Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Rosalie all but tripped over her feet in her haste to follow the footman to the morning room. She doubted Lysander could shed much light on her present circumstances.
But at least she could commiserate with him about this whole ridiculous situation.
“Mr. Deverell,” she said as she entered the room.
She saw him wince, and quickly said, “I’m sorry.
Lysander.” The name felt awkward on her tongue.
She had always called him “Lord Valentine,” or “my lord.” They had somehow never advanced to deeper intimacies during the two-and-a-half months since his proposal.
She gestured toward one of the striped Chippendale chairs, then took the seat opposite him on the sage-green sofa. “I saw the Rake Review this morning. I’m so sorry.”
Lysander’s poetic features took on a wounded expression. “It’s that dastardly cousin of mine, Lucian. He’s always been terribly jealous of me. Well, he finally managed to take me down a peg. I suppose he’s happy with himself!”
Rosalie was no fan of Lucian Deverell’s; quite the opposite, if she was being frank.
But the Brazen Belle had stated that it was a former schoolmate, Lord J—, who had instigated the investigation against Lysander’s claim to the title.
Rosalie suspected that this referred to Lord Jarvis, who was about the same age as Lysander, and whose animosity toward him was well known.
Frankly, it was difficult to imagine how Lucian could have been involved, as he was hundreds of miles away, galivanting across the Continent.
Normally, she would not have hesitated to point out the flaw in Lysander’s logic.
But, as this had to be one of the worst days of his life, she forced herself to bite her sharp tongue. “Why do you despise him so?”
She truly was curious. If there was anyone on the face of this earth who detested Lucian as thoroughly as she did, it was Lysander. At the same time, she could not deny that Lucian had a strange pull on her, one that she found difficult to resist.
Now that he was on his way back to England, she found herself longing for more tinder to keep her animosity burning bright.
Lysander spoke slowly, as if choosing his words carefully.
“We have never been close. Our temperaments could not be more different. And yet, I like to think that we could have put childhood quarrels aside and been civil with one another as adults. I certainly could have, if not for…” He trailed off, looking down.
Rosalie very much wanted to know how that sentence ended. “If not for?” she prompted.
He squeezed his eyes shut. “The thing I was unable to forgive was his mistreatment of our grandfather.”
“Your grandfather?” She blinked, startled. “Are you referring to the fifth Viscount Valentine?”
“The very one,” Lysander confirmed.
“What did he do?” Rosalie asked eagerly.
Lysander’s handsome brow creased in sorrow.
“As Grandfather grew older, certain things were no longer safe for him to do. At the same time, his mental faculties decreased so that he no longer had a firm grasp of cause and effect. Someone had to look after him—to make sure he ate properly, took his medicines, and didn’t drink himself into an early grave.
” He made a bleak sound. “Of course, no grown man likes to be told what to do, but the expression that someone is suffering from gout is no mere hyperbole.”
“You were looking out for his best interests,” Rosalie said.
Lysander inclined his head. “To the best of my abilities, yes. Unlike Lucian.” Bitterness filled his voice as he spoke his cousin’s name.
“How easy it is to be the jolly one! The one who never has to say no. He would come waltzing in, completely disregard Grandfather’s diet, take him out drinking—at the age of ninety-two, mind you!
He would even drive him around at reckless speeds in his highflyer. ”
The words spilled from Rosalie’s mouth before she could think better of them. “But Lucian didn’t own a highflyer. He could never have afforded one.”
“He would borrow it from that degenerate friend of his, Evander Beauclerk,” Lysander said, sounding wounded. “I apologize for having misspoken.”
“That’s quite all right,” Rosalie murmured, feeling chastened. Why must she always be so exacting about the most trivial detail? She bit her lip, considering. There was another question she wanted to ask, but she did not want to come across as contrarian.
She decided to risk it. “But why would he do these things? What benefit was it to him?”
Lysander shook his head. “I regret to say that his motivations appear to have been of a mercenary nature. Although most of the estate is entailed, there were certain properties and funds that Grandfather was free to grant as he saw fit. Clearly, Lucian was trying to ingratiate himself with our grandfather in the hope that he might inherit them.” His voice darkened.
“And, I fear, trying to hasten the unhappy event that would bring him into said inheritance by encouraging such reckless and unhealthy habits.”
Rosalie leaned back against the sofa’s cushions. A moment ago, she would have said that her opinion of Lucian Deverell could not have sunk any lower.
But to mistreat an elderly man for money? His own grandfather?
It was the most contemptible behavior imaginable.
“I’m sorry,” Rosalie said, realizing that an awkward silence had fallen. “I am simply… stunned.”
