Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Unfortunately for Rosalie, on this, the evening of his only daughter’s betrothal ball, her father appeared to be enjoying a level of popularity previously only experienced by the Duke of Wellington after winning the Battle of Waterloo.
She managed to slither through the throng of well-wishers surrounding him. One could be forgiven for assuming that someone might want to offer congratulations to the bride. But standing in the shadow of her gregarious papa, Rosalie was all but invisible.
That was all right. Rosalie did not want congratulations.
What she wanted was to figure out how to dissolve this ill-advised betrothal.
Leaning forward, she managed to seize his elbow. “Papa!” she hissed.
She feared he could not hear her over the congratulatory cacophony.
But the duke, who had an almost animalistic awareness where his daughter was concerned, turned his head at once.
“Rosie-Roo!” he exclaimed, forgetting in his exuberance that she did not like him to use the nickname in public.
“What did I tell you? It all worked out splendidly, did it not?”
Now, everyone was staring at her. Perfect.
She drew in a breath. And she smiled at her Papa—a genuine smile, because she knew his intentions had been good. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so surprised!”
That drew a round of chuckles from his circle of admirers.
Her father patted her hand and started to turn away. But Rosalie tightened her grip on his arm and craned her neck toward his ear. “I need to speak with you,” she whispered.
Her father looked at her then. Some sign of distress must have been visible on her face, because his eyes flared. “Of course.” He smiled at his friends. “Excuse us a moment, gentlemen.”
Crossing the ballroom was slow going, as everyone wanted a quick word with the duke. It soon became apparent to Rosalie that they would not make it to her father’s study before the party ended.
She settled for pulling him into a space along the wall between two potted palms. Nobody would be able to hear them over the orchestra. “About Lucian,” she began.
Her father beamed. “I was delighted when he turned up this morning! Truly, his timing could not have been better.”
She had best just come out and say it. “I cannot marry him.”
“What?” Her father looked generally startled. “No, this fellow… this is the one! I like him much better than that other Lord Valentine.”
“Well, I don’t!” Rosalie snapped.
Her father’s expression darkened. “Has he done something to you?”
“N-no!” The denial burst from her reflexively. It wasn’t the truth, of course. But she could hardly tell him the truth! It was too humiliating, for one. It also involved the sort of intimate details one could not discuss with one’s father.
There was also the distinct possibility that her father would charge across the ballroom, bellowing like an angry bear, and strangle Lucian Deverell in front of five-hundred-some-odd eyewitnesses.
“No,” she repeated, calmer this time. “But I scarcely know him!”
Her father’s shoulders visibly relaxed. “You will come to know him. I have a good feeling about this one, Rosie.” He tapped his temple with a thick finger. “You must trust your papa on this one. I know the signs! I have a good instinct for this sort of thing.”
Obviously not, if he thought Lucian to be anything other than a blackguard and a scoundrel.
Papa continued, “Your mother is planning things already.” He leaned close, his eyes gleaming. “I hope you fancy a Valentine’s Day wedding!”
Oh, dear God! She couldn’t marry Lucian Deverell on Valentine’s Day. The whole notion was utterly preposterous!
And, more importantly, it gave her very little time to figure a way out of this wedding.
Her father was looking over her shoulder. “Ah, there is Lord Spencer. There’s a bill I’ve been meaning to discuss with him.” He squeezed Rosalie’s hand. “Spend some time with your young man. I daresay you’ll come to discover that your papa occasionally knows what he’s about!”
Before Rosalie could protest, he was striding away. “Spencer!” he boomed. “Come here, you old dog.”
Rosalie slumped behind one of the potted palms. Her father clearly had a strange attachment to the idea of her marrying Lucian in particular, something that went beyond salvaging the match and saving her from embarrassment.
She knew all too well how stubborn Papa could be once he got an idea into his head.
At the same time, she couldn’t tell him what Lucian had done to her two years ago, both because she could not bear the humiliation and because she was fairly certain the chain of events it would set in motion would end with her father hanging for murder.
At the same time, she could not marry him, and she knew her father would never accept the vague denials she had attempted to use tonight.
She needed specific evidence of Lucian’s villainy, but something that was not so personal that it would inspire her father to avenge her.
Suddenly, she recalled what Lysander had told her this afternoon, about Lucian’s attempts to manipulate their grandfather, and even to hasten his demise.
If she could find evidence of Lucian’s mistreatment of his grandfather, that would be the perfect rationale for refusing the match.
The fact that the marriage contract had been signed was immaterial.
If she could but win Papa to her side, there was no mountain he would not move for the sake of his Rosie-Roo.
Her mind was already racing. She could think of a dozen people she needed to interview.
And she knew precisely where she needed to start.
Rosalie found her younger brother in the billiard room. “I need your help.”
Robin brightened at her approach. Robin was in some ways very like their father—charismatic. Charming. The sort of man who had never met a stranger.
But he had inherited their mother’s fine-boned frame. He was only two inches taller than Rosalie, although at two and twenty, it was possible that he might grow another inch or two. He had brown hair the color of chocolate and poetic blue eyes.
As usual, Robin was keeping company with his particular friend, Howard Roberts.
Howard seemed at first glance an unlikely companion for Robin.
