Chapter 15

There were times over the next two days when Rosamund regretted that she had not gone with Lord Beresford the night the betrothal was announced. Everyone about her seemed happy—Annabelle was positively bubbling with high spirits—and called upon her to share their joy.

Her brother was as good as his word, and was treating her as an equal instead of as a much younger sister for whose life and happiness he was responsible. He went riding with her one morning and confided his satisfaction in having secured such a dazzling future for Annabelle.

“And she seems so happy with her betrothal, doesn’t she, Rosa?” he said. “That is what is important, after all. When I married Lana, I suppose there were those who saw it only as a very good match for me, but I think I would have married her if she had been a pauper.”

Rosamund smiled and gazed fondly at him. Since the age of ten, she had seen him only as the elder brother who tried to play father to her. Now she could see him as a man of feeling, a man with a great deal of love for his family, including her. She regretted the lost years.

“And we have only Anna,” he said, “It has saddened Lana that there were never any more. Anna’s happiness has been the focus of all our hopes.”

“Well,” Rosamund said, “you will probably have half a dozen grandchildren to fuss over, Dennis.”

He smiled at her while a pain knifed through her heart at the thought that the father of those grandchildren would be Justin.

And Lana was happy. She took Rosamund into her sitting room one morning and talked about the wedding and the bride clothes while they both stitched at their embroidery.

“You must come to London with us, Rosa,” she said, “to help Anna and me with the shopping. You have such a good sense of style.”

“And yet,” Rosamund said, “I have been shut away in Lincolnshire for nine years.”

“But I am not talking about fashion,” her sister-in-law said. “A sense of style and color is innate, and you have it, Rosa. Will you come?”

Rosamund smiled and agreed. Yes, she would help Justin’s bride to dress, in style. They were talking about a wedding trip to Italy.

Annabelle herself was like a coiled spring. She was almost constantly flushed and animated. She talked more in those two days than she had since Rosamund had returned home with Dennis. And always it was about Justin and what he had told her about his life and his home and what plans he had for them and where he was to take her.

“But finally we are going to settle on his estate,” Annabelle said. “In the country, Aunt Rosa. Aren’t I fortunate? My children will be born there. Oh, I hope I have a son first. I am so very happy.”

Rosamund was a little afraid that the girl would work herself into a fever. There was something almost desperate about her happiness. Clearly she had made her decision during that night of doubts and was living out that decision with all her determination.

There had been a reply from Leonard’s cousin, and Rosamund was very welcome to go there whenever she liked and stay as long as she liked. Her trunk was open in her room and many of her possessions packed away already. But the days before she could decently leave passed at a snail’s pace and she seemed trapped inside everyone’s happiness.

She smiled and tried not to draw attention to herself by behaving in any way different from what might be expected of the aunt of the newly betrothed girl.

But there were times when she regretted her rejection of Lord Beresford. A discreet affair would have distracted her mind. And she had no doubt that Josh would have made it a pleasant, even exciting, sexual experience. There was no reason why it should not have been as thoroughly satisfactory as her affair with Justin had been. Perhaps by the time she had left, she would have been in love with Josh.

After all, she told herself, there had been no more love or commitment when she had agreed to make love with Justin. Some of the reasons she had given Josh for not going with him were somewhat hypocritical.

But there was a difference. She had wanted Justin. Perhaps the wanting had been a purely physical thing, at least at first, but even so it had been he she had wanted. She did not want Josh. She merely wanted comfort, forgetfulness, distraction.

No, she decided every time she looked at Josh and wondered if it would be possible to get him to renew his offer, she could not do it. She could not make love with a man merely because she could not have the man she loved.

Fortunately, perhaps, for her fragile strength of will, Lord Beresford did not renew his advances or even speak with her privately.

When the marquess’s birthday finally arrived, Rosamund felt almost cheerful. This was the final day of her ordeal— of this portion of it, at least. The next day she would be able to leave. And there was plenty of activity to keep her busy throughout the day. She helped with the gathering and arrangement of the flowers for the ballroom in the morning and part of the afternoon, and busied herself for the rest of the afternoon washing her hair and getting herself ready for the ball.

