Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
The following day, Rosalie was a wreck with anxiety. She knew her mother would disapprove of a match between her and Lucian, but she thought that her father might give his consent if he understood that Rosalie wanted it. She therefore needed to speak to her father alone.
An opportunity did not present itself after the ball, and although Rosalie rose at dawn, Stephens informed her that the duke had already departed.
He was currently negotiating the terms of the Appropriation Act, which was coming up for a vote, and hoped to catch certain Members of Parliament at their favored coffee houses.
Rosalie spent the morning skulking about the foyer, but Papa did not return before Mama declared it to be time to head for the dressmaker’s.
Attending a fitting was always a tedious task, but it seemed doubly so when Rosalie’s nerves were frayed to threads. She could not even feign interest in whether her new ball gown was to be of mauve crepe or cerulean taffeta.
When Rosalie agreed to the dressmaker’s suggestion for a new riding habit without even glancing at the suggested fabric, her mother intervened.
“We absolutely will not be getting anything in such a lurid shade of orange, as it clashes with my daughter’s hair.
As you ought to know.” The duchess turned toward her daughter, narrowing her eyes.
“What is the matter with you this morning, Rosalie?”
“I’m sorry, Mama,” Rosalie said halfheartedly.
“Hmph.” Her mother’s expression suggested that she doubted the sincerity of Rosalie’s apology. “Perhaps I should choose the designs for your gowns.”
“No!” The word burst from Rosalie’s lips. Not that she cared all that much, but she knew that if her mother did the choosing, she would wind up buckling under the weight of all the frills. “I will endeavor to do better.”
She managed to get through the appointment, then declined her mother’s offer to stop at Gunther’s for ices on the way home.
The duchess narrowed her eyes suspiciously, because usually, stopping at Gunther’s was the only part of an excursion to the dressmaker’s that Rosalie enjoyed. But she said nothing.
Once they arrived home, Rosalie cornered the footman who opened the door. “Is my father at home?”
“I’m afraid you just missed him, my lady,” the footman, Charles, replied. “He just headed out to his club.”
Rosalie tamped down a scream of frustration. Striving to hold her voice steady, she asked, “Did he receive any visitors while I was out?”
Charles looked startled. “I couldn’t say, my lady. Cook had me hauling water for most of the morning. Shall I ask Mr. Stephens?”
“No, thank you.” Stephens was too perceptive by half.
If he got wind of the fact that Rosalie had been asking after Lucian, he would put two and two together.
And she couldn’t risk her mother finding out what was afoot before she had the chance to speak with her father. “I appreciate the offer, though.”
The afternoon passed in a haze. Rosalie opened books only to shut them in frustration twenty minutes later, having not comprehended a single sentence.
She paced her bedroom. She paced the downstairs corridor until she started to get odd looks from Charles.
Finally, she plunked herself down in her father’s study, but the duke did not appear, and that was where her lady’s maid found her some two hours later.
“Lady Rosalie, there you are!” Bernadette exclaimed. “I’ve been searching for you everywhere. We must hurry if we’re to get you ready for the Bloomfield ball!”
For once, Rosalie submitted to her maid’s poking and pinning without complaint. It wasn’t as if she had anything better to be doing, given her inability to focus on anything worthwhile.
Papa did not join them in the carriage. Mama informed her that Parliament was holding a late session and that he would arrive at the ball separately.
As soon as they entered the Bloomfields’ town house, Rosalie craned her neck in every direction, searching for Lucian. But his glossy dark head was nowhere to be found.
The first dance began. A portly baron asked Rosalie to be his partner, and she assented. Thank goodness it was a country dance she had performed so many times she could do it while hopelessly distracted, because that was the state she found herself in.
By the supper that marked the midpoint of the ball, there was still no sign of Lucian.
Where on earth was he? Last night, he had seemed eager to see her again.
Had his affections already waned? After one day?
She knew he was the worst sort of rakehell, but she hadn’t thought to set the bar quite this low.
Indeed, Lucian did not appear at the ball that night, and although Rosalie was surrounded by people, she had never felt more alone.
The next four days passed in a similar haze of agitation.
She scarcely saw her father, and when she did, it was always in the presence of her mother.
He was always dashing out the door, off to negotiate another provision of the Appropriation Act, and she was never able to ask him if Lucian had called.
Nor did she see Lucian at any of the entertainments her mother dragged her to night after night.
By the fifth day, Rosalie was starting to wonder if she had hallucinated the whole episode in the garden. It seemed so unlikely in the harsh light of day that Lucian Deverell, of all people, had wanted to marry the likes of her!
That day, her mother forced her to attend a Venetian breakfast hosted by Mrs. Parkhurst. Rosalie filled a plate and then headed toward the gardens, hoping to find an isolated spot where she could eat her food in peace, when someone seized her elbow.
Before she even looked up to see who it was, she recognized Lucian’s spicy rum cologne.
“Lucian!” she gasped. She looked up, and there he was, not a hallucination after all, and every bit as handsome as she remembered him.
He did not look at her as he was busy scanning the guests assembled on Mrs. Parkhurst’s lawn. Satisfied that no one was looking their way, he jerked his head to the side. “Come with me.”
He led her to the orangery. The door was unlocked. “Let me make sure there’s no one here,” he murmured, then left her standing alone by the glass door.
Rosalie set her plate down on a garden table. Her fingers were trembling with all the pent-up emotions she had endured over the past five days.
It took Lucian only a moment to return, as the orangery was not overly large. “We’re alone,” he confirmed.
Rosalie started to fling herself into his arms, but he caught her hands, staying her.
