Chapter 2
Rosy rushed through the ballroom, towards her father. She had to speak to him. For months now, her parents had pushed her to secure a match with a high-ranking gentleman, like Kenneth or Leonard, her brothers-in-law. She’d told her parents she did not care about things such as status, but in the back of her mind, she had to wonder if her parents had contributed to this rumor about her being too picky?
She spotted her father across the room, and a surge of relief washed over her when she saw he was alone. Once upon a time, she would have preferred to speak to her mother, but her father had become much softer, and between the two, he was the easier one to pry information from. Pushing through the throng of dancers, she made her way towards him.
“Father,” she called out, and he looked at her with a smile on his lips.
“Rosy, there you are. I was looking for you on the dancefloor but didn’t see you. Wait…” He tilted his head to the side and examined her carefully. “You look vexed. What has happened?”
Rosy let out a shaky breath, her emotions threatening to spill over. “I told you as of late that I have had nothing but bad luck when it comes to speaking to gentlemen. Every time I try to talk to someone, I’m met with rejection. I was beginning to feel like a social pariah. And now I’ve discovered why.”
Her father’s eyebrows rose, disappearing under his floppy hair. “Oh?”
Oh? That is all he has to say?
Irritation rose within Rosy, for she knew her father well enough to understand that “Oh” was his standard response when he knew perfectly well what was going on but wished to pretend otherwise.
“Yes, I was just informed that the reason is that all the ton thinks me a stick in the mud. Someone who will only entertain dukes and marquesses, as if everyone else is beneath my touch because Joanna and Sally are married to dukes. And suddenly, it all makes sense.” Her voice rose, and she saw her father look around to make sure they did not draw unwanted attention.
“Rosy …”
“No, do not Rosy me, Father. It is true. Everyone thinks I will not court anyone but the highest-ranking gentlemen, making me seem vain. I know you and Mother have wished for me to marry up, but tell me the truth—were you the one behind this rumor?”
Her father pursed his lips and inhaled sharply, his nostrils flaring.“Rosy, we only want the best for you. You know this,” he said slowly.
Rosy clenched her fists.“You have been spreading this rumor, Father! How could you?!”
He raised his hands defensively. “We have spread nothing, Rosy. What do you think we are? Common gabsters? No. Of course, we’ve done no such things. But we might have discouraged certain gentlemen from asking to court you.”
Rosy’s jaw dropped open. She had to look like a fish gasping for air, but at that moment, she didn’t care.
“You… rejected gentlemen?”
How could they have done this? And since when? It was no wonder everyone looked at her as though she thought herself the Queen of the Realm.
“Only one or two. Nobody of consequence,” he replied quickly, as if that made things better.
“Who?” she demanded, her arms crossed, not caring that there were people all around who could hear them.
“The Viscount Linley, and the Earl of Forbes—that is all I can think of.”
Rosy’s head swirled. The Earl of Forbes was Lord Stokes’ cousin, and the Viscount Linley was a well-known gangster who liked nothing better than to share the latest news. Indeed, most topics that ended up on dit usually came from two sources: Lady Marjorie Miller and her family or Lord Linley.
“You’ve doomed me, Father,” she said miserably. “I will never find a husband now. Why would you do this? Why reject perfectly suitable men?”
Her father’s eyes softened, and he took a step closer to her. “Rosy, you must understand,” he began, his tone gentle but firm. “Your mother and I only want what’s best for you. We want to protect you, to ensure that you marry someone worthy of your station. Now that your sisters are married to dukes, you cannot accept the first nobleman who comes calling. Many of them might be after you for your connections.”
“But it should be up to me, Father,” Rosy insisted, her voice trembling with emotion. “I don’t want to be forced into a marriage for the sake of status or reputation. I want to marry for love, for companionship, with someone who sees me for who I truly am.”
Her father sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I understand, my dear. I truly do. But you must also understand the realities of our society, of the dangers that lurk in every corner. We only want to keep you safe.”
Rosy felt a pang of guilt at her father’s words, knowing that he spoke out of love and concern for her well-being. But deep down, she couldn’t shake the feeling of resentment towards the constraints that had been placed upon her.