“Understandably so,” Lysander said, his voice full of sympathy. “Come, let us not speak of such an unpleasant topic. I came to ask you a specific question, in light of this morning’s Rake Review.”
Rosalie gave a bleak laugh. “I fear we exchange one unpleasant topic for another. But what did you wish to ask me?”
Suddenly, he stood, crossed the room in three brisk strides, and shut the door which the footman had very properly left open.
“Lysander?” Rosalie asked, startled. “What are you—”
He resumed his seat not in the facing chair, but next to her on the sofa. “What have your parents said is to happen? Regarding our nuptials?”
She tamped down her instinct, which was to scoot away. “They have not told me precisely what is to happen. But…”
“But?” he insisted.
“My mother mentioned that you had not signed the marriage contract,” she said gently. “That you did not agree with some of the provisions.”
He leaned forward and patted her hand. “Had you read it, you would understand. Many of your father’s stipulations were bizarre.”
Rosalie bristled. Of course, she had read the document upon which her entire future hinged!
There were only two provisions that were the slightest bit unusual.
One regarded Aylesford Castle, a property that was unusual in that it had been passed down her family’s maternal line, from mother to daughter, for more than five hundred years.
Her father had stipulated that this tradition should continue, that the castle should remain Rosalie’s sole property during her lifetime, and that it should be left to Rosalie’s daughter, or to her closest female relative, after her death.
The second provision stated that if at any point in the future she should deem her marriage with Lysander untenable, she would be given leave to return to the household in which she had grown up, Swanscombe Park.
This was her father’s way of addressing the current law, which gave a man the right to beat his wife.
Should Lysander turn out to be less than honorable, Rosalie would always have a way out.
Why would Lysander object? Was he truly that desperate to own a crumbling castle?
Or was he planning to beat her?
“What, precisely, did you find objectionable?” she asked, unable to keep the frosty edge from her voice.
Lysander waved a hand. “Never mind. More to the point, do your parents intend for you to go through with the wedding?”
Rosalie softened her voice, because what she had to say would come as a blow to any man, and Lysander was already having a terrible day. “I do not believe so. My impression is that they are in the process of making other arrangements, although no one will tell me what those arrangements are to be.”
He nodded, and a muscle ticked in his jaw. “They leave us no choice, then. We must elope.” He seized her hand and rose, pulling her up from the couch. “Come. We’ll depart for Gretna Green forthwith.”
“What?” Rosalie yanked her hand from his grasp. The thought flitted across her mind that if her skin crawled this much from holding hands with this man, it was fortunate that they would not be having a wedding night after all. “We cannot elope!”
He reached for her hand again and frowned when she drew it behind her back. “We can, and we must. It is the only way we can be wed if your parents will not give their consent.”
“And what of my consent?” she shot back. “I was only willing to marry you in the first place if you agreed to the terms spelled out in the marriage contract. What on earth makes you believe I would elope with you without legal protections of any sort in place?”
“We must marry,” he said tightly. “Before it is too late.”
She crossed her arms. “Why must we?”
“Because…” Frustrated, he raked a hand through his blond curls. “I am not one of those men who easily gives words to his most intimate feelings.”
Rosalie had always had a good nose for a liar, and she did not believe for a second that Lysander harbored intimate feelings where she was concerned. “Please do not insult me by pretending this was a love match. Because we both know it was not.”
His posture stiffened. “You have disabused me of the notion that my feelings are returned. Nevertheless, I still wish for us to marry, with all possible haste.”
Rosalie was having none of it. “Do you know how many times you have called on me in the two and a half months since I accepted your proposal? None.”
He narrowed his eyes but said nothing.
“Do you know how many times you have asked me to dance?” she continued.
“Five. Once at each ball at which we were both in attendance. At the conclusion of each dance, you returned me to my mother. Not once did you ask me to take a turn about the room, or bring me a glass of punch, much less sweep me out onto the balcony. And so I ask you, Lysander, how do you expect me to believe you harbor tender feelings for me, when all available evidence suggests that you have no desire for my company?”
He lifted his chin. “I do not expect you to understand.”
“Which is fortunate, because I do not,” she shot back.
Drawing in a breath, she made a great effort to gentle her voice.
“I did not mind that the arrangement you proposed was pragmatic in nature. But I did assume you would make some effort to get to know me after your proposal. But every time I attempted to engage you in conversation, you contrived an excuse to leave. What else was I to conclude?”
He spoke in a clipped voice. “Suffice it to say, I had my reasons for proposing. I will ask you one more time—will you come with me to Gretna Green?”
“No,” she said gently. “No, I will not.”
“Then my reasons shall remain my own.” He bowed stiffly. “Do excuse me, my lady.”
He strode from the room, leaving Rosalie alone with her thoughts.