Chapter Eleven #2
“And you approve of this, do you, Lord Aylesbury?”
For the first time since their guest had arrived, Rose looked over her shoulder at her husband.
She was then immediately forced to stifle a laugh. Samuel was perched on the window seat, clutching a cup of coffee, looking as though he had just been told he would have to live on a boat near the North Pole. Without gloves.
“I—I wouldn’t… I don’t tell my wife what to do,” he said lamely.
It was a complete lie and Rose almost scoffed at the fool, but Lady Romeril was nodding her head approvingly.
“I should think so! The last person to try to tell me what to do was a footman at Almack’s. I fear his ankle may never recover.”
Rose’s eyes widened. “Do you mean to say—”
“As to who is battling scandal at the moment,” Lady Romeril continued, speaking over Rose in a commanding way that made the latter think of grand speeches and monologues and ensuring one’s voice reached the back of the theater, “I would say that one of the Lloyd girls is going to find herself in trouble before long, and there has been some very vicious chatter about one of the Quintrells, though I will not shame them by saying which one. Very vicious chatter, I must say. The Daltons will be thrilled.”
“Indeed?” Rose asked, sipping her coffee, which was most invigorating. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about the names you just heard, and how long ago it’s been since you last heard them. “And where did you hear such a thing?”
Lady Romeril’s grin widened. “Why, coming from my own mouth, of course.”
Every muscle in Rose’s body stiffened.
That was the trouble with acting, she reminded herself forcefully as she tried to ensure that the momentary panic was not noticeable. Sit within the role for too long, and you almost forget that you are playing a part.
And you are playing a part, Rose Morgan. Rose Chance—for now. But so is everyone else. Everyone has their agenda. Everyone is looking for weakness in the other.
And you were having so much fun playing the role that you almost forgot what the stakes are.
“In that case,” she said aloud as calmly as she could manage, “I shall have to endeavor to seek out these Lloyds and Quintrells, and befriend them.”
Samuel dropped his coffee cup.
The resulting smash and curses echoed around the drawing room, but Rose did not look away from Lady Romeril, whose face had turned from genial smile to frozen mask.
“You—You will?”
“Oh, yes, I find it best to ally myself with anyone who is down on their luck,” Rose said breezily, sipping her coffee again as though fighting hand-to-hand combat with the best of Society were a casual diversion.
“Then when they rise, as they so often do, I can rise with them—with their complete loyalty, of course.”
Samuel behind her was babbling something under his breath as a footman hastened over with a cloth, but Rose paid him no heed.
She had gambled, gambled high, and it was not clear yet whether she had won or lost. There was no draw; Lady Romeril was not the sort to permit such a thing.
Either the older woman would relent, beam at her hostess’s audacity and consider her an impeccable member of Society…or she would not.
If the former, Rose knew she would have won over the whole of London. Samuel could sleep well at night forever, for his marchioness would be the toast of the town, and together, they could rest easy knowing that their eventual separation would be shocking, but not ruinous.
If the latter…
Well, she could always return to the theater earlier than planned.
Perhaps not in London, but there was always a stage waiting.
Lady Romeril grinned. Sadly, that was no indication of the conversation terminating.
“You,” the older woman said slowly, “are very interesting. You know, it’s almost as though…we have met before.”
It was Rose’s turn to drop her coffee—that was, she would have dropped the cup if she had not hastily placed it down on the console table before her.
Pulse racing, lungs tight, panic roaring through her…
No. No, she was not going to let it overcome her. She was not going to allow Lady Romeril to see just how much she had frightened her.
Rose ensured a teasing expression lilted her lips. Yes, a little regal, a little knowing, but not too knowing… “I cannot think where we would have met before, Lady Romeril—unless you frequented Bath regularly?”
It was another gamble, but at this point, Rose had few cards to play and little less to lose. If Lady Romeril did recall her… Well, Rose had presumed that most would not recognize her after a decade, but there was always a chance someone would.
Had her act been sufficient?
Lady Romeril’s beady gaze did not let up. “On occasion, but I’ve never found the Bath waters that appealing. But still, you are familiar. Who is your family—what was your name? Before you married His Highness over there, I mean?”
There was a small strangled sound from Samuel, but nothing coherent.
Thanking the heavens that she could at least answer this honestly, Rose said lightly, “Morgan. Not a Society name.”
Yes, well, that was true enough.
“Hmmmm.” Her guest looked most put out. “You know, I came here this afternoon, Lady Aylesbury, prepared to find a hoyden who had overstretched herself in matrimony who was utterly unable to meet the task. And instead, I find you.”
Rose was not sure whether that was censure or praise. “I am as you find me, Lady Romeril.”
