but the heat of her proximity made his pulse quicken.
“Mother and Father, let me introduce you to Elizabeth Greycliff. We call her Lizzie.”
Lizzie, perhaps sensing the arrival of a new player, gave a soft grunt and balled her fist into the tablecloth. Lady Rose shushed her with a whispered song, something wordless but aching. Her voice was just as beautiful as the night before.
“She’s a beautiful child,” Lady Whiteridge said, “but you must not mollycoddle her at the breakfast table. Hand her over to the staff. You don’t want to spoil her at such a young age. She will become fussy.”
“Do you think children do not deserve comfort?” Rose retorted angrily. “With all due respect, Mother, you are not the first person from whom I would seek parental advice.”
The words were out of her mouth before she had considered them, and a brief glance at her father’s puce coloring told her she should have exercised greater restraint.
“How dare you address your mother in such a manner!” The earl looked as if he were about to implode.
Felix then intervened. “I do not think Lady Rose intended to cause upset to either of you. It has been quite a shock for her to learn of the loss of her friend Julia, then to become a guardian to my niece at no notice. She takes her role very seriously. I’m certain she did not mean to offend.”
Lady Rose set her cup down with careful precision.
Felix let the silence sharpen, then turned to the baby, reaching for a morsel of ham with his fork while minding Lizzie’s searching gaze.
“I find,” he said, “that one must meet a crisis with efficiency. Which brings us to this morning’s business.”
Lady Rose’s grip on Lizzie tightened, and he ignored her. “I have secured a special license. The marriage may take place in the next couple of days.”
Lord Whiteridge dropped his fork. “Efficient indeed,” he managed, face coloring with relief and residual irritation. “I cannot say we expected such haste, but, well, given the situation…”
“We wish only to put the best face on things,” said Lady Whiteridge, her own face already halfway to a congratulatory smile. “And, of course, to spare our Rose any lingering distress.”
Felix watched Lady Rose, not bothering to hide his scrutiny now. Her jaw worked, but she kept her eyes on the baby. He wondered whether she would speak at all.
She did, at last. “You did not consult me, Your Grace.”
The title hit Felix in the chest, but he brushed it aside. “Consultation is a luxury best left for smaller matters,” he replied. “The wedding and the wardship are not minor things.”
Lady Whiteridge interjected; voice sweet as arsenic. “Of course, a man must make decisions. That is why we marry them.”
Lady Rose made a sound at the back of her throat that could have been a laugh but was more likely a curse. “You will have your wedding, then. And you already have your ward. What more do you want?”
He leaned closer, so only she could hear. “A ceasefire.”
She did not respond, but something in her posture told him that, for the moment, she’d agreed. Lizzie drew her eyes away from his, beginning to fuss in earnest, chirping out a thin wail that rose and fell in time with the ticking clock.
Felix stood and reached toward Lizzie instead, brushing a hand lightly over the child’s curls before signaling to the waiting nursemaid near the door.
The woman stepped forward at once, gathering the little girl from Rose’s arms before she could protest.
The baby gave a soft, protesting sound as the maid carefully gathered her from Rose’s arms, tiny fingers clutching briefly at Rose’s sleeve before releasing it. Felix stepped back to allow the nurse room to pass, his expression unreadable, his hands remaining firmly at his sides.
“Take her to the nursery,” he said. “And keep her warm.”
The nurse curtsied and vanished, Lizzie’s cries muffled behind the heavy door. Lady Rose watched them go with an expression that cut him in two.
“You are quite efficient,” she said.
“I find it preferable to chaos,” Felix said, matching her whisper. “And now that breakfast is done, I suggest we speak in private.”
Lady Whiteridge brightened. “Of course! I’m sure Rose has much to discuss regarding her new circumstances.
” She motioned to Lord Whiteridge. “Come, dear. Let us allow the young couple a moment’s peace.
” She rose and swept from the room with her husband, her exit a particular masterwork in false affection.
Felix waited until the footsteps faded, then stood and offered Rose his arm. “Shall we?”
She did not take it, but followed him out, skirts whispering over the parquet as they left the breakfast parlor behind.
The morning had brought Carden Hall a stark frost. The windows were laced with white, every pane a spider’s web traced by invisible hand through the empty hallways, the sun pouring through the glass, seeming to melt it in horizontal lines.
Felix led her through a side door and into the garden, the one he remembered best from his own boyhood, though memory had gilded it more than the seasons ever could.
The air outside was brisk, sharp enough to make him draw his coat tighter. Lady Rose, for her part, seemed impervious to small discomforts. She walked beside him, her hands folded in front of her, and her eyes fixed on the gravel path. Felix let the silence hold as long as it could.
“You wanted to speak with me,” she prompted.
“Yes,” he started, but for once, he seemed to be without words.
Lady Rose drifted to the row of potted camellias, trailing her fingers over the glossy leaves. “If you wish to chastise me, Your Grace, you might as well get on with it.”
“I have no wish to chastise you,” he said, closing the distance. “I wished for you to be heard, and not in front of your parents.”
She turned; face composed but hands shaking just a little. “Then I’ll say it plainly. I never wanted to be here. I never wanted—” Her mouth twisted. “You forced me.”
