Chapter Eighteen
The sad tale of Sir Rupert and Constance only convinces me further that gentlemen love their mistresses more readily than their wives.
—Roslyn to Fanny
“Fanny!” Roslyn said in surprise two mornings later when her friend swept into the Danvers Hall library. “I didn’t expect you to call on me this week. I wrote to you yesterday—”
“I know,” Fanny said, waving Roslyn’s letter at her. “That is why I have come, my dear—to discover if you have lost your senses.”
“Lost my senses?” Roslyn repeated, closing the book she was reading.
“I think perhaps you must have done so if you broke off your betrothal to the Duke of Arden.”
Roslyn made no reply, merely waited as Fanny settled herself in a chair and continued.
“I admit I was shocked, Roslyn, that you would throw away the chance to become a duchess and enjoy a lifetime of ease and privilege.”
“You know I don’t care for such trappings,” she said finally as she moved to sit across from Fanny.
“I do know. You want to find true love. But it is just as easy to love a rich lord as a poor nobody.”
“No, it is not, Fanny. And I expected you of all people to understand me. You forsook a genteel future for a life of excitement and passion.”
Fanny made a face. “What I believed at sixteen and what I know at four-and-twenty are two entirely different things. I am far more mature and experienced now, and much wiser. The life I craved then is not the life I want now.”
Roslyn’s brows drew together. Never once had she heard Fanny question the choices she’d made in her admittedly colorful life. It was not comfortable, however, Roslyn reflected, to have her own choices questioned, even by her good friend. “Must we discuss this now, Fanny?”
Her friend frowned. “I suppose not, but you don’t look well, Rose. There are shadows under your eyes, and your complexion is pale as wax. Hardly the symptoms of a woman happy with her decision.”
“I am perfectly fine,” Roslyn insisted, despite knowing her assertion was a bald lie. She hadn’t slept well since breaking off with Drew, nor had she eaten much.
Absently she pressed a hand to her breastbone, aware of the quiet ache that burned there—and fully aware of the cause.
She felt a profound emptiness without Drew. A feeling similar to the sick, hollow sensation she’d experienced at losing her mother, when Victoria had abandoned her daughters and fled the country with her lover. The same sick feeling as when she’d learned her father had died needlessly, killed in a senseless duel over one of his inamoratas.
But she didn’t want to dwell on her problems. “Did you come here merely to scold me about my broken betrothal?”
“No.” Her expression softening, Fanny forced a smile. “Scolding you was my prime reason, but I also wanted to report on my inquiries regarding Sir Rupert and Constance Baines. Regrettably I could learn nothing whatsoever about their relationship. If she was his mistress and bore him three children, they were exceedingly discreet about it.”
Roslyn pursed her lips. “It doesn’t surprise me that they kept their association a close secret. I like to think it was because Sir Rupert was trying to spare Winifred’s feelings, not merely to deceive her since she controlled the purse strings.”
“Well, if Constance has disappeared, you may never find her. It is the sad fate of mistresses when their protector dies or casts them off, especially if they have children. Their future is dubious at best.”
“I can only imagine,” Roslyn murmured. “If Sir Rupert loved Constance, as Winifred believes, he would surely have provided an income for his family in the event of his death. But Drew…Arden thinks Sir Rupert’s solicitor may have been unscrupulous.”
Fanny nodded sagely. “Constance would have been completely vulnerable to being swindled, with no legal recourse. So have you heard from Arden yet about Bow Street’s investigation?”
“Not yet. I hope to soon.”
Hesitating, Fanny searched her face intently before saying, “I won’t scold you any further, but are you certain you are making the right decision? It probably isn’t too late to change your mind.”
Roslyn glanced away, feeling the tightness in her chest intensify. The notice announcing the termination of their betrothal had not appeared in the papers, but that was a very small matter compared to the larger issue. “It is pointless to continue our betrothal, Fanny. I could never marry Arden.”
