Chapter Six
The next morning there was no sign of the Duke at breakfast or when they entered the carriage to leave for Lady Spear’s At Home, despite his promise to go with them. Clearly he had been disgusted by her wanton behaviour. Misery rested heavily in her chest. She hadn’t realised how important she found his good opinion. And now she had lost it.
* * *
They were admitted to Lady Spear’s house by a very lordly-looking butler, who announced them to the company assembled in the drawing room in sonorous tones.
‘Lend me your arm, dear Miss Nightingale,’ Her Grace murmured as they lingered on the threshold. ‘I am feeling less than steady on my feet.’
Thus she and Rose swept into Lady Spear’s drawing room together instead of Rose following at a discreet distance and remaining unnoticed. She’d been outmanoeuvred by a frail old lady with a will of iron. As she looked about her, she realised there were far more people in attendance than she had been given to expect.
A large-bosomed woman in deep purple hurried forward to greet them. ‘Your Grace.’ The woman curtsied. ‘You honour us.’
The Dowager Duchess accepted the homage without blinking an eye. ‘Dear Lady Spear, I would like to introduce my companion, Miss Nightingale. Rose, this is Lady Spear, our hostess. Miss Nightingale has kindly consented to join my household.’ She smiled fondly at Rose. ‘She is most helpful.’
In other words, she was held in esteem by Her Grace, so don’t be treating her badly.
Rose stilled. Apparently she was becoming adept at deciphering the politics of society manners, after all. But then she had good teachers in the Dowager Duchess and the Duke. If only she hadn’t messed it all up. She pushed off the feeling of impending doom. There was no sense in worrying about what could not be changed, she’d decided in the wakeful early hours of the morning. Practical advice she was having trouble following.
‘And how is His Grace?’ Lady Spear asked.
While her voice held sympathy there was a gleam of something less kind in her hazel eyes as she peered at the Dowager Duchess, who released Rose’s arm to make a careless gesture with her hand. ‘He’ll be along shortly, so you may ask him for yourself. He would have come with us, but urgent business delayed him.’
Rose swallowed her surprise. It was the first she’d heard of urgent business. Or was the old lady telling a fib?
Lady Spear’s eyes widened. ‘Oh, I—’ She visibly pulled herself together and beamed. ‘That is wonderful news. I will be honoured.’ Her tone turned a little sly. ‘It has been such an age since anyone has seen him.’
Rose found herself clenching her fist at the woman’s insincerity. Forcibly, she relaxed her fingers and once more took Her Grace’s arm. It trembled a little beneath her hand. Worry replaced irritation. ‘Perhaps you could find Her Grace a chair, Lady Spear,’ she said quietly but firmly.
‘Yes, Eloisa, do find me a chair,’ the old lady added imperiously and gave Rose a conspiratorial smile.
‘Oh, pardon me, Your Grace. Please, come this way.’ She led them to a group of other elderly ladies seated around a low table.
Having seen Her Grace settled, Rose took the wooden chair placed by a footman off to the side and a little behind Her Grace. She breathed a sigh of relief. Here in the corner, she could observe without being noticed, just as Her Grace had promised.
A dark-haired gentleman approached Her Grace and bowed. With a start, Rose recognised him. Mr Oliver Gregory.
Such a handsome man with his dark skin and startling green eyes. But nowhere near as handsome as Westmoor. Not in her eyes. Her heart gave a funny little skip.
Mr Gregory bowed with elegance when he reached their group, his brief smile encompassing all the ladies in the circle and somehow included Rose, too. How did he do that? ‘Ladies. I bid you all a pleasant day.’
The ladies murmured their greetings with much fluttering of fans and adjusting shawls. There was something odd about their reaction. As if they would prefer he had stayed away. All except Her Grace, who greeted him with a warm smile and an outstretched hand. He bowed over it. ‘Your Grace. How delightful to meet you here and with Miss Nightingale, too. A great pleasure.’
The other ladies turned to look at her. Exactly what she had hoped to avoid. Heat flashed to Rose’s cheeks. She stammered something in reply.
He bowed as befitting her station. ‘Are you quite well, Miss Nightingale?’ His eyes held concern.
Dash it all, her sleepless night must be showing. ‘Perfectly, I thank you, sir.’ She spoke a little more stiffly than she had intended, but once more he had drawn other gazes to her little corner.
He gazed down at her, with a slight frown. He leaned a little closer. ‘You know, it is the strangest thing. I keep thinking I have met you somewhere before our dinner the other evening, but it isn’t possible.’
