Chapter Seventeen
I was right to end it now before the possibility of future pain grows too great.
—Roslyn to Fanny
Roslyn was exceedingly relieved to return to Danvers Hall the following morning, not only because she’d had her fill of the duchess—who continued to treat her with icy disdain at her departure—but so that she could say farewell to Drew. Their night of lovemaking had been magical, Roslyn acknowledged, but such enchanted intimacy wouldn’t last forever. And before she sank even more deeply under Drew’s spell, it was imperative that she return to reality.
Regrettably, though, when he handed her down from his coach, he gave her a look so intimate, so searing, it made her heart turn over. Fighting the temptation to throw herself back into his arms, Roslyn instead wished him success upon his return to London. He planned to visit Sir Rupert’s solicitors again to discover what progress had been made during his absence toward learning the identity of Winifred’s ginger-haired thief.
When Drew took his leave, he merely kissed Roslyn’s gloved fingers, but she wanted him to do much, much more.
The temptation lingered long after he was gone. At loose ends, Roslyn found herself wandering restlessly through the house, stewing over her quandary. Yesterday had helped her recognize the grave danger she was in with Drew. Seeing that softer, tender side of him had melted her remaining defenses. And dismayingly, her feelings for him were growing stronger every moment she shared with him.
She knew now that she couldn’t risk letting him continue to romance her. Most certainly she couldn’t indulge in any more forbidden trysts with him. But with their betrothal still standing, she would be forced to share Drew’s company to a significant extent. And after their romantic interlude last night, she would find it impossible to keep her emotional distance.
She’d been deluding herself to think she could, Roslyn admitted. Trying to resist an irresistible man bent on wooing her would be impossible. Arabella had been in a similar fix a few short weeks ago. Belle hadn’t wanted to fall in love with Marcus, yet she couldn’t stop herself.
Roslyn worried her lower lip with her teeth, wondering apprehensively if she was following in her sister’s footsteps. Wishing her sisters or Tess were here to talk with, she gave a frustrated sigh. She missed them dreadfully just now and needed their counsel. But Arabella wasn’t expected home until late next week. And Tess had gone to London to assist Lily in an unusual undertaking at Fanny’s boardinghouse. Without them to rely on, Roslyn knew, she would have to solve her dilemma on her own.
Forcibly shoving her troubled thoughts away, she spun on her heel and headed for her bedchamber to change out of her traveling dress. She would visit the Freemantle Academy this afternoon. There were no classes scheduled for her to teach, since only a handful of pupils had stayed for the summer term and Jane Caruthers had them well in hand. But Roslyn enjoyed the girls’ company, and spending time with them would give her something else to focus on besides Drew’s disquieting wooing and the resolution of their uncertain future.
Roslyn did enjoy her visit at the academy, so much that she stayed for tea. But when she returned to the Hall, her dilemma was the same: What to do about Drew.
Perhaps she would be wise to end their engagement now. She was wholly convinced that she would be a fool to marry him. Drew had told her—repeatedly—that he would never give his heart to any woman, and she could so easily lose hers to him.
Just look at what had happened to Winifred—all the heartbreak and hurt she’d suffered, loving a husband who didn’t love her in return. How difficult it had been for Winifred, struggling with all those painful emotions over the years.
That dreadful experience should be warning enough, Roslyn knew.
To keep her agitated thoughts occupied, she put on an old gown and went out to the gardens. The flower beds were beginning to resemble their former glory since Marcus had spent a fortune refurbishing the Hall and grounds. And they could now afford such wasteful luxury as cutting fresh flowers daily for the drawing room and parlors. Roslyn usually saw to the task to spare Mrs. Simpkin the effort.
She was bending over a rosebush, clipping a particularly thorny yellow rose, when she heard the side gate open and glanced up, expecting to see one of the gardeners. Instead, she saw Lord Haviland striding toward her along the gravel path.
Straightening, Roslyn dropped her rose and shears in the gardening pail at her feet and waited for him to reach her.
“Ah, I hoped I would find you at home, Miss Loring.”