“Because you had a simple argument with him?”
Her gaze snapped back. “It was not merely a simple argument. It was practically a brawl. We shouted at each other.”
Fanny’s mouth curved in a smile. “Not all brawls are bad…and most are never as destructive as your parents’ were. Sometimes they can serve a useful purpose.”
Roslyn eyed her with incredulity. “What purpose?”
“A good brawl now and then makes you feel alive, darling. It spurs the blood, rouses the passions. Brawling has little to do with love, yet even dark emotions are part of loving, Roslyn. Couples fight even if they love each other.”
She was silent for a long moment. “Well, Drew and I do not love each other. We let passion sway us, nothing more.”
“That doesn’t mean he can’t eventually come to love you.”
“But it’s highly doubtful,” Roslyn retorted. “He certainly never wanted to wed me. I expect he’s vastly relieved to be free of our engagement.”
“Why do you say so?”
“If he wanted to continue our betrothal, I think he would have made an effort to persuade me. But I have had no word from him in two days, since I ordered him from the house.”
Fanny looked skeptical, but at least she didn’t press.
“So how is Lily doing?” Roslyn asked, pointedly changing the subject.
Her question brought a genuine smile to Fanny’s lips. “Amazingly well. I never expected an academy for courtesans to be so successful. Indeed, when Lily first proposed the idea, I thought she had gone a little daft. But she is so passionate about this endeavor, and Tess seems just as committed—training our boarders to attract a higher-class clientele so they can have better futures. The girls are avid pupils…and so enthusiastic about it that several of their colleagues have asked to join in. They spend every afternoon being tutored in elocution, poise and grace, how to serve tea, proper manners….”
Roslyn couldn’t help but laugh. “All subjects that Lily deplores. She would much rather teach riding or driving or archery. But it’s good that the skills she learned instructing at our young ladies’ academy are serving her so well.”
Simpkin appeared at the library door just then and waited until Roslyn acknowledged him.
“A message was just delivered for you, Miss Roslyn, from the Duke of Arden.”
Deplorably, her heart started beating harder at just the mention of Drew’s name, but she tried to quell it as she broke the wax seal and read his bold script.
Constance Baines has been located. I will send my carriage for you at one o’clock this afternoon, if that is convenient.
It was signed merely, Arden.
Roslyn glanced up at the butler. “Please reply that the time should present no problem, Simpkin.”
“As you wish, Miss Roslyn.” With a bow, Simpkin withdrew.
When Roslyn told Fanny about the message, her friend’s expression turned sympathetic again. “Do you want me to accompany you this afternoon?”
Roslyn was very tempted to say yes. It would be much easier to face Drew in Fanny’s company. In fact, it would be far easier if she never had to lay eyes on Drew again. But she wanted to solve the mystery of Winifred’s thief.
“Thank you, no,” Roslyn responded. “I don’t know what we will find, but I would rather keep our visit as private as possible, for Winifred’s sake.” Then she pasted a smile on her lips. “So Fanny, now that you are here, will you stay for luncheon?”
A trill of musical laughter rang out. “I thought you would never ask. I am famished, since I came as soon as I awakened. Only for you, my dear, would I disturb my beauty sleep. So let me tell you about Lily’s enterprise….”
When Drew’s carriage arrived for her at one o’clock, Roslyn was startled to see that his grooms and footmen were armed with pistols and blunderbusses. But she began to understand the precaution as the vehicle wended its way through London’s East End toward the docks, for the streets grew meaner and the signs of squalor were rampant.
Finding it unpleasant to breathe for the rankness, Roslyn viewed the grim conditions with increasing consternation. If Constance Baines lived here in the stews, then her fortunes had indeed fallen desperately.
The carriage turned into a slop-covered cobblestone lane and came to a halt before a dilapidated building. Drew was waiting in front to hand Roslyn down, his expression sober as he gave her a terse greeting.
