Two
Rose Denholme sat at a small table beside the hearth in her bedchamber and opened a thick tome of eighteenth-century sermons. She’d appropriated the book from her parents’ library some years ago. It had not been missed. It never would be, as none of the Denholmes cared for such reading matter. She placed a sheet of thick parchment paper on the page and arranged the wildflower she’d gathered on the moor upon it, spreading the pink blossom and gently flattening the leaves. Careful not to disturb the delicate petals, she laid another piece of parchment over the plant. Holding both papers steady, she slowly closed the book.
She set it near the fire, but not too close. It should be warm, not hot. Then she put three other heavy volumes on top of the sermons, all of them equally unlikely to be wanted by anyone here in her parents’ house. The stack would remain in place for ten days or so, until the flower was thoroughly dried and she could transfer the specimen to one of her notebooks. She looked over at the row of such records on a bookshelf in the corner. Its presence made her room a bit cramped, but her parents had refused her request for a workroom, scoffing at the idea that her collecting was worth the space. Nevertheless, the sight of those notebooks filled her with pride.
It was Rose’s ambition to catalog the full range of plants on the moors—sturdy and delicate, familiar and strange—so that people could understand and appreciate its many beauties. One of her greatest pleasures was coming upon a hidden dell and a variety she’d never seen before. To preserve such discoveries, in all their lovely, intricate detail, was profoundly satisfying.
A knock at the door heralded one of the housemaids. “You’re wanted in the parlor, miss,” she said.
Rose hid a grimace. If her mother had found out about her dawn foray onto the moors, she would be in for a scolding. She was not supposed to go walking alone, even though she knew the landscape as well as the hallways of her home and was perfectly safe there.
But then, it might not be that. Any summons from her parents was likely to be a complaint. Papa and Mama were habitually disappointed in her. She checked her hair and gown to be sure they showed no signs of her outdoor ramble, then walked slowly downstairs.
Her reception was almost ceremonial. Her parents sat side by side on the sofa in the comfortable parlor. This was not a good sign.
“You have received an unusual invitation,” said her father.
This was unexpected.
“You’ve been invited to visit the Duke and Duchess of Tereford at Yerndon Manor,” added her mother with more enthusiasm.
Rose thought she couldn’t have heard correctly. “Visit? But we are not acquainted.”
“It is rather irregular,” her father acknowledged. “But they mention that you have met the duke?” He raised his eyebrows sardonically.
“I told you I saw them arrive,” Rose replied. Her father had wanted that rumor verified, after all. Hadn’t he sent her there? She’d thought so. She hadn’t given them any details about the scene at Yerndon. The memory was embarrassing enough without adding their dismay.
“But not that you spoke to him,” said her mother.
“A few words, in passing,” Rose answered. She’d talked mostly to Gavin. With the usual annoying results.
“Saying something odd, I suppose,” replied her father. “That you should still be so awkward in company! It’s no wonder you’re on the shelf. Twenty-three and no sign of becoming settled.”
Rose set her jaw and said nothing. It was no use.
Her mother made a placating gesture. “It was not a proper introduction, true. But we may let that pass. The Terefords wish to know their neighbors.”
“But do we wish to know them,” grumbled Rose’s father.
“They move in the highest circles of society,” said her mother. “It is a real opportunity for Rose.”
“You want me to go?” Her parents had condemned Yerndon’s alien inheritors in the strongest terms for as long as Rose could remember. And now they proposed that she visit them?
“I would refuse,” said her father. “But Gavin Keighley has also been asked.”
Rose’s mouth fell a little open. Gavin had been invited? After attacking the duke as he had?
“And we can’t let Keighley worm his way into their confidence and perhaps snatch Yerndon out from under us,” Papa continued.
“Gavin? Worm?” If there was anyone on earth less likely to be ingratiating, Rose couldn’t imagine them.
“Why else would he be going? Of course he intends to pull some trick. As the Keighleys always do.” Her father bared his teeth. “And so you must go to prevent him. Little as I care for the idea.”
Rose tried to envision this scene. What sort of trick did Papa mean? And what did he expect her to do about it? Her imagination failed her.