Roslyn returned his charming smile as she looked up at him. “To what do I owe this pleasure, my lord?”
“I’ve come to personally deliver an invitation from my grandmother. She is holding a rout party next week and specifically charged me with persuading you to come.”
When Haviland held out an embossed card, Roslyn removed her gardening gloves in order to take it.
“Grandmother would be honored if Arden attended as well,” he added as Roslyn perused the invitation.
“I am not certain what his grace’s plans are, so I cannot vouch for him, but I would be pleased to come.”
“Good, then.” Haviland hesitated. “I confess I was surprised to hear of your betrothal to Arden. I didn’t expect it, given his avowed distaste for matrimony.”
Roslyn felt a blush rise to her cheeks. “I know. It was rather…sudden.”
“I should like to offer my felicitations, even though I regret that I was so tardy in courting you myself.”
Flustered by Haviland’s intimation that he’d wanted to court her, Roslyn reflexively clenched her fingers…which caused her to drop the card of invitation and one of her gloves.
They both bent down at the same time to retrieve the errant items and wound up bumping their heads together.
Wincing, Roslyn uttered a breathless laugh and clutched her forehead as she straightened, while Haviland muttered a low curse. “Blast it, did I hurt you?”
Roslyn shook her head, still laughing. “No, not at all.”
“Let me see.” He pulled her hand away so he could inspect the damage he’d inflicted on her forehead.
“Truly, my lord, I am perfectly fine.”
“I cannot say the same. I’m abashed at my clumsiness.”
“You weren’t to blame. I was the clumsy one.”
His rough chuckle was warm with rueful humor. “You are being kind, Miss Loring. I know my limitations well enough. I would do better against a French cavalry charge. I’m out of my element when it comes to dealing with beautiful women.”
He smiled ruefully down at her, and Roslyn felt her laughter fade. And when he reached up to brush a tendril away from her face, she froze.
“Forgive me, please?” he said warmly.
Before she could gather her wits to reply, an icy voice cut across the garden. “How cozy.”
Giving a start, Roslyn glanced over her shoulder to see Drew poised on the terrace steps, staring down at them.
Managing a fleeting smile, she stepped back to set herself apart from Lord Haviland. “Drew…I did not expect you to call this afternoon.”
“Obviously not. Otherwise you would never have let me interrupt such a charming scene.”
Her eyes widened at his savage tone. He had evidently misconstrued an innocent situation, but she couldn’t think of what to say in order to clear up his misunderstanding. He was reacting out of male possessiveness, Roslyn was certain. He couldn’t possibly be jealous; his emotions weren’t engaged strongly enough to warrant jealousy.
Yet the silence became thick and palpable as Drew descended the steps and moved to stand before the earl. “She is betrothed to me, Haviland.”
“So I hear,” his lordship responded in a much milder tone. “But you can acquit me of poaching on your turf, your grace.”
“Can I?”
Haviland raised a dark eyebrow. “I have said so, haven’t I?”
Tension vibrated between the two men. Drew looked ready to have the earl’s blood, but his tone was low and deceptively controlled when he spoke. “Only touch her again and you won’t see another dawn.”
At the threat, Roslyn gasped while Haviland’s eyes narrowed sharply. “You are laboring under a misapprehension, Arden—”
Drew cut him off. “Spare your breath unless you have a death wish. Now I’ll thank you to take your leave.”
The earl stiffened, his eyes suddenly snapping with fury. For a moment, Roslyn remained speechless, too stunned and mortified to countermand Drew’s order, but then she finally found her voice. “Your grace, that is quite enough!”
Haviland shifted his gaze to glance at her. Although restraining his own wrath, he clearly wasn’t inclined to leave her defenseless and alone with the duke. “Will you be all right?”
“Yes…I am certain I will. Thank you for the invitation, my lord.”
“Very well—but I am just next door if you need me. Good day, Miss Loring.”
With a bow, Haviland turned and strode off.