Of course he’d seen her before. He’d often been in the room when she’d cleaned out the fireplace in the owners’ private parlour. All the owners had. Once, this man had kindly opened the door for her when she was struggling with her buckets and brushes. Guilt swept through her. How would he react if he knew who she really was? She clenched her hands in her lap. ‘The first time we were introduced was at dinner with Her Grace.’
His lips tightened as if he had noticed the subtle change in her answer, but to her relief he turned back to Her Grace. ‘It really is good to see you out and about again, Your Grace, isn’t it, ladies?’
The other ladies nodded and twittered their agreement. ‘I thought Westmoor was to accompany you? It was part of my reason for being here. I needed a word.’
‘He will be along shortly, I am sure,’ Her Grace said, sounding more haughty than was her usual wont with this gentleman.
Mr Oliver’s eyes narrowed a fraction, hinting at displeasure. ‘Unfortunately, I am unable to await his arrival. I have another appointment.’
‘It seems that you are fortunate, young man,’ Her Grace said, nodding at the door. ‘Here he is now.’
A gasp rippled around the room as the butler announced the Duke of Westmoor. Rose’s heart lifted and, as his gaze caught hers, she couldn’t help but smile.
‘Careful, Miss Nightingale,’ Mr Gregory said in a low voice right by her ear. ‘Smiles like that will start the gossips wondering.’
She blushed and looked up at him. His green eyes were dancing with amusement, but there was also a question there and that shadow of puzzlement.
Her heart sank. He was a clever man. He was going to remember. And then what?
The Duke’s arrival triggered a great deal more rushing forward and curtsying by Lady Spear and various other women, while the men bowed their greetings. Outwardly, the Duke seemed to take it all in his stride, but Rose saw the shadows in his eyes and the faint lines of strain around his mouth.
She wanted to go to him to offer her support, but how could she? She was merely his grandmother’s companion. Which reminded her, she was neglecting her duty. Rose tucked the shawl she was holding around the Dowager Duchess’s shoulders. ‘In case you feel a draught,’ she murmured.
‘Such a kind, thoughtful girl you are,’ Her Grace said with a smile. ‘I am very fortunate to have found you.’ She turned to the woman at her side. ‘Finally, I have found a companion worthy of her hire.’
The other lady’s glance skimmed over Rose. ‘Who is her family?’
Rose held her breath.
‘Distant relatives of my son’s wife,’ the old lady said.
A gasp almost escaped Rose’s lips. That was an out-and-out bouncer. She opened her mouth to deny it, then closed it again. What would it serve? She would only embarrass the old lady by revealing the lie.
She inched her chair back a little farther into the shadows of the corner.
While Her Grace exchanged gossip with her companions, Rose sat as still as possible, her hands folded neatly in her lap, and tried to disappear into the background. Yet over and over her gaze was drawn to the Duke holding court with a group of young ladies. Her heart squeezed painfully. She forced herself to look away, yet somehow she could not stop herself from being aware of his every movement, every expression on his face, no matter how brief.
He wasn’t happy.
Also, though his gaze never strayed her way once, she had the oddest feeling she had his undivided attention. But it wasn’t possible. Not for a moment.
A footman arrived with a dish of bohea for Her Grace, added cream and sugar, according to the old lady’s likes, and placed it in front of her. By the time he had served Her Grace, the footman, clearly aware of her lowly status, had moved off, though no doubt he would come back around when everyone else was served.
Indeed. His next stop was the Duke, whose expression was now a picture of grim dissatisfaction. Another footman arrived with fancy little cakes and Rose filled a plate for her employer who was deep in conversation. She placed the plate at Her Grace’s elbow and retired to her seat.
A moment later, the footman returned with a cup of tea for her. Surprised, she stared at him. His face was bland, as was the face of the footman behind him waiting to offer her a plate of cakes.
Something made her glance in the direction of the Duke and for a moment their gazes met. With a slight nod of satisfaction, he turned to speak to the lady at his side and Rose wondered if she had imagined their exchange of glances, so attentive did he seem to be to the lovely young lady.
She glanced at the clock. A mere twenty minutes had passed. Her Grace had promised they would not stay long and wondered how she could possibly manage with a plate of cakes in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. Fortunately, a fair-haired gentleman standing nearby seemed to realise her dilemma. He came over with a smile and bowed. ‘I fear we have not been introduced. I’m Faxford—Spear’s eldest. Perhaps I may be of assistance.’ He signalled to a footman. ‘Fetch a table, would you, John?’