“That young man has an evil temper,” said her mother, apropos of nothing.
“Just like his shrew of a mother,” Papa added.
Rose didn’t comment on this judgment, though she silently admitted the latter accusation was deserved. Lady Keighley had always been sharp-tongued, but since the death of her husband nine years ago, she’d grown exceedingly quarrelsome. “You’ve told me I’m never to speak to Gavin…”
“Don’t talk of him so familiarly,” said her father.
“Sir Gavin then,” replied Rose, not pointing out that she’d known their neighbor all her life. “I would have to converse with him if we were staying in the same house.” And since their encounters had become an everlasting argument, the prospect did not appeal.
“You aren’t understanding, Rose.” Her father looked impatient. “Don’t be thickheaded.”
“I am not,” she answered before she could censor herself. Her father defined anyone who disagreed with him, or had different interests, as stupid.
“Of course not,” said her mother. “Rose simply hasn’t had time to think.”
“This is a chance to win our rights,” said her father with exaggerated patience. “Tereford can’t really want Yerndon. I understand he has properties all over England. Larger and more prosperous.” He looked bitter. “Fat, rich southern land where profits make themselves.”
Her father found estate management a burden. Rose suspected he wasn’t terribly good at it, but he didn’t share the details with her.
“You must concentrate on the duchess. Make friends.”
“Friends?”
“You are capable of making friends. I suppose.”
His cutting tone was unfair. The feud between the Denholmes and the Keighleys filled local society with pitfalls. People didn’t want to take sides.
“Get them to hand Yerndon over to us, as is only right,” her father added.
Once again, Rose wondered if she’d heard correctly. “Why would the duke do that?”
“I just said. He can’t want it. He has better places.” Her father’s tone was peevish.
“I don’t believe, Papa, that…”
“Belief is not required,” he interrupted. “Only a bit of effort.”
“But why have they invited us?” After the scene at their arrival, it remained incomprehensible.
Her father waved a dismissive hand. “Who knows why such people do anything? I suppose they are bored. You must amuse them.”
The sinking feeling that had been growing in Rose increased. She had very little experience with society. In their isolated neighborhood, there were no assemblies or formal parties. She’d never been to London. How was she to amuse people who were accustomed to sophisticated, witty conversation? They might laugh at her of course. Most likely they would. Perhaps that was the real reason for the invitation. Rebellion sparked. Why should she care for the opinion of those she’d been taught to hold in contempt? “I don’t see how I can do that, Papa.”
“You are not refusing to help your family?”
“Well, but…”
“You will exert yourself and win them over to our cause. Surely you can be of some use?”
He was not going to listen. Indeed, listening was a rare commodity in Rose’s life. Most of the people she knew preferred the sound of their own voices.
“Are both my children to be a complete disappointment to me?” asked her father.
This had become a common theme since her older brother, Daniel, son and heir, had gone off to Oxford and basically never come back. Daniel had a scholarly bent, and he’d won a fellowship at his college. This had increased his frictions with their father, which had been painful before. Daniel now spent his holidays elsewhere and hardly ever even wrote. Rose knew this was distressing, particularly for her mother. She missed Daniel too. And not just because she now had to absorb all of her father’s discontent.
Her mother was gazing anxiously at her.
“Very well, I will go,” Rose said with a sigh. She would do her best to…accomplish whatever it was her parents expected.
“Good!”
“So we will definitely accept the invitation,” said her mother.
“What else have we been discussing?” Her father stood and moved toward the parlor door. “We are counting on you, Rose,” he said as he went out.
Was it ill-natured to be rather tired of that sentiment? Rose wondered.
When he was gone, her mother rubbed her hands together. “We must get you ready for this chance,” she said. “So much to do! You will take your maid and another servant. I thought young Ian.”
“Another?” Did visiting a duke require a personal footman? Even at a small country manor? Did they stand on such ceremony?
“The duchess requested it,” Mama replied. “Quite prettily, I thought. Yerndon has no staff, you know. Just Mrs. Gorne and her son in the stables. The Terefords have brought a cook, I understand. Which I must say is fortunate for them. Edith Gorne would feed them on gruel. And half-burnt at that.”