“Well, in any case, you will not need to worry about me now, for nobody wants to court me. Nobody. The lower-ranking gentlemen think they have no chance, thanks to you and Mother, and the higher-ranking ones think that all I want to do is set my cap at one of them to marry up.”
”Rosy,” her father pleaded, “do not say such things. You’re beautiful and kind. Every man would be fortunate to have you.”
She appreciated her father’s words, but the truth was, he was wrong. Nobody would want her. Not if they thought her haughty.
Shaking her head, she excused herself and made her way into the garden. She needed a plan, and a good one at that. She had to find a way to make everyone think she was desirable still.
As Rosy walked through the grand garden, she looked at the house. Lit up with hundreds of candles, it looked like a magical castle. She should be inside, dancing and laughing, dreaming of the future, not walking out here, plotting.
She should be dancing on the arm of someone smashing, someone splendid. She should have the eyes of everyone on her. But instead, she was alone. Cast out in the worst way. Indeed, she’d been cut out, hadn’t she?
She plopped onto a bench in an unladylike manner and tapped her finger against her chin. She had to fix this. This wasn’t how she, Rosy Blackmore, would go down. The question was simply—how would she restore her reputation?
She leaned back and glanced up at the elm tree before her. In the dark, it looked like a creature from a fairytale, its branches sticking up like arms. She watched it, lost in her thoughts, when sweet birdsong drifted to her ear from the tree.
Rosy looked up and spotted a nightingale on a branch, singing its heart out. She wasn’t exactly an expert on trees, but she knew what it was due to its distinctive reddish-brown tail and wings and the white patches.
The melody the little bird emitted was beautiful, and if there had been others in the vicinity, it would have drawn everyone’s attention, she was sure of it. It was almost as if the bird were singing to an audience.
And then, as Rosy watched, she understood that it was. The bird wasn’t just singing for the joy of it. It was singing for another Nightingale, one hidden in the shadows just out of view. It was at that moment that Rosy understood just what she had to do.
This bird was beautiful and seemingly alone. When in reality, it had a hidden mate waiting for it, admiring it from afar… a secret, hidden mate.
“That is it,” Rosy muttered to herself. “A secret mate…”
She smiled to herself as she rose and turned back to the ballroom. For suddenly, all her doubt and worry was gone, and in its place, a plan had taken hold. A plan she knew would fix everything. All she needed now was an ally to bring her idea to life—and she knew exactly who that ought to be.
* * *
George Lymington stepped into the grand ballroom, his polished shoes clicking softly against the marble floor. Dressed impeccably in a tailored suit, he exuded an air of sophistication and aristocratic grace, which was ironic because, for the last few years, he’d been more comfortable in combat attire. Yet, somehow, the moment he put on a suit, he was transformed into a proper noble.
On the outside, at least. On the inside, it was rather a different matter. Yet, despite his outward confident appearance, inwardly he felt anything but at ease. Attending a ball was far out of the boundaries he’d felt comfortable within, but his new role as Duke called for it—moreover, his role as the older brother called for it.
Taking a deep breath, he inhaled the mix of sweet beeswax from the candles and the multitude of aromas emanating from the dancing couples. He’d been at war for so long that perfumes and aftershaves still bothered his nose, so overpowering they were.
“Have you turned into a statue?” his younger brother Timothee asked beside him, snatching a glass of wine off a passing tray. He downed it in one gulp and placed the empty glass behind a flowerpot by the window. “Come back, man,” he called after the server, who looked startled but returned. He took another glass and drank, slower this time.
A heavy sigh escaped George’s lips as he watched his brother’s behavior, his brow furrowing with concern. Timothee hadn’t taken their father’s death three years ago well, and Samuel’s death had entirely thrown his world into turmoil.
Always rebellious, Timothee had taken up drinking and gambling, so much so that George’s reputation for being a rake would soon be overshadowed by Timothee’s own. What worried George even more was that their uncle had told him that Timothee had made it a habit to sell property from their estate, such as vases and antiques, to pay off his debts. This was all the more alarming because George knew their estate was in financial trouble and those assets might one day have to be used to save the dukedom from financial ruin.