She responded with a question as he guided her up the entrance steps. “So Bow Street discovered her location?”
“Yes, from her former neighbors. According to the proprietress of these lodgings, Constance has apartments on the third floor, but I haven’t approached her yet.”
He ushered Roslyn inside to the first door, which was partway open. The proprietress was a heavyset woman with the coarse manners of a Billingsgate fishwife. When Drew handed her a shilling, she grinned widely, showing her rotting teeth.
“’Tis peculiar ye’ve come, guv’nor. Missus Baines don’t ’ave many visitors. Puts on fancy airs like she was a real lady, she does. But she won’t be welcome ’ere much longer if she can’t pay ’er rent. It’s past due by a fortnight.”
The woman climbed the rackety stairs ahead of them and stopped halfway down the dim corridor to bang on the door. Upon receiving no answer, she shouted through the thin wood panel.
“Missus Baines, ye ’ave a fancy toff and his lady ’ere to see you. Unlock this ’ere door or I’ll do it meself.”
It was another moment before the sound of a key turning in the lock could be heard. When the door cracked open an inch, Drew glanced at the proprietress.
“That will be all,” he said dismissively.
Frowning, she spun her bulky body around and stalked away as the door opened another few inches.
Roslyn was taken aback to see a wide-eyed young girl peering out. Perhaps ten years of age, she wore a patched frock that was too small for her thin frame, and she looked wary and frightened. Yet her speech was clearly upper-class when she managed to choke out, “M-May I help you, sir?”
“Yes, child,” Drew responded, his tone softening. “I would like to speak to your mother, Constance Baines.”
Her expression turned distressed. “My m-mother is ill, sir. She cannot be disturbed.”
Drew handed the girl a gilt-embossed calling card. “Then will you give her this and tell her I have questions about her son?”
Appearing indecisive, she looked over her shoulder as if she might bolt for safe refuge. But at last she opened the door fully and beckoned them to enter.
When Roslyn preceded Drew inside, she was surprised to see that, unlike the surrounding squalor of the neighborhood, the room was neat and clean, and held a kitchen of sorts, as well as a sitting area with some threadbare furniture that once had been of good quality.
“If you will please wait here, sir,” the girl murmured before she scurried toward the closed door behind her and slipped inside.
Roslyn met Drew’s gaze silently as they waited for the child’s return but knew her own distress was showing.
Several long moments passed before the girl reappeared. “My mother is too ill to leave her bed, your grace, but if you do not mind, she can receive you there.”
The rear room was a bedchamber, Roslyn saw when they followed the girl. Crowded with three beds, it was just as tidy as the outer room but less welcoming, since the windows were open against the warm summer day and foul air reeked in from the lane below.
The woman lying in the largest bed looked gaunt and feverish. There was also another child sitting silently in one corner, a girl of about six who eyed them nervously.
The elder girl went straight to her mother’s bed and took her hand. “Mama?” she whispered. “Can you talk now, Mama?”
Constance’s eyes fluttered open, and she gazed blankly at her daughter. Then she gave a start as if coming to her senses, and her worried gaze found Drew. She wet her cracked lips before speaking in a rasping, barely audible voice, “Your grace? My son…has something happened to Benjamin?”
“Your son’s name is Benjamin?” Drew asked quietly.
“Yes….” She tried to sit up, but she was too weak to manage, and at the effort, she fell into a paroxysm of coughing.
Constance was gravely ill, Roslyn realized, hearing the rattle in her chest that was symptomatic of a deadly inflammation of the lungs.
Drew stepped forward with alacrity. “Pray, don’t exert yourself, Mrs. Baines. Nothing has happened to your son to my knowledge.”
Her daughter leaned closer, obviously distraught to see her mother in such distress, but Constance waved her away. When her coughing fit subsided, she collapsed back on the pillow. “I…don’t understand…what you want with my son, then.”
