Chapter Ten #2
Rose nodded, grateful for the girl’s unexpected support. If she couldn’t save herself, at least she might find a way to help Violet avoid a similar fate. Though with only two weeks remaining, Rose wasn’t certain she could save anyone at all.
*
After supper, the men went to the parlor to enjoy port and cigars, leaving the women to convene in the drawing room.
Rose poured tea with practiced grace, her hands steady only because she willed them to be. She could feel Honoria’s gaze trailing her like a wasp circling a picnic. A fragrant arrangement of roses adorned the marble-topped table, their scent delicate, nostalgic. Sebastian again.
Honoria had installed herself at the center of the room, sitting with the poise of a woman who had learned to command attention through sheer force of will.
Beside her, Violet shrank into the upholstery, the confidence she’d shown earlier snuffed out.
She kept her eyes lowered, hands clasped in her lap, silent since their arrival.
Across the room, Arabella Kingsley lounged in her armchair like a general studying the terrain.
Her sharp gaze flicked between Honoria and Rose, waiting.
Lydia sat upright, chin slightly lifted, her expression unreadable—but the light tap of her fingers against the teacup betrayed her temper.
Even Daphne, usually all brightness and chatter, was unusually quiet, her wide blue eyes flitting from Rose to Honoria with concern.
Honoria broke the silence with a thoughtful sigh and set down her cup. “The country is so peaceful compared to London, don’t you think? Though I confess, I find myself grateful for the quiet these days. There’s something to be said for stability after years of uncertainty.”
Arabella’s brows arched. “Are you planning to stay on as Rose’s guest indefinitely?”
Honoria’s smile was warm, almost maternal.
“I hope to make myself useful wherever I’m needed.
Lord Wentworth has been so generous, and I know how difficult it can be for a young woman without her mother’s guidance.
” Her eyes settled on Rose with what appeared to be genuine concern.
“Especially during such an important time in her life.”
“Important time?” Daphne asked.
“Why, her engagement, of course. Baron White is a wonderful match for her.” Honoria’s voice carried the tone of someone sharing delightful news. “A connection that could provide such security for Rose’s future.”
Arabella’s voice was cool, probing. “Why concern yourself with Rose’s marriage prospects? If you and Lord Wentworth intend to marry, surely her affairs are her own.”
Honoria’s expression flickered—just for a moment—with a hint of something harder just beneath the surface.
“I’ve learned that in matters of family, we’re all connected.
A father’s peace of mind affects the entire household.
” She smoothed her skirts, regaining her composure.
“I’ve seen what happens when young women reject suitable matches out of romantic notions. The consequences can be devastating.”
“What consequences?” Rose asked quietly.
Honoria leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping to a confidential tone.
“I knew a girl once—beautiful, intelligent, much like yourself. Her family found her an excellent match, but she refused. She became increasingly agitated, prone to episodes. Her family grew concerned about her nerves.” She paused, letting the words settle.
“Eventually, she required care. Professional care. It broke her father’s heart, but what choice did he have? ”
The room had gone very still.
“Are you suggesting—” Lydia began.
“I’m suggesting nothing,” Honoria said gently.
“I’m simply sharing what I’ve witnessed.
Sometimes the kindest thing a parent can do is intervene before a situation becomes irreversible.
” Her gaze found Rose again. “Especially when a young woman shows signs of distress. Refusing food, appearing overwrought, making wild accusations about perfectly respectable gentlemen.”
“Wild accusations?” Arabella repeated.
“Oh, I don’t mean to suggest Rose has done anything of the sort,” Honoria said quickly.
“But I can see the strain she’s under. The way she startles at shadows, the pallor, the trembling hands.
” She gestured delicately toward Rose. “These are concerning symptoms. Any loving father would take notice.”
Rose’s jaw clenched. “There’s nothing wrong with my nerves.”
“Of course not, dear.” Honoria’s voice was soothing, the tone one might use with an invalid.