When the earl had let himself out of the gate, leaving Roslyn alone with Drew, she whirled on him. “What, may I ask, brought on that abominable display of manners? You do not have leave to dismiss my guests, or to threaten them!”
“It was no threat. I meant every word.”
Roslyn stared at Drew in disbelief. “Have you taken leave of your senses?”
“Not in the least. You’re still enamored of him, and I won’t stand for it.”
His tone was cold, without inflection, but she felt her own ire rise. “You won’t stand for what, Drew?”
“Your trysts with Haviland.”
“My…trysts?” Her mouth dropped open. She would have sputtered in indignation except that she was too stunned. “You actually think I might be engaged in an illicit affair with Lord Haviland? When I am betrothed to you?”
“I doubt our betrothal would prove an impediment.”
She was shocked that Drew would believe her capable of such betrayal. “You think I could make love to you the way we did last night and then turn around and…What kind of cold-blooded woman do you take me for?”
His expression turned hooded. “You wouldn’t be the first to pretend interest in me, only to have another lover waiting in the wings.”
“How dare you?” Roslyn whispered. “How dare you accuse me of such perfidy? I have far more honor than that.”
“Do you?”
She felt as if he’d slapped her. The breath left her lungs, while a sudden ache burned her throat. “If you have such a poor reading of my character…” With effort, she swallowed and turned away. “I refuse to discuss this any further—”
“Don’t walk away from me, Roslyn!”
At his fierce explosion, Roslyn jumped and came to a halt. She was suddenly shaking, but she forced herself to glance back at him. “You have no right to command me. I am not your possession, nor am I your mistress whose services you have purchased.”
“I do so have a right.” Drew took a step toward her, his jaw clenched. “And I want an answer now. Do you love that bastard?”
“I beg your pardon?” Roslyn demanded, flinching at the derogatory label.
“Haviland…do you love him?”
“My feelings for him are none of your concern!”
“They bloody well are my concern! We are betrothed, or had you forgotten?”
Her hands curled into fists. “Our betrothal is only temporary, for the sake of appearance.”
“There is nothing temporary about it. You will wed me, Roslyn.”
“You can go to perdition!”
“Then you will damned well join me!”
Roslyn felt the blood drain from her face. Drew had shouted at her, and she had shouted right back at him.
She stared at him, unable to speak. Her chest was tight, while a sick feeling knotted her stomach.
“I have to go….” she rasped finally, turning from him again and making rapidly for the house.
“Roslyn, come back here!”
She clamped her hands over her ears, hearing the echo of her parents’ many arguments over the years. She couldn’t bear their shouting then, couldn’t bear to have Drew shouting at her now. So she simply ran.
“Roslyn!” Drew called after her, his tone harsh with anger.
Roslyn paid him no heed. She ran, couldn’t stop running. She sped along the gravel path and stumbled up the stone steps to the terrace, instinctively heading for her sanctuary, the library. Her vision had blurred while a rushing filled her ears.
“Roslyn….” There was an edge of concern to his voice as well as anger, but she didn’t stop.
She found the open French door and burst through into the library, pushing it shut behind her.
She stood there quivering, heart pounding. She could still hear voices raised in anger…her parents fiercely arguing…Mama accusing Papa of infidelity…Mama sobbing.
She wouldn’t cry, Roslyn vowed. She wouldn’t let herself fall apart. Yet the tremors wouldn’t stop. Lunging blindly across the library, Roslyn climbed into the window seat and huddled there. She wanted to curl herself into a tiny, invisible ball, just as she had when she was a child.
She was shaking the same way now. She wrapped her arms around herself, but it was hard to pull enough air into her lungs. She couldn’t catch her breath. And she kept hearing the echo of her parents’ voices.
Eyes shut, she tried to block them out. She held herself tightly, willing them to go away as she battled the ghosts of her childhood.
A sound escaped her throat, half laugh, half sob. How many times had she done this very thing—taken refuge in the library to escape her parents’ angry altercations? At home in Hampshire she’d crawled behind the window seat curtains, keeping her hands clasped over her ears until her sisters found her and offered her comfort.