“We have some questions about him that I hope you can answer,” Drew said, offering his handkerchief to the ill woman, who took it with a strange mixture of reluctance and gratitude.
“What…did you wish…to know?”
He started to answer, but Roslyn forestalled him, concerned that the girls were too young to hear about their brother’s attempted thievery. “Mrs. Baines, I am Miss Loring. The duke and I are friends of Lady Freemantle. Perhaps it would be best if we spoke in private.”
Her expression suddenly growing more apprehensive, Constance nodded weakly and glanced at the eldest girl. “Sarah…please take Daisy to the parlor. Don’t be alarmed, my love…I will be fine with our guests.”
“Yes, Mama.”
When the girls had left, shutting the bedchamber door behind them, Roslyn moved to stand beside the invalid’s bed. “Mrs. Baines,” she said gently. “Your children’s father was Sir Rupert Freemantle, is that so?”
Constance’s fingers plucked at the coverlet. “Yes.”
“And your son Benjamin is about sixteen years of age now and has ginger hair?”
“Yes, Carrot-Top is what we call him.”
“Tell us, was he wounded recently? In the arm or shoulder, perhaps?”
Constance looked confused. “Yes. A fortnight ago he was helping…to harness a team to a carriage…when the shaft slipped and gouged his arm. Why do you ask? Is Benjamin in…some kind of trouble?”
Roslyn avoided answering directly. “We wish to speak to him, but we’ve had difficulty locating him—and you as well, Mrs. Baines. We know that you lived in a house in St. John’s Wood, but you left with your children several years ago.”
“Who told you so?”
“A solicitor named Farnaby.”
Constance’s eyes darkened. “That evil man…”
“Was Farnaby evil, Mrs. Baines?”
She set her jaw stubbornly, despite the effort it took. “Perhaps not evil…but he was certainly a thief and a swindler.”
“Because he was entrusted to care for you?” Roslyn ventured to guess. “But he refused to honor Sir Rupert’s wishes after his death?”
“Yes,” Constance exclaimed with a surprising show of strength and spirit. But her explanation was halting as she continued. “Rupert bought the house for us…although the deed was in his name. He also…bequeathed an income sufficient…to provide for our upkeep and…proper schooling for the children. But…there was no proof of his intentions. When he died…Farnaby sold the house…and forced us to find other lodgings.”
“So how did you manage to survive?” Drew asked, his tone sympathetic.
Constance shifted her gaze to him. “To support us…my son hired on as a houseboy in a nobleman’s household…and was later promoted to footman…. I found employment in a milliner’s shop.”
“And how did you come to live here?”
She turned her face away, as if ashamed to answer. “We could not make the rent…so we moved to even cheaper lodgings. I abhorred having to bring…my children here, but I had no choice. And now we may be evicted even from here. When I fell ill last month…my employer let me go—”
Her last words were cut off when she began coughing fiercely into Drew’s linen handkerchief.
Seeing a mug of water on the bedside table, Roslyn helped Constance lift her head so she could sip, yet she continued to struggle for breath.
“Has a physician attended you?” Roslyn asked, deeply worried.
Constance swallowed with effort and then fell back weakly, shutting her eyes. “No…we cannot afford doctors or medicines…on Ben’s meager salary.” She forcibly opened her eyes again. “Why do you ask about Benjamin, Miss Loring?”
When Roslyn hesitated, wondering how much to divulge, Drew answered for her. “Your son was interested in acquiring a certain brooch in Lady Freemantle’s possession, Mrs. Baines.”
Constance looked puzzled. “My brooch…how did he even know…” She fell silent except for her breathless rasping.
“The brooch was yours?” Roslyn gently prodded.
“Yes, it was a gift…from Rupert many years ago, at our son’s birth. I cherished it because it…had Rupert’s portrait inside. But when he died, the brooch…was at the jeweler’s being cleaned, so I never saw it again.”
“And you could not legally claim it?”
