Chapter Twenty #2
“You,” he said curtly. “I suppose it was you she ran off with, you churl.”
Samuel raised an eyebrow. Did he really not recognize him, a Chance? Must have been the strange surroundings.
“Monty!”
“Lord Dalton,” Rose said in a ringing voice, speaking over her mother. “I would thank you not to speak to my husband like that. The Marquess of Aylesbury is not accustomed to such rudeness.”
She should have been a duchess, Samuel could not help but think admiringly. Or a princess. Or a queen. The fact that he had only the title of marchioness to offer her was a scandal.
Lord Dalton’s lips trembled. “I-I had not realized—my lord, of course. I see that now—”
“And now I think it is time we departed,” Rose said smoothly, as though she were a very busy and important person.
Which, Samuel thought ponderously, she was.
“I am sure we shall see each other in Society now that we are all in London and I hope that we can keep pleasantries front and center…and at a minimum.”
It was all Samuel could do not to applaud. The woman had a way of drawing herself up, not as though she were trying to intimidate, but merely as though that were the way she meandered through the world.
Which, now he came to think about it, it was.
Lord Dalton’s cheeks were growing redder by the second. “Do you mean to say that you won’t be owning us in public?”
“You only wish for my acquaintance now that I am a marchioness,” shot back his daughter, her own cheeks equally red.
“You had no desire for my company when I was your daughter with dreams and with a passion for the stage, and so I think you should count yourself lucky that I even admit to the acquaintance. Good day, Lord Dalton. Lady Dalton.”
A tweak of sympathy grasped at Samuel as he saw the watery eyes, the abject misery in the older woman’s face, but there was nothing that could be said. Lord Dalton had already tugged away his wife, and the pair of them strode—or at least, one strode, one struggled to keep up—down the street.
Within half a minute, they had turned the corner and disappeared from view.
“That,” Rose said slowly, “was unpleasant.”
“But it is done,” Samuel said. “And the first meeting was always going to be the worst. Now you have no reason to fear him.”
He wanted to protect her, wrap her up in cotton wool and hide her in a tower. He wanted to keep the world from hurting her, wanted to make sure his Rose never came to harm.
His Rose nodded, resolution in her eyes. “Yes. I have no need to fear.”
And she can do quite an adequate job of protecting herself, Samuel thought with pride as he saw the way his wife held himself. Dear God, but he was a fortunate man. Where was that carriage? He couldn’t wait to get her into it and ravish—
“Oh, Samuel! You’ve heard the news, then?”
Samuel stiffened, and so did Rose beside him. Though Rose had told him Frank knew more details than most, Samuel and his wife had not made any announcement to the family about the reality of the slightly unorthodox way they had met, and married, and fallen in love.
Not that it was any of their business, of course…but the truth was bound to come out sooner or later.
That was why the fact that his sister was marching over to him, waving what appeared to be a letter, was not exactly welcome.
He turned to his wife. “Do you want to tell Frank about your parents?”
“No,” Rose said immediately, reading his mind perfectly. “No. Not yet. She’s guessed half my story already.”
Samuel gave a brief nod and her returning expression was enough to utterly end him. How had he ended up with such a perfect wife?
“I went to your house, but you weren’t there—you look pretty, Rose—your disparaging butler told me where to find you, but look at this, won’t you?” blurted out Frank in a long torrent.
Samuel tried not to roll his eyes as he took the proffered letter. “Is that one of Benjamin’s shirts you’re wearing?”
His sister glared. “I don’t think it’s appropriate to be asking about a lady’s apparel.”
The giggle by his side did not help as Samuel attempted to maintain a stern expression. “And where’s your chaperone, Frank? As the new head of this family—”
“Oh, damnation to your pomp and ceremony,” interrupted Frank with a scowl. “Read the letter!”
Samuel glared back. Then he read the letter.
Victoria and our child unwell once again—won’t be coming to Bath. We send all our love.
Cothrom
“‘Once again’?” Rose had been reading the note—Samuel was not certain it could accurately be described as a letter—over her shoulder. “Their child has been sick before?”
“He has, indeed!” Frank frowned. “Such a beautiful baby, they say, but I shall not get the opportunity to see him. You will have to get a move on, you two, and make me an aunt for a second time.”