“But others might not see it that way. Especially if you were to refuse a generous offer from Baron White without reasonable cause. Society has such rigid expectations for young ladies, and when those expectations aren’t met…
” She spread her hands helplessly. “Well, people draw their own conclusions.”
Lydia set down her teacup with more force than necessary. “You’re threatening her.”
Honoria’s eyes widened in apparent shock.
“Threatening? My dear Lady Norbury, I would never. I’m simply concerned for Rose’s welfare.
Having been a young woman without prospects myself, I understand how frightening the world can seem.
” Her voice caught slightly. “How desperate one becomes for security, for protection. Baron White offers both.”
“And if she refuses him?” Arabella pressed.
“Then I hope she has a very good reason,” Honoria said, her warmth cooling by degrees.
“Because refusing an honorable proposal without cause raises questions about a woman’s judgment.
Her stability.” She glanced around the room.
“I know you ladies mean well, but you live in a different world than most of us. You have your own estates, your own incomes. You can afford to be idealistic.”
The barb hit its mark. Rose saw Daphne flush, knowing her precarious financial situation.
“That may be true,” Arabella said carefully, “but it doesn’t give anyone the right to coerce a woman into marriage.”
“Coerce?” Honoria laughed softly. “What a dramatic word. I prefer ‘guide.’ After all, who among us hasn’t needed guidance at some point?
I certainly did.” Her expression grew distant for a moment.
“I was young once, full of dreams and romantic fantasies. I thought I could choose my own path.” She refocused on Rose, her smile returning.
“I learned better. We all do, eventually.”
“Some of us don’t need that education,” Lydia said sharply.
Honoria tilted her head, studying Lydia with newfound interest. “Indeed? With your circumstances, I would think you’d see the wisdom in my counsel.”
The implication hung in the air. Lydia had no dowry. Thus, she and Rose were in similar predicaments. No one wanted them.
Lydia’s face went rigid, and she clasped her hands so tightly in her lap that her knuckles whitened.
“That’s enough,” Rose said, standing abruptly. Not shaking. Not weeping. Her expression was calm. She would not let this horrid woman see her angst. “You’ve made your position clear, Mrs. Blackwell. And you’ve exhausted your welcome.”
Honoria rose gracefully, unruffled. “I understand you’re upset, dear.
Strong emotions are natural when facing such important decisions.
” She snapped her fingers at Violet, then gestured for her to rise to her feet.
“But I hope you’ll consider what I’ve said.
I advise with your future in mind. Someday, you’ll see that clearly. ”
She helped Violet to her feet, her grip firm but appearing gentle. “Come, darling. We’ve imposed long enough.”
Violet didn’t speak, but she turned at the doorway, her eyes meeting Rose’s with a look so full of sorrow and sympathy that it pierced straight through her.
In that glance, Rose saw her own future reflected—another woman trapped by circumstance, dependent on male protection, forced to smile while her gilded cage grew smaller.
The moment the door shut behind them, the ladies erupted.
Daphne let out a breath she’d clearly been holding. “That was… vile. She is vile. I’m sorry, sweet Rose.”
Lydia shook her head, voice tight. “How could anyone be born that mean?”
“Maybe she wasn’t,” Daphne murmured. “Maybe this world made her that way.”
“I don’t know about either of you, but I’m suddenly in need of something stronger than tea.” Arabella stalked to the drinks cart and poured herself a generous measure of sherry. “Anyone else?”
Daphne and Lydia nodded, rising to pour their own. Arabella poured a fourth glass and returned to press it into Rose’s hands.
Rose hadn’t moved. She was afraid if she did, she might shatter.
Arabella sat beside her, voice gentling. “We’ll figure a way out of this. I meant what I said—I’ll take you in, if it comes to that.”
Rose looked up, her voice a thread. “You’d really do that? Even knowing the scandal could destroy you?”
“Let me worry about my reputation,” Arabella replied, though the subdued edge in her tone betrayed the weight of it. “What matters now is keeping you safe. And sane.”