“No.” Her voice lowered to barely a whisper. “Rupert could never publicly acknowledge…me as his mistress, out of respect for his wife, so…I could not simply demand the brooch back. Lady Freemantle would…have learned about me then…and Rupert would not have wanted that.”
“So why did your son want the brooch?” Drew asked.
“I…suppose to return it to me. I remember some weeks ago…when I first became ill and was wracked with fever…I told Ben I wished that I still…had the miniature portrait of his father. Perhaps I told him it was…in Lady Freemantle’s possession. I can’t recall.”
At least that explained why the boy had been so determined to obtain the brooch, Roslyn reflected. He was trying to fulfill what he thought was his mother’s deathbed wish.
“Is Benjamin in trouble?” Constance repeated weakly.
Again Drew answered for Roslyn. “That remains to be seen. The evidence against him is very serious, but we wish to speak to him before making any accusations.”
“What evidence?” Constance demanded worriedly.
“We believe he attempted to steal the brooch, more than once.”
She stared. “You must be mistaken, your grace. Benjamin would never steal. He is a good boy, the best son anyone could hope for.”
“Perhaps so, but his arm injury may have been a gunshot wound.”
“A gunshot wound! You must be mistaken—”
Just then the door burst open and Winifred’s ginger-haired thief rushed into the room, a worried look on his face. He took one look at the visitors, however, and froze in recognition, his expression turning to fear. The parcel he was carrying dropped from his nerveless fingers, while his freckled complexion turned as pale as his sick mother’s.
He was no longer wearing a sling, Roslyn noted, although he seemed to favor his right arm by holding it close to his chest.
To his credit, Benjamin recovered quickly and stuck out his chin. He meant to brazen it out, Roslyn realized.
“What do you mean coming here? My mother is too ill for visitors! Please leave at once.”
Constance looked appalled by his brusqueness. “Benjamin!” she rasped. “What do you mean…being so rude to our guests?”
When she started hacking again, the boy launched himself toward the bed, insinuating himself between the visitors and his mother. Obviously bent on protecting her, he whirled, his fists clenched defensively. “I won’t let you hurt her!”
Suspecting his belligerence was caused more by fear than anger, Roslyn would have tempered her reply, but Drew’s tone was not so gentle when he responded. “We have no intention of hurting your mother, lad. We are here to discuss your attempted theft of Lady Freemantle’s property.”
The boy ground his teeth. “It is not her property! The brooch belongs to my mother.”
“So you thought you had a right to hold up her ladyship’s coach at gunpoint, and when that failed, you invaded her home?”
Constance gasped. “No, Benjamin…you would never…do something so terrible.”
He turned to gaze down at her. “I’m sorry, Mama. I thought having Papa’s portrait might help you to get better.”
He turned back to face the duke, his gaze defiant. “Lady Freemantle won’t miss one little trinket with all those diamonds and emeralds she has in her jewel case. She is rich as a nabob.” His tone turned bitter with resentment. “It isn’t fair that she should be so wealthy while my mother and sisters starve.”
“Oh, Benjamin….” his mother murmured in dismay. “I taught you better than to covet other people’s possessions.”
His tone softened. “I was not coveting your brooch, Mama. It is rightfully yours, and I was only trying to get it back for you.”
Drew’s gaze remained grim. “You could have injured or killed Lady Freemantle and Miss Loring when you shot at them.”
Constance gave a low moan. “Dear heaven, Ben…how could you?”
The last fire left the boy’s eyes, to be replaced by guilt. “I am truly sorry, Mama. But my pistol discharged by accident. I would never have shot them, your grace. I would never hurt anyone.”
Interrupting the uneasy silence, Roslyn spoke up. “I have always found Lady Freemantle to be quite reasonable, Benjamin. Why didn’t you simply ask her to return the brooch?”
