Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Two hours earlier
Once they were settled in the frosty gazebo, Robin turned to Rosalie, his eyes earnest. “I was thinking about the story you told me. In particular, the part where Lucian said he had seduced you on a bet. The bet was with Edmund Reeves. I know Reeves, and he always, and I mean always, enters his bets in the betting book at White’s.
So, I thought I should go down and have a look. ”
Rosalie sighed. This didn’t sound all that important. “And what did you find?”
Robin leaned forward. “I went through the entire month of April, and two months before for good measure. There was nothing in the betting book about it. Rosalie… there was no bet!”
She shrugged one shoulder. “He probably left it out of the betting book this time. It’s a rather scandalous wager. Imagine if Papa had seen it, or one of his friends! Mr. Reeves’ life wouldn’t have been worth a farthing.”
“That occurred to me as well, which is why I paid him a call.”
Rosalie shifted on the cold bench, not entirely eager to hear what Mr. Reeves had said. “Oh?”
“He didn’t know what I was talking about,” Robin said in a rush.
“He recalled stumbling upon the two of you in the garden but insisted that he never made a bet with Lucian. In fact, his story matched the original story Lucian concocted—where Lucian suggested he go out and place a large wager on Lucian marrying!”
Rosalie’s head was swimming. “But Lucian told me that the bet was whether he could fool me into thinking that he wanted to marry me. Why would he lie about such a thing?”
Robin laughed darkly. “I have an inkling. Reeves told me another interesting tidbit. Did you never wonder why he held his tongue for the past two years?”
Rosalie bit her lip. Now that Robin mentioned it, it did seem surprising. Mr. Reeves was not known for his discretion. “Why?”
Robin leaned forward. “Reeves told me that a few days after he stumbled upon the two of you, Lucian paid him a call. According to Reeves, Lucian told him that he did call upon Father to ask for your hand. But Father refused him!”
A roaring filled Rosalie’s ears. “That can’t be true. It just… can’t!” Papa would not have done such a thing, not without asking Rosalie how she felt about the man in question. It was impossible!
Wasn’t it?
“Reeves swore up and down that was what happened,” Robin said.
“Lucian asked him to keep what he saw to himself, in light of the fact that you would be ruined if word got out. Reeves said Lucian looked an absolute wreck. Fortunately, Reeves had not yet managed to place a bet on the odds of Lucian marrying, so he didn’t stand to lose any money over it.
He said he felt so bad for Lucian, he gave him his word at once. ”
Rosalie staggered to her feet. “I must speak to Papa.”
It couldn’t be true. None of it made any sense!
Papa would not have refused Lucian’s suit without speaking to her first. And, even if, in some bizarre twist of fate, Papa had done precisely that, why hadn’t Lucian simply told her as much?
Why pretend he hadn’t spoken to Papa and concoct an elaborate lie about a bet with Mr. Reeves?
Why would he go out of his way to break her heart?
“Come.” Robin started to take her arm, but he hesitated, frowning. Rosalie must not have looked too steady on her feet, because he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “I have the carriage waiting around the corner. It’s time we settled this, once and for all.”
Rosalie was terrified of what she was about to learn. But she knew she would have no peace until she got some answers.
It was time to speak with her father.
If the servants were surprised to see Rosalie at Swanscombe House so soon after her wedding, they gave no sign of it. Stephens welcomed her with a bow and indicated that her father was in his study.
Robin accompanied her as far as the door. He squeezed her hand. “I’ll be waiting just outside. Good luck.”
Rosalie nodded tightly. “Thank you, Robin. For everything.”
Swallowing thickly, she turned and rapped upon the door.
Her father’s deep bellow was easily audible through the closed door. “Come in.”
Robin gave her hand one final squeeze, and she stepped inside.
The duke looked up from his paper-strewn desk. A smile lit his face as soon as he saw that it was her. “Rosie-Roo!” he exclaimed, coming around the desk and holding out his hands. “Tell me how that husband of yours is treating…”
His voice trailed off, and his face fell as he took in her expression. “What’s wrong?”
“I need to know something, Papa. Something important.” Rosalie’s hands were knotted in front of her stomach, but she had no hope of relaxing. Not until she had received some answers.
She looked up at her father. “When Lucian returned from the Continent two weeks ago, was that the first time he asked you for my hand?”