The older woman snorted. “I very much doubt that—but you make an excellent sparring partner. You could have been an actress, with that amount of gall!”
She laughed, and Rose laughed, and when she glanced over to the wide-eyed husband she had managed to acquire just a week ago, Samuel laughed nervously too.
“An actress!” said the man with an energetic guffaw. “Oh, well done, Lady Romeril! The very idea!”
Rose managed not to roll her eyes. Honestly, the man was a complete cretin!
“And now I really must be going,” said Lady Romeril, rising in a sweeping swish of skirts.
“This may surprise you, my lord, but there are a great number of people in this town who rely on my notice to feel good about themselves—honestly, I sometimes wonder if it is to feel anything—and if I do not make my calls, then I will be inundated with pleading letters tomorrow. And you know how much I hate that.”
The glitter in her eye suggested that she was very much looking forward to it.
Rose stood then dropped into a low curtsey. “We are honored by your—”
“Yes, yes, you’ve already said that,” muttered Lady Romeril, gathering her shawl more tightly around herself. “You are most interesting, Lady Aylesbury, and I do not say that about anyone. I must have you to dinner, blast you, and I can work you out that. Aylesbury.”
“Lady Romeril,” Samuel said hoarsely as the older woman stomped across the room and through the door hastily opened by their footman.
Both Samuel and Rose remained standing, silent, as the footsteps of Lady Romeril made their way across the hall. The slam of the front door was the sign that she had left.
Rose’s shoulders drooped as Samuel staggered over to the sofa, promptly lay upon it, and closed his eyes.
“What just happened?” he asked weakly.
It was a question she herself had been about to ask, but she could not permit the man to think she had been undone by such an encounter. Certainly not!
“You are very interesting. You know, it’s almost as though…we have met before.”
Well, if there was going to be one person in the whole of London who would remember her, Rose had been certain it would be Lady Romeril—that was, after all, why she had invited her first. Beyond the fact that the doyenne would expect to be their first visitor, Rose had to test herself against the very best.
Or the very worst, depending on how one looked at it.
The truth of her past could have come out in that moment, which was surely why her throat was dry and her whole body liable to shiver.
Rose sat down. Then she picked up her coffee, drained the cup, and placed it back on its saucer. “Well. That’s over with.”
“I do not know how you did that!” Samuel had opened his eyes now and had turned to her, positively beaming. “You beat the old hag at her own game!”
“Samuel!”
“Fine, that was a little harsh. She is not that old,” he said with a shrug. “Rose, you don’t understand—Lady Romeril has ruined more reputations than a rake. She could have ended this, for both of us!”
Oh, and Rose knew that…far better than he did.
“You just delivered the performance of a lifetime,” Samuel said with a wry smile, finally sitting up and shaking his head in wonder. “I have never seen anyone do that.”
“Do what?” She had to speak in an airy, nonchalant voice; it was the only way to hide the fact that she was so flattered.
Strange, that a man’s approval could make her feel like this. Odd, how Samuel’s warm smile and admiring looks could be so…so potent.
Rose shifted in her seat. Not that she was flattered by him. Obviously. “Why did you not mention the Lloyds and Quintrells before?”
“Should I have?” He looked so genuinely confused by her remark, head tilted and mouth twisted, that she decided to let it go.
It should be easy enough to avoid them, after all, whatever she had told the doyenne.
“To see old Romeril beaten at her own game—I never thought the day would come. Not in my lifetime, and for some strange reason, I always presumed the old girl would outlive me,” said Samuel with a rueful grin.
“I speak the truth only, Rose—you were magnificent. Your acting skills are beyond anything I have seen before on the stage. Truly, I have seen you act in small ways with my family, but that…that was impressive.”
Heat was now flushing her cheeks. “You do not have to tease me.”
“‘Tease’ you?” For some reason, Samuel’s brow was furrowed. “You think I am teasing?”
Of course he was. Men did not praise acting skills; oh, they liked them in a theater, but they decried them on the street. Men did not like the idea that a lady could pretend, even a little, and Rose had always been most careful to keep her true talents to herself.
At least, when she wasn’t declaiming on a stage.
But Samuel… He was looking at her with something akin to ardent admiration, and Rose knew he was a shoddy actor at the best of times.
So was he serious? Was he speaking the truth as he flattered her and praised her?
It was a heady thought.
Rose cleared her throat, ridding herself of all discomposure. “Lady Romeril is just one woman.”
“Her opinion will be that of London,” her temporary husband pointed out.
Yes, perhaps it would be. Or perhaps, Rose thought with a slow smile, London’s opinion will be my own.