His gaze shifted to her. “I didn’t dare risk it, Miss Loring. Her ladyship didn’t know that her husband had another family—and I couldn’t tell her. In any case, I was sure she would be outraged if I approached her, enough to have me horsewhipped and driven off her estate or worse. Stealing the brooch was the only possible way I could regain possession of it.”
Although his voice remained steady, his chin was trembling, and Roslyn could detect more than a glimmer of remorse in his eyes.
“So you pretended to be a footman and managed to get hired for my sister’s wedding celebrations?” she asked.
“Yes…. I mean, it was no pretense. I am in service to Lord Faulkes. But a footman’s livery is a good disguise for a thief. The gentry never look at servants—they’re invisible.”
There was significant truth to his assertion, Roslyn acknowledged as Benjamin turned back to Drew.
This time his voice quivered noticeably when he queried, “D-do you mean to arrest me, your grace?”
Drew’s grave expression never changed. “Given the severity of your mother’s condition, I understand why you wished to champion her. But when you held up her ladyship’s carriage, were you aware that highway robbery is a hanging offense?”
A sob escaped Constance, while Benjamin’s face whitened again. “Y-yes, your grace.”
“Do you believe you should go unpunished for your crimes?” Drew asked.
The boy swallowed hard. “No, your grace.”
“Then what do you think your punishment should be?”
Drew waited, his sharp green gaze steady, while Benjamin remained silent.
Roslyn found herself biting her lip in consternation. The boy didn’t deserve to hang, and she couldn’t bear the thought of him being locked away in prison, especially when he was the sole provider for his mother and young sisters. But that was what would happen if Winifred brought charges of thievery against him. From the look of fear on his face, Benjamin was aware of the consequences, as well.
“I do not know, your grace,” he finally said. “Perhaps I should hang.”
With another anguished sob, Constance held out an imploring hand. “No…please, I beg you, your grace…you cannot hang my son, I beg you….”
Drew cast her a softer glance. “He will not hang, Mrs. Baines.”
Her sobs arrested. “Then…what will you do?”
“I have not yet decided.” When he met Roslyn’s gaze, she understood his dilemma. They couldn’t punish the boy as he deserved, but neither could they simply walk away. Nor could they determine his fate on their own. Winifred would certainly have to be part of the decision.
“I think,” Roslyn said quietly, “that we will have to discuss the matter with Lady Freemantle. Perhaps she can be persuaded not to prosecute.”
When Drew nodded slightly in agreement, Roslyn let out a relieved breath. It was indeed possible they could persuade the kindhearted Winifred to overlook Benjamin’s crimes. And in the meantime, he was unlikely to flee to avoid arrest as long as his mother and sisters needed him so desperately. And if he did flee…it would not serve justice, but Roslyn could accept that outcome.
“Thank you, Miss Loring,” Constance murmured gratefully as, with an exhausted sigh, she lay back and shut her eyes. The trauma had sapped what little strength she had.
Turning to bend over his mother, Benjamin clasped her hand tightly. “Please, your grace…Miss Loring,” he said over his shoulder, only this time making it a request. “You need to leave. You can arrest me if you want, but leave my mother alone. She had naught to do with my attempted thefts, and she is too ill to be subjected to further distress.”
Knowing he was right, Roslyn reached into her reticule and drew out all the money she had with her—three guineas and several shillings and pence—and held the coins out to Benjamin. “Here, this should allow you to send for a doctor.”
“No,” Drew intervened, “I will have a physician attend Mrs. Baines this afternoon.”
Roslyn nodded in relief, knowing Drew would be able to command the best possible care for the sick woman. But she continued to hold out the money. “Take this, Benjamin. You can use it to buy food for your mother and sisters.”
Benjamin’s mouth dropped open, but he refused to accept her offering, out of pride, she suspected. “Th-thank you, Miss Loring…but we do not want your charity.” He glanced down at his mother. “I brought you a mutton pie, Mama, and some bread and cheese for the girls.” Then he lifted his gaze again. “I can take care of my family.”