Heat scalded Samuel’s cheeks. “I don’t think we want that quite—”
“And when you have one, you should call it ‘Frank,’” said his sister. “It’s an excellent name.”
“Damn it, Frank, you can’t just—”
“I’m off. I’ve got to find Benjamin. The fool isn’t at his club,” said his sister, blithely talking over him as she always did. “Bye!”
“Frank, your chaperone! You must stay with us! What are you—”
She rushed off, skirts flying, as Samuel shook his head with a wry expression. “She’s a real terror, you know. I have to feel sorry for the poor man she eventually marries. If Mama asks, no, I did not see Frank without a chaperone on the London streets and not manage to keep her with me.”
It wasn’t that he had expected a long reply to his statement, but some reply would have been pleasant. But there was nothing. Nothing but silence.
Samuel stuffed the note into his pocket, his sister being so absorbed in her mission to find their wayward brother that she had completely forgotten said mission’s purpose and turned to his wife.
Rose was pale. Very pale. Samuel could not recall ever having seen her look so white.
“Rose?” He stepped closer to her, taking her two hands in his own. They were ice. “Rose!”
Rose jerked, her eyes focusing once more, and she stared with bleary confusion. “Wh-What?”
“My dear, are you feeling quite well?” Anxiety pulsated through Samuel along with his blood, each heartbeat only increasing his worry. She did not look at all well. “You look most strange.”
Her smile was weak, but it was a smile. “Oh, no. I mean, yes.”
“Well, which is it?” Samuel urged.
The hustle and bustle of the street continued, but he only had eyes for the woman before him.
What on earth could have disquieted her so?
There had been nothing in Frank’s words, had there, which could have offended?
True, there was that quip about the two of them having a child, but honestly, the very idea of that happening so soon was… Was…
Samuel did not know how he was still managing to stand, but he was still breathing because he required enough air to say, “You’re not.”
“I… I think I might be?” Rose gave a laugh, one of confusion and excitement but also fear. “My courses, they were supposed to come two days ago and I had not thought of it until that moment, but I could be wrong. Two days isn’t much of a delay. I could be mistaken—”
“Or you could be with child,” Samuel murmured, hardly daring to believe it.
A child. A part of himself, and a part of Rose. A symbol, a walking and talking and laughing piece of evidence of their love for each other.
He squeezed her hands. “You look worried.”
“You just said… Well. That we weren’t quite—I do not know how you were going to finish that sentence,” his wife said weakly, her true concerns painted in her face.
Damn it all to hell.
He’d done it again—spoken hastily for fear of revealing his true feelings, his true desires, and in doing so, he had harmed the one woman in the world for whom he had sworn to care.
“I did not want to seem too eager in front of my sister,” Samuel explained rapidly, the two of them stepping back from the road as a trio of pedestrians attempted to pass them. “I did not want you to feel the pressure of—I know children do not always come. My cousin Evelyn—”
“Then you are happy?”
‘Happy’? There was not a single word that could capture the emotions flooding through him, though Samuel was going to have a good try.
“So happy, I can hardly breathe,” he murmured, kissing her swiftly on the mouth before saying, “And if we are wrong, mistaken in our hopes, then perhaps soon—”
“Perhaps soon,” Rose repeated, her hands squeezing his own. “But if it doesn’t happen—oh, Samuel, you are more than enough for me. Too much for me, sometimes. Your love, your affection, I don’t deserve—”
Well, he wasn’t going to put up with listening to any of that nonsense!
“‘Deserve’?” He had not intended his voice to growl, but how could he have let that pass? “You deserve the world.”
“And so do you. And I’ll give it to you, every day, with my love,” Rose said perhaps just as fiercely.
Samuel grinned. “What play is that line from?”
The whack on his chest hurt but was probably well deserved. “Samuel Chance!”
“Rose,” he said happily. “My rose. My beautiful, clever, ridiculous Rose.”
His wife looked a spot mollified. But only a spot. “And you kissed me in the street, the very idea!”
“Oh, I’m going to kiss you again,” said Samuel happily, “Society be damned. And trust me,” he murmured, lowering his head to press a kiss by her ear. “I’m going to do a great deal more once we get back inside our carriage…”