He looked startled. “No. No, it was not. He first approached me to ask for your hand… maybe around two years ago.”
Rosalie absorbed this news like a punch to the gut. When she spoke, her voice trembled. “Did you refuse him, then?”
“What?” The duke looked startled. “No!” But then, he paused, staring at the wall behind Rosalie’s head.
When he looked at her, his expression was sheepish. “At least, not intentionally.”
“Papa!” Rosalie exclaimed. “What did you say?”
Her father took her arm and led her to a pair of large leather wingchairs arrayed before the fireplace. He handed Rosalie into one and sank into the other himself.
He leaned forward, hands folded in his lap, his expression earnest. “I only wanted to make sure he wasn’t some sort of fortune hunter. You have to admit, his reputation in those days was far from pristine.”
Rosalie opened her mouth to speak, but there was nothing she could say to refute that particular point.
Her father continued, “At the same time, I know a besotted man when I see one, and much to my surprise, he seemed to have a great deal of genuine affection. I wanted to give him a chance but protect your interests at the same time. So, I told him that I would not even consider a match with a man whose income was less than two thousand a year.”
Rosalie’s heart sank like a stone. Because, of course, Lucian had had no prospects of inheriting his grandfather’s title at the time. As far as she knew, he hadn’t had any income to speak of. “What did he say?” she asked, her voice full of dread.
“He promptly asked if eighteen hundred would do,” her father replied. “It turns out that his grandfather had specified that he was to receive a church living that was within his gift. Stratford-Upon-Avon, I believe it was.”
“Stratford-Upon-Avon,” Rosalie whispered. Lucian had asked her about Stratford-Upon-Avon, about whether living there would suit her. It all fit.
“I could see that he was in earnest,” the duke continued.
“So, I told him that if this church living did indeed generate eighteen hundred a year, and you wanted the match, then I would give my blessing.” He rubbed the back of his head.
“In retrospect, I may have belabored the point a bit too strongly—that I would not consider him unless he secured the living. He hadn’t signed anything yet, you see.
It was all a conversation and a handshake.
I made it clear that if he did not have the means to support my little girl, then he needn’t bother wasting my time.
” His eyes were entreating. “As I said, I only wanted to make sure he wasn’t after you for your fortune, Rosie-Roo. ”
Rosalie sighed. “What happened next, Papa?”
Her father’s cheeks turned ruddy. “Well, as I’m sure you recall, the Appropriation Act was coming up for a vote, and I was in the thick of things, trying to negotiate the terms. And while I was working on that, it turns out that your young man’s church living somehow fell through.”
Rosalie frowned. “Fell through? How did it fall through?”
He rubbed the back of his head. “I don’t know, precisely.”
Rosalie was aghast. “What do you mean, you don’t know? Tell me precisely what Lucian said!”
His eyes were entreating. “As I mentioned, I was spending every waking hour working on the Appropriation Act. I was informed that he attempted to call on me—several times, in fact. And he sent me a number of letters. But…” The duke trailed off.
It was odd to see her robust, confident father with his shoulders hunched, looking as sheepish as a recalcitrant schoolboy.
“But?” Rosalie prompted.
The duke spoke in a rush. “I had a mountain of correspondence on my desk, and I did not manage to actually read his letters until he had, er…”
She crossed her arms. “Until he had what?”
His eyes were fixed upon the Axminster carpet as he said, “Until he had left the country.”
Rosalie surged to her feet. “Papa! Do you mean to tell me that you ignored Lucian’s attempts to speak with you until he concluded that you were refusing to grant him an audience? Until he gave up and left the country?”
The duke rose as well. He wrung his hands. “Not intentionally! I was very busy at the time, and… I’m sorry. Truly, I am.”
Rosalie scrubbed at her eyes with the back of her sleeve. “What did he say in his letters?”
“Let’s see… that the living he had expected would be his had been given to someone else.
” The duke scratched his jaw. “As best I recall, he asked if I could help him secure some sort of position. He said that he would be willing to do anything, anything at all.” He looked at Rosalie, his chin ducked.
“I felt a bit guilty when I read that bit. I, of course, have a number of church livings in my gift. I could have set your young man up with one had I but realized.”
Rosalie glared at him, exasperated. “Did you write to him and tell him that?”