Another shudder wracked her, but Roslyn forced herself to drag in a raw breath, striving for calm. She was an adult now. She didn’t need Lily to hold her hand.
She didn’t need Lily to tell her she was a fool, either. How could she have ever thought she could wed Drew? If they were fighting this way after being betrothed for barely a fortnight, what would their marriage be like?
It would be her worst fear realized, their union degenerating into the horrible, antagonistic relationship her parents had had.
But what else could she hope for? a voice inside Roslyn cried out. Drew was never going to love her. Not if he could doubt her word so flagrantly as he had a moment ago. Real love meant trusting, and if he couldn’t trust her to behave with honor and integrity…
A fierce shiver coursed through her. She had to end their betrothal at once. If she was hurting this intensely now, how much greater would the hurt be if she let it continue? It was frightening to think of battling Drew like this once she came to love him.
No, it was time to sever their relationship before her heart became irrevocably ensnared. His absence in her life would create a huge emptiness inside her, but it was far better to part with him now than later, when it was too late to salvage—
Roslyn froze when she heard the library door slowly open. Drew entered without bidding, then stood for a long moment before his footsteps sounded on the Aubusson carpet as he crossed to where she sat huddled.
“What is wrong, Roslyn?” he asked quietly.
“If you have to ask, then I could not possibly explain it to you.”
“I didn’t mean to shout at you.”
Opening her eyes unwillingly, she looked up at him. “But you did shout at me. And you meant to accuse me of duplicity and infidelity.”
“No…it’s just that I saw you laughing with Haviland, smiling up at him….”
His voice trailed off, while hers dropped to a ragged whisper. “I can’t bear fighting with you, Drew. I despise fighting.”
“We were not fighting.”
“What do you call it then?”
“Arguing.”
“They are one and the same.”
Guilt stabbing him, Drew raked a hand roughly though his hair. He had indeed instigated a fight with Roslyn. He’d acted the worst sort of fool, giving in to his sudden, irrepressible rage of jealousy, and then he’d taken his fear out on her. And Roslyn was pale and trembling now because of it. He could see the tears glittering in her eyes.
When one slid down her cheek, he wanted to brush it away, but he forced himself to keep his hands by his sides. She wouldn’t like him touching her just now, he suspected. He wanted to hold her, to offer comfort, but she wouldn’t accept his comfort.
“I am sorry,” he murmured, knowing he had some serious groveling to do. “I never should have shouted at you, or made such unwarranted accusations. I reacted in the heat of the moment, out of jealousy. I know you have more honor than to tryst with Haviland behind my back.”
Her delicate jaw was clenched, as if she was struggling for composure. Finally Roslyn seemed to steel herself and sat up.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, determinedly dashing the tears from her eyes. “Regardless of what you meant, our betrothal is at an end.”
Not believing what he’d heard, Drew fixed his gaze intently on her face. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am utterly serious,” she replied, her voice low and without inflection.
“You mean to break our betrothal simply because I raised my voice to you?”
“Yes, Drew. I do. I endured such battles for much of my childhood, and I won’t suffer them in my own marriage.”
Frustration built inside him. “You are overreacting, sweeting…blowing our altercation out of proportion.”
“I don’t believe so. I have known all along a union between us would never work. We don’t want the same things out of marriage. And if we’re fighting now, what kind of future does it portend?”
Drew felt his jaw hardening against his control. “You are using this contretemps to justify turning to Haviland. You still want him.”
Roslyn locked gazes with him. “Whether I want Haviland or not is beside the point. I don’t want to marry you, Drew. I don’t want you for my husband.”
He stared at her, a knife edge of alarm twisting inside him.
At his silence, Roslyn forced a bleak smile. “You yourself said that once the first flush of lust has worn off, a couple is left with boredom or worse. It seems clear that the lust has worn off between us. But you should feel relieved that you won’t have to wed me. I certainly am.”
“Roslyn—” Drew began before she cut him off: “I don’t wish to discuss it further.”