“Do you not see how odd all this is?” Rose asked.
“Well, yes, but the opportunity…”
“You don’t really think they would give us Yerndon?” It was like something out of a fairy tale.
“Oh, that.” Her mother waved the idea aside. Having come from another county, Mama was much less engaged in the dispute with the Keighleys. “No, Rose, this is a chance for you to form a connection with a duchess. Did you ever imagine? If you get on, she might ask you to visit in London. Only think, you could have a season, just as we always dreamed.”
As Mama had dreamed. Rose had different aspirations. She thought of the rows of botanical notebooks in her room. “I’m twenty-three years old, Mama. As Papa pointed out, firmly on the shelf. Past any thought of debuts.”
“Don’t say that! If you wouldn’t always be grubbing in the dirt…”
This was not what she did, but Mama looked near tears. Still, Rose could not quite abandon her doubts. “Must I go, Mama?”
“It is decided.”
“Without even asking me?”
“Your father has written to accept.” She clearly considered this question closed. “Now what are you to wear at Yerndon? If only we had known in time to procure some new gowns for you.” Rose’s mother reached for a magazine on the table beside her.
Mama subscribed to all the leading fashion periodicals. She loved to pore over them and dissect the latest modes. She’d never found a local seamstress capable of reproducing their complex lines and embroideries, however, or a milliner who could create the intricate hats in the illustrations. She was particularly fond of hats. Now she looked Rose up and down with a critical eye, comparing her to one of the illustrations. “You have a good figure. And you are pretty enough. Particularly when you smile. You must take care to smile at Yerndon.”
Rose sighed. Even Mama did not seem to realize how irritating this admonition was. Urged to smile for no reason, she always wanted to snarl instead.
“You only need to make a little effort. You are charming when you try to be.”
Rose didn’t think this was true. She knew she had a number of good qualities. And she was proud of them. But she didn’t see herself as charming.
“You can’t spend your life wandering the moors, mooning over weeds.”
How very seldom one could have what one really wanted, Rose observed as she followed her mother upstairs to look over her wardrobe.
“Go and stay at Yerndon,” Gavin Keighley was saying to his mother at that same moment. “Why would I do that?” He didn’t care to spend time with the supercilious duke. And he had plenty to occupy him on his own estate.
“To advance our position,” replied his mother. “And prevent that milksop Rose Denholme from coaxing some advantage out of the Terefords.”
Gavin snorted. Rose might coax a moorland thrush to her hand. He’d seen her do it. But she didn’t bother much with people. She’d be a social disaster. And after the scene he’d enacted at Yerndon, he didn’t want to subordinate himself as a guest. “Why have they invited the two of us?” It made no sense.
“The invitation said they wished to become acquainted with their nearest neighbors and hoped we would pardon this unorthodox step.” His mother sneered. “Unorthodox. What a ridiculous word. I hope you punch the fellow again.”
“As a visitor in his house, impossible,” Gavin protested. He’d had to tell his mother about the fight. She’d launched him at Yerndon and had been waiting to hear the result when he came back, spotting the cut on his cheek immediately. He’d shaded the truth a bit to avoid a great fuss. If she heard that the effete southerner had knocked him down… Gavin shook his head.
“You will convince them that Yerndon is rightfully ours. And tell them their infamy is well known in this area. They will never be received.”
“A duke and duchess, Mama? Many of our neighbors will fall over themselves to host them.”
His mother’s face reddened, and she scowled. As she did when faced with a truth she didn’t wish to accept, she raised her voice. “Yerndon killed your father!”
She had begun saying this not long after his father’s death. Papa had been out tracing the boundary between their land and Yerndon’s to make some legal point. He’d fallen from his horse, perhaps due to a sudden illness, and not been found for hours. Far too late to help, if help had in fact been possible. In the sudden shock of grief, his mother had put all the blame on the Denholmes. She often said the dispute had ruined her life.
“You will go there and wrest our land away from these pirates!”