“We will all help,” Lydia added firmly. “Arabella and I have the means, and we’ll use them.”
“I’ll do what I can too,” Daphne said. “Even if it’s just standing beside you.”
Rose’s hands trembled around the glass. “That means more than you know. I’ve always wanted a family of my own.
To love a good man and have children together.
I used to think that might fill the space left by Mummy.
But if I marry him, all those dreams are merely dreams. Never to come true.
It’s either marry Baron White, or they’ll have me put away. ”
She trailed off. The unspoken words were louder than anything she could have said.
Arabella’s expression darkened. “Proving you unfit wouldn’t be easy, but if your father’s determined, it’s not impossible.”
“I have to wonder—why Baron White?” Rose asked, thinking out loud. “There are other wealthy men.”
Arabella hesitated. “Have you ever wondered why your Season went so poorly?”
Rose’s throat tightened. “Father told me it was because I was awkward. Too bookish and quiet. He mentioned my lack of conversational skills.”
“And you believed him?”
“What else was I to think? I was ignored at every ball. I sat against the wall like a forgotten chair. Even the fortune hunters kept their distance.”
Arabella leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “There’s a reason for that. And it has nothing to do with your character or beauty. Your father is not the man Society pretends he is.”
Daphne frowned. “What do you mean?”
Arabella lowered her voice. “Most of his wealth doesn’t come from his lands. It never has.”
Rose stilled. “What are you saying?”
“I had my suspicions,” Arabella said. “So I asked around—carefully. Men talk, especially when they’ve had too much to drink. Or when they’re in my bed.” Her tone was dry, but her eyes were sharp. “And I listened.”
“And?” Rose’s voice was barely above a whisper.
Arabella’s jaw tightened. “He’s a smuggler, Rose. One of the most powerful in the region. French brandy, mostly.”
Daphne gasped.
Rose said nothing. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Deep down, some part of her had known. The locked doors. The uninvited visitors. The money that flowed far too easily.
Arabella’s gaze softened. “I couldn’t understand why your Season was such a failure. You’re a viscount’s daughter. You should’ve had suitors lined up. But from what I heard, the rumors started before your first debut. Just whispers—but enough to keep decent families away.”
Rose exhaled all at once, her body sagging under the weight of it. “So it was him,” she said hollowly. “He poisoned the well and then blamed me for it.”
“You poor thing,” Daphne whispered. “You deserve so much better.”
“The worst part was believing it,” Rose said. “That there was something wrong with me.”
“But, again, why White?” Lydia asked, beginning to pace near the unlit hearth. “Of all the men—”
“It’s obvious,” Arabella said grimly. “White isn’t just his friend. He’s his business partner. The marriage is a safeguard. It ties White to your father permanently.”
Rose’s stomach turned. “So I’m insurance that the partnership will remain. Father must not trust White fully. He wants to make sure they’re connected in more ways than one.”
“Exactly.”
Rose took a long sip of sherry, trying to still the shaking in her hands. “All those nights I sat alone, thinking no one wanted me. And all along it was him. It was always him.”
“I should like to kill them both,” Daphne muttered, cheeks flushed with fury. “I’ve never had a violent thought until today.”
“I was a fool not to see it sooner,” Rose said. “I’ve been so na?ve. So accepting.”
Suddenly, a sharp pain lanced through the side of her head—then a voice, soft and urgent, echoed in her mind.
I know what you’ve done.
She stiffened, breath catching.
The room tilted. Shadows flickered. Candlelight danced along the walls like specters.
I know what you’ve done.
Arabella touched her arm. “Rose?”
She blinked rapidly, trying to surface. “I’m… I’m fine.”
“Rose, you’ve gone pale,” Daphne said, alarmed.
But she wasn’t fine. Not even close. Because she recognized the voice now.
Her mother’s voice.
Mummy.
And if her mother was trying to tell her something from beyond the grave… then the truth about her father didn’t end with smuggling.
It went much, much deeper.