.
Rachel relaxed her fingers on her lap, and tried to calm herself with pleasant thoughts. When that didn’t work, she concentrated on the light bumping sensation of the road, as her carriage bustled through afternoon traffic.
That didn’t work either.
Anger was not the word to describe what she felt. Rage was more like it, it pounded in her mind and boiled her blood. She was possessed by a fury that burned so bright and pure, she feared it would lead to madness.
He’d danced. but not with Rachel.
With Lady Yall.
She’d watched the way Reuben had studied the woman, luring the duchess into his arms, with a look of pure want. They might as well have announced they were carrying on an affair to the entire ton!
He never looked at her that way.
And Lady Yall was nearly twice her age!
All right, maybe not that old, but surely old enough to be Rachel’s mother. Thirty-nine perhaps?
And now she was heading to his home, and only hoped he’d not be there. She was to meet with Alexandra, Rose, and Ellen Boyd. She decided readily that if Reuben was there, she would greet him and then use the rest of the time to ignore him.
But was that enough to gain his attention?
She thought of her mother then, and wondered what Florentia would have done in the face of such betrayal.
She knew the answer instantly. Her mother would have never lost the attention of a man to anyone else. If a man moved on, it was because her mother had let him go.
Why should she be more alluring?
She thought about the portrait of her mother in a yellow dress. A jeweled headdress sat beside it. Made of diamonds and jade, it was the only piece of jewelry Rachel owned, and not once had she worn it. The lovely piece had been her mother’s, and Rachel simply couldn’t think of a way to make it work for herself. She did, however, enjoy trying it on whenever she wanted to be close to the woman who’d given birth to her.
She often ran her hand over the jewels, and promised herself that one day she would wear it to a ball, or simply to tea at a friend’s house, just as her father often said Florentia had. She’d always thought herself pretty, but just… pretty. Her dress and style were demure in comparison to how Lady Yall had looked tonight, but Yall was a married woman. Her dress could be cut as low as she wished, and no one would say a word.
Perhaps she should change her hair.
She looked over at her lady’s maid who was staring out the window, a serene look covered the young woman’s face. “Lucille, what do you think of my hair?” She’d never asked her lady’s maid that before. Lucille was new. Rachel’s other maid, Martha, had married a few weeks ago with the decision of to move to the country. Martha had left her station vacant, forcing Rachel to find another maid.
So, Rachel had done what any other wealthy lady would do, and taken a girl from the continent. Lucille was French, and pretty, and Rachel had found her to be quite efficient at her duties, along with remaining unnoticed.
When they’d first met, Lucille had tried to make a few suggestions to Rachel’s style, but Rachel had missed Martha too much, to truly listen to her. What she’d really been looking for was another Martha, and thus, Lucille did anything as Martha had done, but she and Lucille didn’t have a rapport like Rachel had had with Martha.
Lucille had dark brown hair and pale brown eyes, and turned her gaze to look at Rachel. Her gaze focused on Rachel’s hair, and then her eyes. “Your hair is the loveliest shade of red I’ve ever seen, like the color of life.”
Rachel touched her hair, and smiled for the first time that afternoon. “Well, thank you, Lucille.” She’d never thought her hair the equivalent of such a profound thing as life. “And what of its style?” She usually wore her hair pulled away, with a few stray curls left by her temples and ears, as was the fashion. In the evening, she’d add a few jewels, but nothing more than that.
Lucille returned her gaze to the window as she spoke. “The style is of the standard. Classical.”
“Thank you.” Though Rachel wasn’t sure that was a compliment. She asked another question just to be sure. “Do you like it?”
Lucille shrugged. “It is simple to do.” She seemed confused. “It is your usual style. Do you not like it?”
“No, I mean, yes, it’s fine.” Though the words ‘simple’ and ‘usual’ didn’t sit well with her, not as much as they’d had, when Rachel had told Lucille weeks ago, that she’d wanted those very things.
Martha had done everything simply, and had always told Rachel how pretty she was. Lucille barely made comments.
Before she could say more, the carriage door opened. She stepped out, and the footman let her down. The door was opened by a butler. She handed Lucille her bonnet and took in the sight of Reuben’s home.
From what her eyes could see, it was more like an empty vessel. The foyer walls were a nice pale green, though she thought it could use a fresh coat, yet nothing made that stand out more than the fact that there was nothing on them.
“Welcome to my home.”
She was jarred out of her thoughts, and her eyes landed on Reuben as he came from around the grand staircase in the heart of the foyer. Remembering what she’d decided just that morning, she curtsied. “Lord Eastridge. Where are the others?”
Reuben looked at his pocket watch. “You’re at least a half hour early, my lady.” His eyes came to her again. “No one else is here. Perhaps, you had the time wrong?” He lifted a brow.
Rachel folded her arms. She’d most definitely not misheard the time, which meant Rose had planned this all along, and for once, she detested her friend’s help. Avoiding him would only be rude now, so she allowed her mind to settle on her surroundings, while she tried to forget their owner. “You need décor.”
“I already told you that. Would you like a tour?”
She turned to find him with his arm outstretched toward her. Looking about, she said, “I should probably wait in the carriage for the others to arrive. It’s quite inappropriate—”
He lifted a brow. “We’ve been friends for years. And there’s no reason to stand on ceremony. I assure you, my sisters will say nothing to ruin your reputation.” He kept his arm out, and his eyes trained on her.
Rachel turned to look at Lucille, to find the woman’s expression to be saying nothing. Then she turned back to Reuben, and took his arm. They’d started down the hall when she whispered, “Just the common rooms.” Aunt Esther was set to arrive tomorrow, and Rachel was sure she’d have no further occasions to be alone with Reuben after that.
He chuckled, catching her off guard. “I wouldn’t take you to my private apartments, I can assure you.”
While the words would have brought comfort, they did not. Instead, she felt mortified. Of course, he wouldn’t take her to his rooms, and of course, he was no danger to her reputation, because he’d made it abundantly clear that she was but a child to him. ‘Little Rachel’. Not a lady that one wed, but one that was gently patted on the head.
Rage forced her next words from her lips. “How foolish of me to assume so. It’s clear what sort of woman you would take to your rooms.”
He was silent, as they stopped inside the sitting room. It was red with black finishing and sparsely furnished. She took all that in with one glimpse, before she was turned around and forced to face Reuben.
His face seemed calm, but his eyes were watchful. “Such a conversation between us would be inappropriate.”
They were not the words she’d wanted to hear. She’d wanted to him to ask her what sort of woman she assumed would be in his bed, so she could ask if he’d had a rendezvous with Lady Yall last night. She balled her hands into fist, her palms aching as her nails pinched her flesh. “What sort of woman would you have this conversation with?”
“Not you,” he said clearly.
She stepped back and turned toward the room. Once again, she decided it probably best if she ignored him, however rude that may appear. “While the tour seemed a pleasant idea, I believe it best that I remain here and wait for the others. I can spend my time thinking of a guest list for the party. Could you please send a maid for tea?”
She heard him move, the light brushing of shoes on carpet, and released a breath. She was taking a seat on the couch when she realized Reuben hadn’t left. He stood by the bell pull and then moved to sit next to her.
“What are you doing?” she snapped.
He settled down and said, “If you’re to make a guest list, I find it best that I help. There may be people I wish do not attend.”
A footman appeared, and he made his request while also asking for paper and ink.
Then he turned back to her, as though it didn’t set her on edge, as though it were the most natural thing to do.