Gavin had never been afraid of his mother, despite the intensity of her rages. He had a hot temper himself and knew how one could be carried away by anger. He opposed her when necessary, even though Mama would not give up or be swayed from a position she’d taken, no matter what arguments one mustered. When a matter wasn’t critical, it was easier to go along. And he supposed this visit wasn’t critical. Only inexplicable and irritating. He would make it brief. “Very well,” he said. “I will go.”
“You will expose their crimes and shame them into making amends.”
That seemed doubtful. But he could state his family’s case. These strangers seemed to know nothing about it.
His mother bared her teeth. “Show them we are not some paltry family to be lorded over.” She huffed. “Descending like monarchs, despising all they see. Laughing at the ignorant rustics.”
Gavin felt irritation spark in him. The Keighleys were an ancient line, not to be discounted. He recalled the duke’s too-handsome countenance, and the way the man had walked away from them at Yerndon. In contempt?
“You will wipe their sneering smiles off their faces.”
Was this invitation part of a plan to complete Gavin’s humiliation? Some townsman’s sneaking jest? Was he to be presented to his household as an uncouth bumpkin? Like a dancing bear?
“We will show them all,” growled his mother.
He would show them, Gavin decided. He would prove that he was a civilized man and not a crude brawler. He would make this duke swallow his condescension. And then he would return home and forget the fellow existed.
Sir Gavin Keighley and Miss Rose Denholme arrived at Yerndon Manor two days later, within minutes of each other. Gavin was on horseback beside a small carriage, and Rose rode in one. Though this arrival was more sedate than their previous visit, it was not harmonious. They eyed each other warily as they approached the front door. And there was fierce, silent jostling among their servitors, with an audible clashing of trunks. Keighley and Denholme servants generally took on the loyalties of their respective families, and the feud extended through the ranks of both households. They took offense at slights, real or imagined, and stood ready to defend their employers’ interests at every turn. Toes were stepped on. Elbows were bumped. Disparaging comments were muttered.
Rose had brought her maid, Sue, and Ian, a youthful footman in training. Gavin was accompanied by Phelps, a taciturn fellow who could act as his valet, though that was not Phelps’s job and Gavin had little use for such service, and a housemaid chosen by his mother. “Edith Gorne is useless,” Lady Keighley had said. “Housekeeper. Pfft! Yerndon must be filthy. You will take your own linens.”
In the front hall, they were greeted by the duke and duchess and offered words of welcome. The Terefords smiled and chatted and made no reference to the fistfight. Rose had wondered if it was to be a joke or an embarrassment. Apparently, it was to be wiped from memory altogether. Their hosts’ fashionable dress and polished manners were intimidating.
It was odd, Rose thought, that she had never been inside Yerndon before. Her family talked about the place constantly. It was a motif of their lives. But none of them had ever visited. Disagreements and the previous owner’s reclusiveness had kept them away. She realized that she had been imagining a dwelling out of a fairy tale. It was just a house though—stone built, foursquare, and shabbily furnished. It smelled of beeswax and had obviously received a thorough scrubbing recently.
Greetings completed, they were taken upstairs to settle, in bedchambers just a few doors apart. It was so strange that she would be sleeping close to Gavin Keighley.
Rose removed her bonnet, gloves, and cloak and contemplated her reflection in a somewhat cloudy mirror set above a dressing table. Her auburn hair was flattened. She fluffed the ringlets Mama had crimped around her face just an hour ago. Her high-necked, long-sleeved gown had been designed for warmth as much as fashion. Or more so really. She’d always enjoyed wearing the cozy garnet wool. But her mother’s laments had convinced Rose that all her clothes were dowdy and likely to be viewed with contempt by a duchess. It was true that the Terefords were exquisitely dressed, in clothing far too fashionable for the neighborhood, and so good-looking they were like a pair of lovely porcelain figurines. A neighbor who had relatives in London had spread the news that they were leaders of the haut ton, absolutely top of the trees, as he put it.