By the time dinner approached, she was counting the hours. She would have Dennis’ carriage come for her immediately after luncheon. She had fewer than twenty-four hours left at Brookfield.

It was possible—yes, it would be possible after all to live through those hours.

Annabelle had tried to help with the flower arrangements rather than join in the actitivies of her other young cousins. But whereas she had been quite competent about the gathering of the flowers from the hothouses, she had never had an eye for arrangements. After either her mother or one of her aunts had rearranged several of the vases she had been satisfied with, she decided to wander off into the formal gardens and get some fresh air before going to her room to prepare for the evening.

Lord Beresford found her there.

“Have you been banished from the ballroom?” he asked. “Getting under everyone’s feet, were you?”

“Just like a naughty child?” she said. “No, of course not, Joshua. I need some fresh air.”

“Yes,” he said, “and something to cool off those cheeks. They have been on fire for almost three days. Come walking with me.” He held out a hand for hers.

“I must go inside soon,” she said.

“Why?” he asked. “Does it take you five hours to get ready for a dinner and ball?”

“Joshua,” she said, and looked helpless suddenly.

He took her hand and held it in a warm clasp. “Come walking with me,” he said. “We’ll stroll to the lake.” 

“That’s a whole mile,” she said. “I must not be long.” 

But she moved along at his side and glanced nervously at him a few times. He was strangely silent, strangely serious.

“I want to know,” he said when they were some distance from the house and wandering among the trees, “what you meant when you said you would have died if I had died.” 

“Did I say that?” she asked brightly. “We were all very upset, Joshua. Grandmama scarce stopped crying for days. It was the not knowing, you see, the thinking that perhaps you had been dead for days or even weeks and we did not know it.”

“You were not talking about everyone,” he said. “You said that you would have died.”

“It is a way of speaking,” she said. “I meant I would have been upset.”

“Would you?” he asked. “Why?”

“You are my cousin,” she said.

“Second cousin.”

“Second cousin,” she said.

“Annabelle,” he said, “tell me what you meant.” 

“Nothing,” she said. “I did not mean anything, Joshua.” 

“Didn’t you?” He turned her to face him suddenly and backed her two steps against a tree. “Your betrothal is to be publicly announced tonight, isn’t it? And the notices sent to the London papers tomorrow? This is very definitely your last chance.”

“My last chance for what?” she asked him.

He looked down at her in exasperation and set a hand against the tree trunk beside her head. “I’ve always been fond of you,” he said, “fonder than of any of my other cousins. I have often thought that my great-aunt might have chosen me for you rather than Justin. But I suppose it’s only this week that these feelings have crystallized—now, when it’s too late, or almost too late, anyway.”

“I’ve got to go back, Joshua,” she said.

“I don’t want you to make a mistake,” he said. “I want you to be happy.”

“I am happy,” she said. “I have said that I will marry Justin, and I am happy.”

“Are you?”

“Yes.”

“Why are you so uncomfortable and so unhappy here with me, then?” he asked.

“I don’t like to be so alone with you,” she said. “I don’t like you so close.”

“Why not?” he asked.

She stared at him mutely.

“Because you are afraid I will do this?” he asked, closing the distance between their mouths and kissing her with parted lips.

She still said nothing when he lifted his head, but stared at him with wide gray eyes brimming with tears.

“Is this why you have disliked me?” he asked her. “Because I have threatened your world?”

“I haven’t disliked you,” she whispered.

“What, then?” he asked.

“I want to go back,” she said, her voice shaking.

“What, Annabelle?” he said, lowering his head, his eyes on her lips. “Tell me.”

“I worshiped you as a child,” she said, closing her eyes, “because you were always so handsome and so carefree and full of laughter. And I haven’t been able to stop. I have tried and tried. I used to listen to stories of your wild ways and your women, and I would try to despise you, to become indifferent to you.”

“But you couldn’t?” He brushed at her tears that had spilled over onto her cheeks.