“Timmy, you really ought to slow down,” George admonished gently.
Timothee shot him a defiant look, his eyes glazed over from the effects of the alcohol. “Mind your own business, George,” he muttered, taking a long sip from his glass. “Why are you even here? I do not need a governess, and we both know you don’t want to be here at all. You’d rather be in a ditch somewhere, shooting frogs.”
George reminded himself that his brother was adrift and that he had failed to be there for him when he needed him the most, therefore it was no wonder Timothee didn’t particularly care for George’s counsel at this time. Not that George had any wisdom to give. He wasn’t born to be Duke. He was born to be a soldier… yet, here he was.
He had only been back in England for a fortnight, but it was enough to see that his brother was in deep trouble—and that perhaps he had waited too long to return to set him right again. But he had to try. And this ball was his way of at least trying to forge a bond with his brother.
It was true, George didn’t want to be here. But he had to. If he didn’t, he knew his brother would simply drink himself into a stupor or lose all of his belongings in a game of cards. No, he had vowed to watch over his brother, come what may.
However, it was proving to be far more complicated than he’d thought, for Timothee wasn’t in the mood to be looked after.
“I would rather be in a ditch fighting for my country, that is true. But I am not. I will never be again. I have to be here, fulfilling my role. Both as a duke and as a brother. As a duke, I need to be seen at Society events, and as a brother…”
He attempted to put a hand on Timothee’s shoulder, but his brother shook him off.
“As a brother, you need to leave me alone. I am one-and-twenty, not ten. I don’t need your lectures, George,” Timothee spat, his words slurring slightly. “I’m a grown man, I can do as I please.”
With that, he turned away from him and marched into the ballroom, no doubt in search of more spirits—and a card game to lose himself in.
All George could do was stay nearby and ensure his little brother did not get himself into the sort of trouble that was impossible to get out of.
* * *
“That is so very romantic,” Judith said a little while later while she and Rosy made their way down the hall. Judith”s companion was talking business, so the girls were left alone again.
She spoke louder than was necessary, but that was of course part of the plan.
“A whole bouquet of roses? And he arranged it all from France? I shall have to speak to Lord Barnes, it might inspire him to be a little bit more romantic.”
Rosy beamed.
Despite the estrangement between herself and Rosy’s family, Judith had proven herself an eager ally when Rosy had approached her with her request.
“Yes,” Rosy replied. “I did not expect it at all. I’ve hung the roses upside down in my chamber to let them dry out, so I can cherish them forever. I was thinking I could incorporate them into my bouquet when we get married.”
“What a wonderful idea!” Judith gushed.
The two turned into the banquet room, although this time, Rosy was not in search of a gentleman who might not reject her outright upon sight.
This time, they were looking for someone else altogether—and the moment they paused and took a look around the room, Rosy saw her. There, standing beside the sideboard, holding beautiful bottles full of amber liquid, was Marjorie Miller.
The youngest daughter of the Countess of Millstone, the worst spreader of gossip in all the realm, was a miniature version of her mother in more ways than one. Not only did she look like a younger version of hr mother, but she also had a quick mouth, and an inability to keep anything she heard to herself—especially when it was told to her in confidence.
Normally, Rosy would walk a wide berth around any Millstone, but tonight, she needed her. If the arched eyebrow was anything to go by, she had already drawn Lady Marjorie’s attention. The young woman brushed a stray auburn lock away.
“Wedding? Did I hear you talk about a wedding, Lady Rosemary?” Marjorie asked and got up, a glass of red wine in hand.
Judith gave Rosy a friendly poke in the ribs and winked.
“Oh, you were not meant to hear that, Lady Marjorie. Please do not say anything to anyone. Nobody knows yet,” Rosy said conspiratorially. “Besides, It’s a little premature. No offer has been made yet.”
“Now, do not be so modest, Rosy,” Judith chided. “You know it will come soon. After all, he sent you those beautiful flowers for your three-month anniversary.”