Gazing at herself in the mirror, Rose shook her head. These were the people she was expected to charm. She hadn’t the first idea what to say to them. Beguiling conversation was just another item on the list of things she never thought of, or cared about—fashion, society, flirtation. She frowned at her reflection. She hadn’t had the chance to sample those things. Not with the way things were in this neighborhood. She might have grown adept, in other circumstances. Who could say? But her life had left her ill-suited for the mission she’d been given.
Rose sighed and wondered if she should have fought harder to refuse the invitation. But her parents would have nagged and complained and criticized until she gave in.
She would make this visit brief, Rose told herself. And having done her duty, however clumsily, she would go home. There was a soft knock at the door, and Sue came in to unpack her trunk.
Gavin threw his greatcoat, hat, and gloves over an armchair in his assigned bedchamber and went to stand at the window and gaze out at the moor. He was keeping a close watch on his temper. It was rather like riding an untrained, headstrong horse who continually fought the reins and was always ready to turn and bite. Gavin smiled slightly at the comparison. He was a superb rider. He would not be overborne. The door opened, and Phelps came in. “Am I to stow away your clothes?” the man asked with absolutely no enthusiasm.
“I’ll do it,” Gavin replied. “You chat with young Gorne in the stables and any of the other servants who seem likely. Find out the lay of the land.”
“To what end?” Phelps asked.
“So that I know what I’m dealing with.”
Phelps frowned as if he didn’t quite understand this. Well, Gavin didn’t either. He’d brought the man, a gamekeeper rather than a personal servant, because he wanted the feeling of having an ally at his back. Someone who could handle himself in the event of…trouble. Not that there was going to be any. Gavin would play the vapid chatterer, however the role might gall. “Just see what information you can pick up about these Terefords,” he said.
Phelps nodded and went out.
Rose donned her best gown for dinner to make a strong start before the inevitable disappointments of her other clothes. It was another conservative garment, this one of fine striped cambric. Neither the custom nor the weather encouraged low-cut gowns in Yorkshire in March. She draped a cashmere shawl over her arms for greater warmth and took a breath.
“You look fine as a fivepence, miss,” said her maid.
Rose smiled at her, opened her bedchamber door, and went out with a slightly lighter heart.
There was a bright fire in the dining parlor. Rose appreciated the heat even as she wondered about the state of the chimneys. Had anyone looked at them during the years of neglect? Mrs. Gorne was not known for competence. The chimneys were probably in dire need of cleaning, choked with soot, and in danger of catching fire. Rose started to mention it, and then decided this was not the sort of sparkling remark she was expected to provide on this visit.
Ian and the housemaid Gavin had brought along were serving the meal. Rose didn’t recognize the girl. She must be new to the Keighley staff. She saw Ian bump the maid’s elbow, trying to make her spill a pitcher of gravy. The girl gave the young footman a glittering defiant glance and trod on his toe. Ian bared his teeth and pushed her away with one broad shoulder. The maid only just caught her balance. Going out of the room, the two jostled in the doorway. She’d have to speak to Ian and Sue, Rose decided. This sort of thing was unnecessary and might lead to catastrophe.
“This is a very good dinner,” said Gavin. He sounded rudely surprised.
“We brought our cook and some supplies,” said the duchess.
“We have fine foodstuffs here in Yorkshire.”
If this was her competition, she might actually manage to appear charming, Rose thought.
“Of course,” replied the duchess. “We didn’t know the local merchants. Perhaps you can recommend the best ones?”
Gavin frowned. Rose knew that these wouldn’t be right at the top of his mind, as his mother oversaw the household purchases. She spoke, listing the purveyors her family used.
“Berwick overcharges,” grumbled Gavin.
“He has the best quality,” replied Rose. “One has to pay for that.”
They fell into a dispute. The usual wrangling over next to nothing, Rose thought. Must he contradict everything she said? She struggled to bring it to a close.
“You’ve known each other for a long time,” commented the duke. “Most of your lives?”
“How do you know that?” Gavin asked. He seemed poised to take every remark as an insult.
“There was mention of an incident at a bog. An offending boulder?” The duke smiled.