She shook her head. “And I really thought I would die when we heard that you were hurt and then heard nothing and nothing for so long. And then when I heard that you limped and would never be able to walk without a limp ever again, I thought my heart would break.”

He kissed her softly on the lips.

“Now laugh at me,” she said. “Tell me what a child I am.”

“I am awed,” he said, “to know that I have been loved for so long.”

“Tell me.” She looked up at him suddenly with tormented eyes. “Tell me that you are not going to marry Aunt Rosa. I have seen you with her, both of you laughing and happy. And I saw you leave with her the night my betrothal was announced. But please, Joshua. Anyone else. Anyone else I will be able to bear, but please not Aunt Rosa.”

“I’m going to marry you,” he said.

She stared at him through her tears and laughed shakily. “Oh, yes,” she said. “We will get Grandpapa to substitute your name for Justin’s tonight. It’s all very simple.”

“There will be no announcement tonight,” he said. “It would be in bad taste to have my betrothal announced when many people are expecting Justin’s. We will let it be known some time next week.”

“Joshua ...” She reached into a pocket of her dress for a handkerchief and rubbed at her eyes with it. “Take me back to the house now. You have heard me make a perfect idiot of myself. Now you can feel satisfied.”

“I love you,” he said.

“Oh, don’t,” she said crossly. “I have bared my soul to you. It is cruel to mock me.”

He took the handkerchief from her hand and put it into one of his pockets. And he drew her away from the tree and into his arms. And set about kissing her very thoroughly and with the expertise of years.

“I love you,” he said at last, looking down into her dazed face. “And in a moment I am going to ask you to marry me. But before I do, I want you to know that I will look after everything—all the explanations, all the awkwardness. And after I have asked you and you have said yes, I will tell you something that will ease your guilt. Understood?”

“No,” she said. “No, we can’t be doing this, Joshua. This is madness. My promise is given.”

He kissed her again, even more thoroughly than before. “Understood?” he asked.

“Joshua ...”

“Will you marry me, Annabelle?”

“Please, Joshua ...”

“Will you?”

“You’re mad. You’re quite mad.”

“Will you?”

“I’m already betrothed.”

“Will you?”

“Will you let me go if I say yes?”

“No.”

“Joshua!”

“Will you?”

“Oh, yes, then,” she said. “For this moment of madness, yes, Joshua. But you know we must return to sanity when we get back to the house.”

He was grinning at her and she reached up to place a finger against his dimple.

“Not very manly, is it?” he said.

“It has always turned me weak at the knees,” she said. And she looked into his laughing face and smiled slowly at him. “Joshua, you know we can’t do this.”

“Anyone who fought with the Duke of Wellington doesn’t know the meaning of can’t,” he said. “You wait and see. And before guilt starts to hit at you, do you want to hear something interesting?”

She looked at him dubiously.

“I’ll wager our betrothal won’t be the only one to be announced next week,” he said. “I think Justin’s will be, too.”

She frowned at him in puzzlement.

“To,Rosamund,” he said.

She stared at him mutely.

“You wait and see,” he said. He took her by the hand and turned her back toward the house,

“But Joshua,” she said, “that is preposterous.”

“Yes, isn’t it?” he said, lacing his fingers with hers. “As preposterous as my proposing to you the day your betrothal to someone else is to be officially announced—and being accepted.”

They walked on in silence for a few minutes.

“Joshua,” she said at last, “you are serious about all this, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” he said, smiling down at her.

“My stomach is doing somersaults,” she said, “and I don’t think my legs will bear me up much longer. Is it true? Really true? You are not just doing it because you think I will be unhappy with Justin?”

“All hell is about to break loose,” he said. “I would face that for only one reason, my dear girl: I love you.”

“Well, then,” she said, drawing a deep breath and letting it out rather raggedly, “I am not going to hide in my room, Joshua. I am going to face hell with you.”

“Are you?” he said, grinning.

“Yes,” she said.

“Your grandparents? Your parents? Justin? All of them?”

“Yes.”