Felix regarded her for a long moment. “Perhaps. But you are not without recourse. If you wish to call off the wedding, you need only say so. You would be free to go. Lizzie would remain as my ward, safe and provided for here…at Carden Hall.”
Lady Rose inhaled, sharp and sudden, as if the words were a slap. “You would keep her from me?”
“Not out of cruelty, but necessity. We’ve already discussed this, Lady Rose,” he said. “You know how these stories travel. An unmarried woman, a bastard child, a whisper here and there. Eventually, it’s a howl. I cannot protect you from that.”
She closed her eyes, gathering herself. When she spoke, her voice was level. “You are a very good liar, Your Grace.”
He laughed genuinely. “I only ever tell the truth, my lady. It is the audience that finds it hard to accept.”
He watched her as she stood in the soft green light, not willing to give ground.
“The wedding will happen,” Lady Rose said. “But after, you will not treat me as a curiosity or a pet. I am not here to decorate your home or appease your conscience.”
“You have my word.”
“And you will not take Lizzie from me.”
“No,” he said. “Never.”
She exhaled, a tremulous thing, and looked out through the steamed glass to the garden beyond. “Then let us endure this together, for as long as it takes.”
“As you wish.”
She looked up at him, her expression grave. “There is something we must discuss. About the wedding. You may be cavalier about the business of marriage, but I am not.” She took a deep breath. “I know how these arrangements go. I know your reputation.”
Felix inclined his head, granting the point. “You’ve made that crystal clear before.”
Lady Rose pressed on, voice stiff. “I do not intend to play the part of wife in the way society expects. Nor, I imagine, do you expect it of me.”
Felix stopped walking. “You surprise me, my lady. I rather thought the entire point of this exercise was to convince the world otherwise.”
She colored at that, not in a rosy flush, but a creeping stain that reached all the way to her collar. “I mean to say that I will fulfill my obligations in public. I will see to Lizzie’s upbringing, the household, and the family name. But beyond that…”
She trailed off. Felix waited, but she only stared at a line of green topiary, refusing to continue.
“You wish to clarify the terms of our arrangement. What, specifically, do you expect of me?” he asked.
“I wish only to know if you intend to treat this as a real marriage. Or if I am merely the shield for your next scandal,” she said without turning back towards him.
Felix let out a short, incredulous laugh. “Do you think so little of me that you believe I would betray your trust once we are married, Lady Rose?”
She met his eyes, her jaw set. “I simply prefer to set expectations, lest either of us be misled.” Her hands twisted in her skirt, betraying her nerves.
He stepped closer, and she stiffened, though she did not retreat. “You are a curious creature,” he said. “You come to me armed for war, yet I have never seen anyone so determined to avoid battle.”
“You think this a jest?” she snapped, but there was no real fire in it.
Felix reached out and touched a loose strand of her golden hair. It was an experiment; he wanted to see if she would flinch. She did not, though the blush deepened, visible even in the cold.
“You need not fear me, Rose,” he said, using only her name this time, in hopes of gaining some semblance of belief from her.
She drew herself away. “You can take a lover, if you wish,” she blurted, the words spilling out in a single rush. “I have no objection. I will not interfere.”
Felix’s mouth actually fell open. “You have already planned my infidelity? We are not even wed.”
She glared at him, color blooming bright now. “I only mean—You need not pretend to want me. I know you do not. And I will never lie with you.”
For a moment, Felix was lost. Admittedly, this was a first for him.
He was not used to being turned down. Certainly not for a tumble in the sheets.
Quite the contrary. And yet, more irritating than the refusal itself was the fact that it lingered.
Not with pride, for he could have dismissed pride easily enough, but with curiosity.
So, he moved beside her, not touching, but close enough to count her breaths, and said, “You are very sure of yourself, Lady Rose.”
“No. I am only sure of what I cannot forgive.”
He let that hang between them, the truth of it vibrating. When he looked at her, really looked, and saw the tremor in her mouth, the desperate wish that he would simply agree and be done with it.
He obliged her. “Very well. We will see to Lizzie, run the household, and appear as man and wife to the world. Nothing more than that.” He dipped his head, as if sealing a bargain. “You have my word. I will not touch you in that way.”
The relief on her face was immediate, but so was the sadness. It cut through his own armor, though he had not expected it to.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“But if you ever change your mind… if you find yourself aching to finally taste a pleasure that makes you forget your own name… know that my door is always open. Hunger usually wins in the end.”
Her eyes flashed, her voice a sharp blade. “I will not.”
He let a slow, devastating smirk pull at his mouth. “We shall see. Sleep well, my lady.”
The path forked before them, one arm leading back to Carden Hall, the other into the lush, green heart of the garden. Rose chose the latter, and he did not follow.
He watched the stiff, retreating line of her spine until the dark, tangled shadows of yew and holly swallowed her whole. A sharp, jagged heat flared beneath his ribs.
He tightened his jaw, the muscle ticking as he fought the sudden, irrational urge to follow her and prove just how fragile her resolve really was. His pulse thrummed a heavy, uneven rhythm against his collar, leaving a bitter taste of unspent adrenaline on his tongue.
He turned away; the silence of the garden suddenly too small. Yet a deep, dark part within him stirred. A part that hungered to taste Rose’s surrender.
But, given the circumstances, it was a part he’d have to silence.