He’d heard that, Rose thought. And what else? She couldn’t remember all they’d said on that first visit as the duke stood by. It might have been anything. When a Denholme and a Keighley argued, they didn’t hold back. Memories and insults far older than she was just came tripping out, like old songs learned in childhood. Under the gaze of these polished newcomers, it was embarrassing. Was the duke mocking them? It didn’t quite seem so, but Gavin was gritting his teeth. He was going to lose his temper. Couldn’t he see that would just make matters worse? “You should have the chimneys cleaned,” she said.
Everyone looked at her.
Rose pressed on. “I daresay it’s been years. You wouldn’t want the soot that’s built up to catch fire.”
“A good point,” said the duchess. She was smiling as if she understood Rose’s diversionary tactic. “We will see to that. Perhaps you know of someone?”
Rose did. She said so. She ignored the fact that Gavin Keighley was glowering at her. For no reason whatsoever. She was used to that. At least he wasn’t about to throw a punch.
“We mean to put Yerndon in order,” the duchess continued. “Your opinions are welcome.”
“Why should we give them?” Gavin asked.
“You seem to have an interest in the place,” said the duke.
“Interest?” Gavin’s tone had gone sharp.
“You know it and care about it, shall we say.”
“Shall we say,” Gavin echoed sarcastically.
She should have endured the nagging and refused to come, Rose thought. This was excruciating. She wondered how soon she could escape. The duke and duchess looked at each other. They had to be regretting their quixotic invitation. But watching them, the chief thing Rose noticed in the glance was affection. This pair was clearly in love. There was a gleam of humor too. Rose searched again for mockery. No, it wasn’t quite that, she decided. They were amused, certainly, but not in a cruel way. The Terefords weren’t what she’d been led to expect.
“What are the chief amusements hereabouts?” the duke asked.
“Nothing you would like,” Gavin replied.
Really, thought Rose, did he ever listen to himself?
“There must be some pleasant rides despite the sameness of the country.”
Gavin bridled at the description.
“The moor is very beautiful,” said Rose.
Tereford turned to her. “Do you find it so?”
“Oh yes. It is full of interest when you know it well.”
“We will go walking, and you can show me,” said the duchess.
“Not too far,” put in her husband. “You must take care of yourself.”
Rose had naturally noticed that her hostess was expecting a child. She liked the duke for his concern.
“Not too far,” the duchess agreed.
“And perhaps we will try a ride in the morning,” the duke said to Gavin.
Rose’s fellow guest agreed without visible enthusiasm.
The evening continued in the same vein. Rose tried to produce interesting information about the neighborhood, without great success. Gavin contradicted nearly every remark she made. It was a reflex. She knew he had no strong opinions about Mrs. Rennie’s spaniels. He couldn’t have cared less about Letty Ferris’s skill on the harp. He only felt he had to disagree with a Denholme. It was ridiculous. And certainly anything but charming.
When at last the socializing was over and Rose could withdraw from her trial, she left the front parlor in a rush, picked up a lit candle at the foot of the stairs, and hurried up. She was free! But somehow she found herself walking upstairs beside Gavin. Was there no end to her bad luck? He looked relieved as well as dour. Must he always look dour? Suddenly, Rose was fed up. In the middle of the staircase, she paused one step above him, so that their eyes were on a level, and blocked his way. “We must stop arguing in front of the Terefords,” she said. “We’re making a spectacle of ourselves. And it’s extremely uncomfortable.”
“I don’t argue.”
“Gavin. You tear at me every time we see each other.” Which had not been often before this, as she had been forbidden to speak to him. And now they would be forced to converse for the length of this stay at Yerndon. Had that not occurred to her parents?
“Well, you are wrongheaded,” he said. “Fuzzy-minded.”
She was not. In fact, she was one of the few people who could hold their own against him. Rose suspected that this irritated him the most. “And you are always right?”
“Not always. But I know this visit is a mistake.”
“Perhaps you should go home.” If he did, she could. What a relief! She would find some excuse that was not horridly rude.
“And leave the field to you?” He shook his head.
“There is no field. This is not a military campaign.”