He squeezed her hand. “Well,” he said, “I’m sure it is better to face hell together, Annabelle, than heaven separately. Does that help build your courage and strengthen your knees?”

“No,” she said.

He laughed. “It was always the knees that gave most trouble before a battle,” he said.

“Are you comparing this to a battle?” she asked.

“Not really.” He grinned down at her and paused to kiss her swiftly on the lips before they stepped onto the cobbled courtyard before the doors of the house. “This is worse.”

The Earl of Wetherby dismissed his valet and checked his appearance once more before the full-length mirror in his dressing room. He was wearing what he had planned to wear for the occasion: ice-blue knee breeches, silver-embroidered waistcoat, a slightly darker blue coat, all satin, white stockings and linen, a copious amount of lace at neck and wrists.

It was a very formal outfit for the country, but not too formal for a man whose betrothal was about to be announced to the world. And for a free man? He would wear the clothes anyway, he had decided. They were what Henri had prepared for him.

Did Rosamund know yet? he wondered for surely the dozenth time in the past hour. He could still hardly believe it himself.

Josh had summoned him from the billiard room to the library, and he had found Annabelle there, her face white and set. She had resisted Josh’s attempt to take her hand and she had silenced him with one hand when he had begun to speak.

“No, Joshua,” she had said. “I must say this.”

Lord Wetherby had stood inside the door, noting every gesture, every expression, every exchange of glances, so that by the time Annabelle had turned to him, her eyes directly on his, and said what she had to say, he had been hardly surprised.

“Am I just being rejected, Annabelle?” he had asked her. “Or is Josh being accepted?”

She had flushed painfully and bitten her lower lip, and Josh had taken over the explanations.

It had all been over in five minutes. He had assured Annabelle that he honored her honesty and her courage in speaking to him herself, and he had hugged her and kissed her cheek and shaken Josh by the hand and wished them well. He had assured Annabelle that he would speak with his mother and his sister and that indeed they would not hate her for the rest of her life. And that of course he would attend the evening ball. Why should he not? He had been invited, as everyone else had, to attend the marquess’s birthday celebrations, had he not?

It had all been over in five minutes. And then a stroll in the formal gardens with his mother on one arm and Marion on the other—a difficult half-hour, but one that had ended well enough. He was not feeling humiliated, he had assured them, or upset. Only a little relieved, perhaps, to have his freedom restored. And that had set his mother back to her normal self, reminding him of his age and his responsibility to his position, and applying her mind to the task of deciding which ladies of her acquaintance might be suitable matches for him.

There had, of course, been two more interviews, one with the marquess and marchioness, one with Lord and Lady March. Both couples had clearly been feeling mortified and distressed at having to face him, but again all had ended well enough. He had come on the understanding that Annabelle was to be free to accept or reject him, he had reminded them. And though she had accepted him three days before, it had been understood at the time that the betrothal was of a tentative and informal nature. He certainly did not feel as if he had been jilted.

“I am so sorry,” Lady March had said, taking his hand. “I would have liked you as a son-in-law, my lord.”

“We were looking forward to having you as a member of our family,” Lord March had added, taking his hand in a strong clasp.

And so it was over, all of it, except for some embarrassment during the evening, he supposed. It was all over. He could scarcely believe it despite the turmoil of the past few hours.

And he wondered if Rosamund knew yet.

And if it would make any difference to her. She had told him just a few days before that what they had shared had been a purely physical thing.

Had it been, for her?

But he dared not think along such lines. Not yet.

Rosamund took one last look at herself in the full-length mirror in her room. Her dark-green silk gown flattered her figure, she thought, and was suitably plain and decorous for a twenty-six-year-old widow. Leonard had liked her to wear bright colors and to look youthful. But she was no longer youthful. It would no longer be appropriate to try to outshine the young girls—Eva and Pamela and Christobel and Annabelle.

For the same reason, her hair was dressed smooth and high with none of the stray curls or ringlets that the maid had wanted to add for the occasion.