Lady Marjorie’s blue eyes lit up with curiosity. “Well, pray, whom do you speak of? I did not know you were courting anyone. Indeed, I thought…” She bit her lip.
Rosy narrowed her eyes. She had a good idea of what the woman had been about to say.
“Well, I haved been keeping it a secret because of the circumstances…” she said quietly.
“Circumstances? Pray, you must tell me the truth. I am so intrigued that I shall not be able to focus on anything else all night,” Lady Marjorie begged, stepping closer to her side.
Sally looked at Judith, as if she was uncertain of what to say, and her friend gave her an encouraging nod. A perfect bit of theater.
“I think it is safe to tell Lady Marjorie. She can be trusted. Can’t you?” Judith asked with a smile.
“What kind of question is this? Of course, I can. Your secret is safe with me, Lady Rosemary,” Lady Marjorie assured.
“I suppose there is no harm in speaking out, in that case. Well, you see, I have been courting a gentleman for some time. The trouble is that he is overseas, at war,” Rosy began.
Lady Marjorie’s lips formed an O.“At war? Is he in the militia? Are you courting a redcoat?” The alarm in her voice made Rosy’s heart pound, for she hadn’t anticipated this question.
“Of course not,” Judith cut in. “He is no commoner. Who do you take her for? He’s a duke. A hero of the realm. Indeed, he is none other than the Duke of Cambridge.”
Lady Marjorie could not contain herself. A gasp escaped her lips. “The Duke of Cambridge? Goodness me! That family has been in the scandal sheets a lot as of late. I heard he has a bit of a reputation…”
Rosy had heard of the Duke of Cambridge’s rakish reputation, and it had given her pause. Everyone knew the new Duke had a taste for the ladies, but she hadn’t been able to think of any other nobles currently away who might serve as her imaginary love interest. Of course, she hadn’t thought the entire story through at all. If she had, she would have anticipated Lady Marjorie’s reaction better. She might have thought of all sorts of problems.
Then again, those problems would likely have stopped her from doing what she had to do… No matter, she’d figure it all out as she went along.
To that end, she put on a bright smile. “Rumors, nothing but rumors. George is a wonderful man, and we are very happy,” she declared confidently.
“I see. But pray, how did you meet?” Lady Marjorie asked. “He has been away for so long.”
Sweat broke out on Rosy’s brow and the nape of her neck.
“We met when he was in town for Christmastide, four months ago,” she replied quickly, remembering she’d seen the Duke—he had not been a duke back then—at a ball. “We got along wonderfully, and we began to write to one another, and throughout our correspondence, we became attached.”
“It is quite romantic,” Judith piped up. “One really gets to know one’s love when one writes so often. Truly, it is a far better way to court.”
“Yes, that is true. I feel as though I know George intimately, though we have been apart due to the war,” Rosy said, wondering what the Duke of Cambridge would say if he ever heard about this supposed courtship.
Good thing he was far away in France then, for, by the time he returned, her lie would long be forgotten.
“How wonderful. He must feel very blessed to have you, especially after losing his brother so suddenly. What was it? Two months ago?” Lady Marjorie asked.
Rosy took a deep breath, not wanting to admit she had no idea. The former Duke of Cambridge had passed away a few months ago, after Christmas, but she was not certain exactly when. It was how she’d thought of his younger brother, the new Duke, as a possible means to carry out her ruse. She’d read about him quite a bit after the accident. All the ton had wondered when he’d return to take up his new duties.
He’d missed his brother’s funeral, that she knew. Indeed, she suddenly felt bad for implicating George Lymington in her ruse, given what he had been through.
“Almost four months now, he passed in January,” Judith said, saving her. “But I dare say it was a blessing to have Rosy in this dark time.”
“Yes, certainly,” Lady Marjorie quickly agreed.
Rosy noted her eyes flickering briefly, but before she had a chance to wonder what that meant, a deep voice boomed from behind.
“I certainly agree. My dearest Rose has been a blessing. We are lucky to have one another, are we not?”
Rosy felt as if the entire world had stopped. She swallowed past the lump in her throat and turned around, her lips parting. It was him. The Duke of Cambridge.