Drew stepped in again, taking Roslyn’s money and laying it on the bedside table. “You will accept it as a loan then, lad, until you get the funds that rightfully belong to you.”
“Funds?” Constance whispered.
“I intend to deal with Farnaby and ensure that Sir Rupert’s bequest to you is finally awarded, Mrs. Baines.”
Benjamin’s jaw dropped open, while Constance burst into tears, much to the alarm of her son. He looked at them frantically, clearly imploring them to leave the room, but his mother managed to find her voice.
“Thank you, your grace…I don’t care for myself…but my girls…my children…”
“Don’t concern yourself any longer, Mrs. Baines,” he answered. “You have my word that they will be cared for. For now you need to rest. We will show ourselves out.”
When Roslyn and Drew left the bedchamber, they found Constance’s young daughters huddled together in a chair, looking fearful. But both girls leapt to their feet and proffered polite curtsies. They had obviously been taught exquisite manners by their mother, despite their dire circumstances.
“Your mama is resting now,” Roslyn said softly. “But a doctor will be here shortly to try and help her get well.”
Their faces brightened a little before they scurried toward the bedchamber and tiptoed inside.
Sadness tugging at her heart, Roslyn remained silent until she and Drew were alone in the corridor. “We have to tell Winifred,” she said then. “As much as I regret having to cause her pain, she will want to know about Benjamin.”
“I’ll accompany you to Freemantle Park,” Drew responded, “and we will tell her together.”
When they reached the street, he sent his tiger home with his curricle, along with instructions for his secretary to have his personal physician be brought here at once to attend Mrs. Baines’s sickbed. After ordering to his coachman to take them to Chiswick, Drew handed Roslyn inside the carriage and climbed in to sit across from her.
“Did you mean it, Drew?” she asked once they were moving. “You will take on Farnaby and make him pay Mrs. Baines what he owes her?”
Drew’s jaw hardened. “It will be my great pleasure.”
“I hope it will be soon so she can move to better lodgings. She will die if she continues to suffer those appalling conditions.” Roslyn grimaced at the recollection. “I mean to have the Simpkins bring them some nourishing meals, and perhaps clean the lane of that stench.”
“Let my servants handle it,” Drew said tersely. “Mine are much closer, and it would be inconvenient for yours to come such a distance.”
“Thank you. That is very kind of you.”
“It isn’t kindness. Merely justice.”
Roslyn fell awkwardly silent, realizing that this was the first time she had been alone with Drew since their angry parting. But judging from his stony features, she was right to think that he was relieved to be freed from their betrothal.
There was nothing loverlike at all about his demeanor. Indeed his expression was grim, even angry. Perhaps because he was contemplating how he would compel the crooked solicitor to honor his obligations.
Roslyn was grateful to Drew for his involvement and glad he would be there with her to break the distressing news to Winifred, even if she regretted having to make the drive to the country in his company.
When she caught his gaze focused on her, however, Roslyn shifted hers away to stare out the window. She wouldn’t think about Drew now. Not when she should be determining what to say to Winifred.
Perhaps she should ask her friend to return the brooch to Constance. She hadn’t mentioned the idea earlier, so as not to raise any false hopes. But it would mean a great deal to Constance and provide a small measure of consolation if she was dying of her grave illness.
Roslyn felt her throat tighten as she thought of the woman’s terrible plight. Yet it hadn’t always been that way. Indeed, some of her past was enviable. Perhaps Constance had not had a legitimate marriage with Sir Rupert, but she had known the joy of true love. And she had three children whom she clearly cherished and who cherished her.
Something Roslyn herself might never have.
Realizing how selfish it was to wallow in self-pity at a time like this, Roslyn forcibly swallowed the ache in her throat. Yet she couldn’t help but be reminded of her long-held belief.
Constance’s sad story was just more proof that men generally loved their mistresses, not their wives—although she was not about to interrupt Drew’s grim silence to point out that distressing truth to him.