She had withdrawn completely from him; he could see it in her emotionless expression, in her rigid posture. It was as if Roslyn had erected an impenetrable wall between them.
Frustration filled him, along with a feeling of panic deep in his gut.
Her voice was almost cold when she broke the silence again. “Why did you come here, Drew?”
At her abrupt change in subject, he let out a harsh breath, struggling to remember his reason for calling. “Crupp discovered the identity of Sir Rupert’s private solicitor,” Drew finally said. “A man by the name of Farnaby. I called on him this afternoon to inquire about Sir Rupert’s former mistress. He knew of her, of course. Her name is Constance Baines. But he claims he lost touch with her four years ago, after his client died. Sir Rupert had maintained a small house on the outskirts of London for Constance and her children, but reportedly the house was sold and they no longer live there.”
Roslyn winced at that last revelation. “Children? There is more than one child?”
“There are three. A boy and two younger girls.”
Her mouth turned down in sorrow. “Winifred will be heartbroken,” Roslyn murmured. “So where are they now?”
“I am endeavoring to find out.” Drew paused. “Farnaby seemed extremely nervous about discussing the Baines woman and refused at first even to divulge the address of the house. Frankly, it wouldn’t surprise me if he misappropriated the late Sir Rupert’s funds four years ago.”
“You think Farnaby stole from the estate?”
“It’s possible. I think he would have been more forthcoming otherwise. I had to resort to veiled threats to persuade him to cooperate. For now, I’ve charged Bow Street with locating Constance Baines. They’ll interview the house’s current occupants as well as her former neighbors about where she and her children might have gone. It may be a dead end, but I hope to know something in the next day or two. If I do discover her whereabouts—and if she is still in London—I thought you might like to accompany me.”
“Yes…I would.”
“Very well. I’ll send a footman to let you know when I will come to collect you.”
She shook her head. “You needn’t go to such trouble, Drew. I will borrow Winifred’s carriage to travel to London.”
“Don’t be absurd, sweeting. It is no trouble.”
Stiffening again, Roslyn returned his gaze directly. “I have no intention of traveling anywhere with you.”
That hollow, sickening sensation returned to claw at Drew. He hesitated, debating whether to press her when she was still so upset at him. “Then allow me to send my carriage for you.”
“That would be inappropriate since we are no longer betrothed.”
“Roslyn….” Drew dragged his fingers through his hair again. “I told you I was sorry.”
Her lips pressed together for a moment before she smiled faintly. “Your apologies matter little to me, Drew. Our betrothal is at an end. I trust you will notify the papers?”
“You don’t mean it—”
Her gaze turned even cooler. “Pray do me the courtesy of believing my sincerity. I will never wed you. And I won’t remain in a sham of a betrothal merely to placate the gossips.”
Drew felt his heart lurch, slamming hard against the constricted wall of his chest. He wanted fiercely to argue with her, to make Roslyn change her mind immediately. But remembering her loathing for arguments, he settled for reasoning with her. “You know a broken betrothal will only stain your reputation.”
“No doubt. But I will suffer the consequences. For now I want nothing more to do with you.”
With great dignity, she stood. “If you find Constance, then please inform me. Otherwise, you are not welcome here at Danvers Hall.”
Drew watched as she walked from the room, regal, queenly, dispassionate. Her pronouncement had seemed so final. And so had her declaration that she didn’t want him for her husband.
His foremost response was dread; dark and cold, it curled inside him at the thought of losing Roslyn. He couldn’t allow their betrothal to end, for how could he convince her to love him?
But no, Drew told himself, willing his feeling of panic to subside. He wasn’t admitting defeat. Roslyn was overwrought, upset—and justifiably angry at him. He just had to allow her time to reconsider.
For now he would suspend his efforts to woo her, but he would change her mind about their betrothal, Drew promised himself. Roslyn would wed him in the end, and she would come to love him.
Knotting his jaw, he strode from the library, making for his carriage. Yet he couldn’t dismiss the cold, coiling snake of fear in his gut, telling him that he was already too late.