He had plain brown hair, plain brown eyes, and usually sported a dour expression.
Whereas Robin favored bright colors and fine fabrics for his clothing, Howard’s wardrobe of unrelenting black bore more resemblance to an undertaker than his actual profession in banking.
It was inaccurate to refer to Robin and Howard as merely friends.
Rosalie had stepped inside the library once and caught them kissing.
It had been awkward for all three of them, but Robin had eventually explained that he and Howard felt for one another the same way husbands usually felt about their wives, and that they planned to spend their lives together.
Such a course was dangerous in England, where love between two men was punishable by death. Rosalie made them both swear that they would be more careful. What if someone else had walked in on them, someone less discreet?
The incident had not changed Rosalie’s feelings toward her brother a whit.
Robin was one of her favorite people—kind, amusing, and unfailingly loyal.
And as for Howard, although Rosalie did not understand what her brother saw in him, she had to admit that he was unfailingly loyal to Robin.
And she supposed that was good enough for her.
The billiard room was not crowded, but a few people were milling about, so Rosalie gestured for Robin and Howard to lean in close.
“What can I do for you, sister dear?” Robin asked.
“I am sure you were present in the ballroom earlier and saw that I have swapped one Lord Valentine for the other,” she began.
Howard grunted.
Her brother was more effusive. “We certainly did!” He waggled his eyebrows. “Frankly, I think you came out on the better end of that exchange.”
“I disagree,” Rosalie said briskly. “You see…” She paused as something occurred to her. “You must promise never to speak of this to anyone.”
“I promise,” Robin said.
“As do I,” Howard mumbled.
She gave them a firm look. “You must especially promise that you will never mention it to Father.”
“Of course, I won’t,” Robin said. “Come on, Rosie! We’re dying of curiosity.”
Rosalie swallowed. Her heart was pounding, and her knees had turned to rubber. She had never told anyone about that night. It wasn’t that she did not trust Robin and Howard to keep her secret. She trusted them implicitly.
But it was just so humiliating.
She lifted her chin. “Just before he decamped for the Continent, Lucian and I had an… interlude.”
Robin and Howard exchanged a pregnant look. “That sounds intriguing,” Robin said.
She chose her words carefully. “I encountered Lucian on the balcony during a ball. We kissed, and… words were exchanged.”
This was not entirely true, or rather, it was only brushing the surface of the truth.
But Robin and Howard did not need to know every single detail.
Robin raised his eyebrows. “‘Words were exchanged?’ That could mean anything. That could mean you slapped him across the face and called him a cad.”
“Promises,” Rosalie said crisply. “Promises were exchanged. I fully expected him to approach Papa the following day to ask for my hand. I had given him to understand that the suit would be welcome, at least, on my part. But instead…” She closed her eyes. Oh, but this was painful.
She felt Robin take her hand. “Instead?”
“It turns out it had all been a joke,” she said in a rush. “One of his friends had dared him to do it. There was a wager involved as well. It wasn’t… He didn’t really…”
Robin squeezed her hand. “Oh, Rosie!”
She forced herself to continue. “He pulled me aside a few days later. To rub it in my face. He was… cruel.”
Robin looked wounded on her behalf. “That blackguard!”
Howard got straight to the point. “Shall I poison him, then?”
Rosalie blanched. “What? No!”
Howard held her gaze. “Are you sure? Because I know someone.”
“Thank you, Howard!” Rosalie said crisply. “But I would prefer to take a different approach.”
Howard cast his eyes heavenwards and muttered, “Suit yourself.”
Robin was beaming at Howard as if he had just hung the moon. He turned to Rosalie. “Why do you suppose Lord Valentine agreed to marry you, after all that?”
“He is spiteful,” Roslie explained. “One might even say sadistic. I have no doubt that he sees it as an opportunity to torment me.”
Confusion settled over Robin’s face. “But does your marriage contract not contain a clause giving you the right to come live with Father, or, in the decades to come, with me, if he mistreats you?”
Rosalie waved this off. “I never said he was a clever man. He probably skimmed that particular paragraph.”
“Hmm.” Robin did not look convinced.
“If not poison, what do you need us to do?” Howard asked.
“I tried to explain to Papa that I could not marry him, but he seems taken with the man to an inordinate degree. He ordered me to trust his paternal instinct and give Lucian a chance. I can hardly explain the real reason I can’t marry him!”
Robin’s eyes flared with comprehension. “Father would call him out!”
Howard snorted. “He would rip him limb from limb.” He gave Rosalie a pointed look. “Although some of us can make these things look like an accident.”
Rosalie rolled her eyes. “Would that we all possessed your talent for subtlety, Howard. Happily, another possibility has occurred to me. You see, I once asked Lysander why he hated him so. And this is what he said…”
She quickly conveyed Lysander’s charges that Lucian had not only manipulated his grandfather in order to increase his inheritance but also hasten his demise.
“If,” Rosalie concluded, “I can show Father proof of this dastardly behavior, he will help me get out of the match. I know he will. I am willing to undertake the investigation. But there are some places I cannot go, and some questions a young lady cannot ask without arousing suspicion.”
Robin’s eyes widened. “But a young man could.”
“Precisely.” Rosalie looked from Robin to Howard. “Here is what I need you to find out.”