“It is a contest, and the Keighleys will be represented…”
“It is not a contest.”
“No? What do you think it is?”
“A penance.”
“For what?”
“Not being able to resist my family’s orders,” said Rose bitterly.
There was an arrested look in his gray eyes at this, but he said, “Ridiculous.”
“You are arguing again.”
“No, I am not. I am merely expressing an opinion. I suppose I have the right to do that.”
“You certainly have a great many of them.”
“And you do not?”
Rose wasn’t sure whether she had opinions or simply too many admonitions crammed in her head. “Do you want to keep on amusing the duke with our wrangling?”
“What?” Gavin stiffened, his eyes snapping.
“The duchess too. They find us curious, I think.”
“They can take their…”
“Not in a malicious way. It seems to me. The duchess is rather charming.”
“She’s all right,” he replied grudgingly.
“And the duke seems a pleasant enough man.”
“He is an affected, supercilious fop.”
Rose thought they both knew this description wasn’t accurate, but she said only, “Whom we do not wish to entertain with our endless disputes. Because it is embarrassing.”
Gavin gritted his teeth. It took him a moment to say, “I suppose not.”
Was it so very hard to agree with her? “I don’t. So I suggest… I propose for your consideration that we pretend to get along in order to stop amusing them.”
For the first time in this conversation—the first time in ages actually—Gavin really looked at her. His gaze was riveting. Rose found she couldn’t look away. They had been…comrades once, ranging across the moors with their youthful gang. And even after that, there’d been a few months when Rose was sixteen that she’d thought… A load of twaddle, Rose told herself.
“Pretend,” he repeated, as if he’d never heard the word before.
“Yes. You will not disagree with everything I say.”
“I don’t…” He stopped. He almost, very nearly but not quite, smiled. “Nor will you, with everything I say.”
“I…” It was true that she didn’t do this, but there was no sense saying so. Rose nodded.
“We make a treaty,” he said slowly. “Give the illusion of amity.”
“Yes.” For some reason, Rose found the phrase disheartening.
The wavering light of their candles played across the strong planes of his face. Finally, he nodded. “Very well. I agree.”
“I suppose it will be difficult for you,” said Rose, the words slipping out.
“For me?”
“You are so accustomed to saying whatever you like. And to getting your own way.”
“If you think that, you have no idea about…anything,” he replied, surprising her.
How had he come so close? Neither of them had moved. Yet here they were, inches apart, in the silent house. Rose hadn’t noticed how close until now. His gaze was intent. She felt as if she could fall into it. Rose swayed just a little.
Gavin put a steadying hand on her arm, then snatched it back as if she’d burned him.
Gray eyes should be cool, but his had a flame in them. And his lips. She’d never properly considered the shape of his lips. They…lured. Rose felt hers part a little. Somehow, they’d come closer still.
They both flinched. Gavin looked…aghast? Was that the expression? Not as if his senses were reeling, Rose thought. Well, neither were hers. She absolutely insisted on that. This was something else entirely. Perhaps a reaction to the rich dinner. She wasn’t used to such fine food. She turned, gripped the stair rail tightly, and resumed her walk up the steps. He moved beside her. The silence was fraught. It had to be broken.
“Why did you bring Phelps with you?” she asked.
“We were instructed to bring extra servants.” He snorted. “The cheek of it!”
“But Phelps isn’t a valet. I thought he was a kind of huntsman.”
“He’s very good with a gun.”
Rose stopped again and turned to look at him. “What? You mean to send him out for rabbits? For the cook pot?”
“I mean to have someone I can trust with me here.”
“On a country house visit.”
“So they call it.”
“It is not a foray into enemy territory.”
“Is it not?” Gavin asked.
“It is not.” Rose insisted on this.
“I thought we weren’t going to argue.” He seemed to enjoy the irony of his point—arguing about not arguing.
“When we are alone, I suppose we will behave…as we always do.” One couldn’t quite call it normally, Rose thought.
“Ah, that is a relief.” They’d reached the upper floor. He strode along the corridor and into his bedchamber. Just two doors away from hers. The door closed with a snap.