“No,” Papa admitted. He added hopefully, “I figured he was probably another one of those fortune hunters, and that if you really liked him all that well, you would have said something.”
That was when Rosalie did something she almost never did.
She started to cry.
She didn’t even realize she was doing it until one of her tears fell from her cheek, hitting the back of her hand.
“Rosie-Roo!” The duke surged forward, enveloping her in a bear hug.
“He never told me,” Rosalie sobbed, burying her face in her father’s cravat. “That the living had fallen through.” He had told her a few other things, a few other lies. Why, she still wasn’t sure.
But Papa didn’t need to know about their conversation in the orangery.
“The next thing I knew,” she continued, her voice breaking, “he had left for the Continent. I didn’t understand what had happened! I thought I must have imagined the whole thing. That he mustn’t have cared for me after all!”
Her father held her tight. “I’m sorry, Rosie. I’m so, so sorry. Oh, this is all my fault! How I wish I had told you! How I wish I had… well. I wish I had done a number of things differently.”
They stayed that way for a time, with Rosalie quietly sobbing and her father murmuring apologies into her hair.
Rosalie hadn’t realized it was possible to feel so many emotions simultaneously.
Toward her father, anger and love in equal measures.
To be sure, he had blundered and blundered badly.
But he had not meant badly at the time, nor realized the full extent of his mistake.
And his regret was clearly sincere. Rosalie was upset with him now, and she felt that she had a right to be.
But she also knew that this would not permanently damage their bond.
Toward Lucian, she felt a mixture of annoyance and confusion. Why had he told her those hurtful lies? If he had simply told her the truth, she could have reasoned with her father. All of the heartache of the past two years and the anxiety of the past two weeks could have been avoided.
And yet, intermixed with the annoyance and confusion, Rosalie felt…
hope. Because there was one possible explanation for the day he had broken her heart that had always seemed so absurd, Rosalie had not even allowed herself to hope that it might be true.
That Lucian had cared for her all along.
That the horrid things he said to her in that orangery were the lies, and everything else had been the truth.
Now, there was a faint glimmer of hope that the impossible was possible after all.
Once she had regained a bit of composure, Rosalie dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief. “I must return to Deverell House. I slipped out the back door with Robin. Nobody knows where I went. I don’t want Lucian to worry.”
“Of course.” Her father drew back and pressed a kiss against the top of her head. “Let me summon the carriage.”
During the short drive back to Deverell House, Rosalie rehearsed what she would say to Lucian. She was going to be calm and collected. They were going to have an open, honest, rational conversation about what had occurred and figure out how they could move forward with their marriage.
Thus resolved, she climbed down from the carriage and mounted the steps to Deverell House.
Collins was not manning the door. It was opened by a footman instead. “It’s Lady Rosalie! She’s back, my lord!” he cried, disabusing her of any illusions that her absence had gone unnoticed.
Dressed in his banyan and slippers, Lucian was sitting in a chair in the middle of the foyer, which was odd. He was leaning forward with his head cradled in his hands. He did not seem to have heard the footman’s announcement, but after a moment, he looked up.
“Rosalie!” he croaked, surging to his feet. His eyes were slightly wild, and in that moment, she saw something. She saw that he had not merely been worried, but had been frantic at her absence. She saw the relief in his eyes that she was back, blended with fear of the reason she had left.
Most of all, she saw that the thought that something had happened to her had caused him genuine distress.
Something shifted inside of her. Ever since he returned, she had been clinging to a thread as thin as a spider’s web, holding on to hope that somehow, she had been wrong these past two years, and Lucian cared for her after all.
For the first time, she did not have to hope. She knew. For the first time, she believed he cared about her from the depths of her soul.
He had cared all along. Suddenly, she was overwhelmed by the amount of time they had wasted. They could have been together these past two years! She could have been incandescently happy, rather than sad and lonely!
Except he had not trusted her enough to tell her the truth.
Lucian took a stumbling step toward her. “Rosalie. Darling. What’s—”
“You lied to me!” she snapped, tears pricking in her eyes once more.
So much for calm and collected. Her hands might be trembling, and she might be spilling over like a watering pot.
But on one point, she was still resolved—they were going to get to the bottom of that night. They were going to be honest with one another.
And they were going to mend their marriage in a way that would last.