She gave a nervous laugh. “I’m sorry. I suppose I should be more circumspect, as there are four dozen people out on the lawn. I’m just so happy to see you.”
“Are you?” He accompanied the question with a smile, but it wasn’t the fond smile he had given her that night in the garden. This one was amused. Which didn’t seem like a bad thing, but it was sharper, somehow.
As if he were amused at her expense.
She shook herself. What a silly thought! “Did you speak with my father?”
Lucian arched a brow, his expression sardonic. “What do you think?”
Now she was annoyed. What kind of question was that? She’d been waiting on tenterhooks for five days! “Lucian!” she snapped. “Don’t leave me in suspense? What did he say? Did he give you his permission?”
He laughed, and the sound of it made Rosalie’s blood run cold.
She wasn’t being silly. This… was not a nice sort of laugh.
He confirmed it the next instant. “You actually thought I was going to speak to him? To ask for your hand?” His voice dripped with derision.
“I…” She didn’t know how to answer. This could not be happening! She had given herself to this man, not fully, perhaps. But she had bared not just her body, but her heart to him. He couldn’t be throwing it back in her face. He just… couldn’t.
She lifted her chin. “Of course, I thought you were going to speak to him. This isn’t a nice thing to joke about, Lucian, and I don’t appreciate it. Tell me what he said.”
His eyes held a mixture of mockery and pity. “Oh, Rosalie. I thought you were smarter than this.”
“Stop it!” she cried, her voice rising. “This isn’t funny!”
In contrast to her uncharacteristic emotion, his voice was steady. “You’re right. It’s not funny.” His lips twisted into a cruel grin. “It’s hilarious.”
“You don’t mean that.” He made to withdraw his hands, but she clung to them, refusing to let go. “I don’t know why you’re doing this, but—”
“Did you not note the person who discovered us? Edmund Reeves.” He cocked his head to the side. “Now, why do you think that is?”
Rosalie’s thoughts were flying in a thousand different directions, but she knew one thing about Edmund Reeves, and that was that he always, always had a wager going in the betting book at White’s.
Her voice sounded hollow to her own ears as she asked, “You’re saying it was nothing but a wager?”
“Very good,” he said, voice dripping with mockery. “The legendary brain of Rosalie de Lacy has decided to put in an appearance.”
She shook herself. “But that doesn’t make sense.
Edmund would not agree to a wager in which you bet against yourself.
In which you bet that you couldn’t seduce me.
You could simply have given a half-hearted effort.
It therefore follows that he must have been the one to bet that I would rebuff you.
” She looked up at him, her eyes fierce.
“And yet, he seemed delighted upon discovering us. Not like a man who just lost a considerable sum.”
Lucian laughed in her face. “That’s because the bet wasn’t on whether I could seduce you. No one would bet against me on that. The bet was on whether I could convince you that I actually wanted to marry you.”
The orangery tilted. Rosalie’s knees felt weak, and her vision swam.
Suddenly, Lucian was the one clinging to her hands, holding her up. “Rosalie?” he asked sharply. “Say something. Are you all right?”
She fought to cling to consciousness. She had never swooned before, not once in her life. And she certainly didn’t mean to start over Lucian Deverell!
When she had regained enough composure to look at him, she found a different expression on his face. The mockery was gone, and for a split second, she thought she saw concern.
It was enough to give her hope. Words tumbled from her lips before she had time to consider them. “Lucian… please. I don’t know why you’re saying this. But I know you don’t mean it.”
He blinked, and his face turned hard. “Of course, I mean it. You were a fool for ever thinking I was sincere.”
She shook her head. “I didn’t imagine what passed between us that night. It was special. You were right when you said that some things are meant to be. We are meant to be. I know we are!”
He looked at her with pity mixed with disgust. “Come, Rosalie. Show a little dignity.”
“Hang dignity!” Tears had started to stream down her face, which was humiliating. But she was beyond the point of caring. “There are a thousand insults you could hurl at me. But I’ve never been a coward, and I’m not afraid to fight for my future. For our future!”
He pulled his hands sharply downward, managing to slip from her grip. Rosalie curled her hands against her stomach, feeling strangely bereft now that they were empty.
“Our future.” His voice dripped with cruelty. “You might as well dream of a bridal trip to Atlantis, or a wedding present of a unicorn. They’re all the sorts of things that only a silly girl would wish for.”
Reality washed over her like a frigid ocean wave.
This was not an ill-thought-out jest. If it had been, he would have stopped long ago.
Although her mind protested at the notion that she was a laughingstock and a fool, she could no longer ignore the overwhelming evidence that that was precisely what he had rendered her.
“I see,” she said, her voice clipped. She dabbed at her damp cheeks with her sleeve. “Well, I hope the fortune you earned from your wager with Mr. Reeves was worth the stain on your soul.”
Lucian snorted. “Fortune? The bet was for three pounds.”
Rosalie’s guts twisted. He had stolen and discarded her heart as casually as men discarded the stubs of their cigars. He had destroyed her, and he had done it for three pounds.
He was still speaking. “But don’t bother sparing any worry for my soul. It was already blackened beyond recognition.”
“Well do I know it.” She turned on her heel and headed toward the back of the orangery.
She could see a chaise longue in the corner.
She had to hope that none of Mrs. Parkhurst’s guests would wander in, and that she could somehow compose herself enough to plead a headache and slip away from the party.
She paused before taking a seat but did not turn to look at him. “If you have any decency at all, you will never speak to me again.”
He did not reply. The only thing she heard was the click of the door.