Rosamund’s mind flashed back to an occasion not long before when she had worn a bright-orange silk gown with an indecorously low neckline and slippers one size too large. She sighed and turned from the mirror.

It was almost over. She had to endure for only a few hours longer. Perhaps, if the announcement was made early, she would even be able to slip away to bed before the ball was over without appearing ill-mannered. After all, she had the excuse of a journey to make the next day.

She wandered idly to the table beside her bed and picked up her Bible. It opened to the place where the pressed daffodil lay. She ran one finger lightly over it. She had still not thrown it away. She wondered if she ever would.

There was a knock on her door and Lord March answered her summons.

“How lovely,” she said, smiling determinedly and snapping the Bible shut before returning it to the table. “Am I to have an escort down to the drawing room, Dennis? You do look fine.”

“You haven’t heard?” he said, coming inside the room and closing the door behind his back.

“Heard?” She looked at him with raised eyebrows.

“Anna has called off the engagement without even consulting Lana or me first,” he said. “We thought you should know before you go down.”

“Called off the engagement?” Rosamund said. “Impossible, Dennis. She has seemed so determined in the last few days.”

“I could wring Joshua’s neck,” he said. “He has convinced Anna that he loves her and has got her to say she will marry him, and so a marriage planned nine years ago must go out the window.”

Rosamund motioned him to a chair.

“And they went and talked to Wetherby before coming to Lana and me, the pair of them,” he said. “This is a major embarrassment, Rosa. I don’t know quite how to show my face tonight.”

“But if it is true,” Rosamund said, “then perhaps it is as well that the truth has come out before it is too late.”

“Before it is too late?” He grimaced. “The family was told three nights ago, and doubtless all sorts of rumors have leaked into the countryside via the servants. The earl and his mother and sister are here. I wish a hole would open up in the ground and swallow me up. That’s what I wish.” 

“How did his lordship take it?” Rosamund asked. 

“Very decently, actually,” he said. “He acted as if he had not just been treated as shabbily as a man can be treated.” 

“Perhaps he really feels that way,” she said.

“He’s just being the perfect gentleman,” Lord March said. “For which we must be eternally thankful, I suppose. I have never raised my hand to Anna, Rosa, but I could cheerfully take her over my knee at this moment and spank her until my hand is too sore.”

“No, you couldn’t,” she said, stepping behind the chair, setting her hands on his shoulders, and bending to kiss the side of his head. “You gave Anna her freedom, Dennis, just as you gave me mine, though I did not realize it at the time. And she has used that freedom, as I did, to do what you consider unwise. Let’s hope that it turns out as well for her as it did for me.”

He passed a hand over his face. “My mother-in-law has been weeping,” he said. “She has had her heart set on this match for nine years. Gilmore is already reminding her that Joshua is his heir and that they should be over the moon with happiness at the way things are turning out. I suppose there is that way of looking at it.”

“Yes, of course,” she said. “Annabelle will be the Marchioness of Gilmore one day.”

“He is a shocking rake,” Lord March said.

“I have heard that rakes make the best of husbands,” Rosamund said, wrapping her arms about him from behind and resting her cheek against his. “I don’t think Josh would take marriage lightly, Dennis. And I have reason to believe that he really loves Annabelle.”

“I hope you are right,” he said. “You are going to ruin my neckcloth, Rosa. It took my valet all of ten minutes to get it just so.”

“Did it?” she said, pecking him on the cheek before straightening up. “Escort me downstairs, then. I shall give you courage.”

He sighed. “Sometimes,” he said, “just sometimes, I feel glad there was just Anna. Imagine if there were half a dozen more.”

“But you would have been quite an expert at the end of it all,” she said gaily, patting his arm.

She would give him courage, she had said. He probably had no idea of the fact that she would have been quite unable to leave her room if he had chosen to leave without her.

The betrothal was at an end. Justin was free.

Not that it would make any difference to her, of course. In fact, it would have been better if things had remained the way they were. At least then she could have dreamed about the way things might have been but for circumstances.

No, it made no difference to her at all.

Justin was free!