The footman scurried off, returning a few moments later with a piecrust table, which he set within arm’s reach of her chair.
‘Sorry about that. Stupid fellow should have seen you needed somewhere to set your cup down,’ the young man said, taking her plate and setting it down.
She smiled her gratitude.
Her Grace turned around. ‘Faxford, Miss Nightingale is my companion and you will cease your flirting immediately.’
‘Miss Nightingale,’ Faxford said with a cheeky grin and a bow. ‘A pleasure to meet you. I knew I’d winkle an introduction eventually.’
Heat flooded Rose’s face.
* * *
Jake cursed under his breath at the sight of Faxford hovering over an embarrassed Rose. He hadn’t asked the footman to provide her with a cup of tea in order to give the blasted fellow an opportunity to show off his gentlemanly manners.
He shouldn’t have done it at all. Servants gossiped.
He resisted the urge to join his grandmother and give Faxford a set down. A kindly employer ensuring his mother’s companion got a cup of tea was understandable, just. The same employer acting like a jealous fool would be quite another.
And now she was smiling at the fellow, albeit shyly. He clenched his jaw so hard, his back teeth ached. He turned away, only to see a matron with her marriageable daughter in tow striding in his direction.
Avoiding catching the woman’s eye, he sauntered to his grandmother’s side and bowed to the ladies. ‘You will let me know when you are ready to leave, Your Grace?’
His grandmother hid her surprise. ‘I will, dear boy. Thank you.’ She turned back to the lady with whom she was conversing.
Faxford, blast him, grinned cheerfully. ‘The ladies love their gossip.’
‘Indeed,’ he said repressively.
The young man shifted from foot to foot. ‘What do you think about this business in the north?’ he blurted out, clearly trying for another topic of conversation. ‘This riot.’
‘I read about that,’ Rose said. ‘Some are calling it a massacre. It warrants some sort of official investigation, I should think.’
Faxford blinked his surprise. ‘By Gad, Miss Nightingale, are you a bluestocking?’
Jake raised a haughty brow. ‘You raised the topic, Faxford. Hardly fitting in mixed company.’
The young man visibly wilted. ‘Oh, right. I beg pardon. My mistake. If you will excuse me, my mother is trying to catch my attention.’ He bowed and to Jake’s satisfaction scurried off.
Rose frowned at him. ‘Surely such an important event is everyone’s concern?’
Jake’s jaw dropped at her challenging tone. He gave her the same haughty look he had given Faxford. ‘I have no intention of engaging in rumour-mongering, Miss Nightingale and that is what it would be since I do not as yet have all the facts.’
She frowned, clearly undeterred. ‘Hardly a rumour. Troops called out to quell a riot, if you believe the government. A massacre of citizens, if you believe those present. The real question is how is the truth to be discovered, Your Grace?’
Rose was right of course. Her argument was the same as that he had presented to Prinny that very morning. Not something he could bruit abroad, however. Discussions with the Prince Regent were confidential. ‘You suggest some sort of impartial enquiry, I assume?’
She wrinkled her brow thoughtfully. ‘Is it even possible?’
‘It certainly ought to be.’
She glanced up at him. ‘What did he mean by calling me a...a stocking, was it?’
Jake lowered his voice. ‘We can discuss it later.’
Anger rose in Jakes’s throat at the worry on her face. He wanted to march over to Faxford and make him apologise. Yet with the old biddies looking on, they would find themselves the subject of gossip in a heartbeat should he do so. He set his jaw and said nothing.
‘Why, we have been here half an hour already,’ Grandmama said, smiling up at him and filling the awkward pause in their conversation. ‘Jacob, would you have the carriage brought around?’
Jake bowed. ‘It will be my pleasure.’ He tried not to notice Rose’s anxious expression. He would explain it later.
* * *
Westmoor joined his grandmother and Rose in the drawing room after dinner, though he had not joined them for the meal itself.
‘Will you explain what is meant by bluestocking, Your Grace?’ Rose asked once the servants had withdrawn. She hadn’t found the word in the dictionary she had borrowed.
Her Grace looked up, her mouth wrinkling as if she’d tasted a quince. ‘Did someone call you that, Rose?’
‘Faxford,’ Jake answered. ‘The idiot.’
‘I gather, then, being a bluestocking is not a good thing,’ Rose said, her stomach falling away. Oh, why, oh, why had she said anything at all? And just when she’d begun to feel more comfortable in her new position.
‘It means a young woman who is more interested in politics and education than she is in gowns and dancing,’ the Dowager said.
‘A lady is not supposed to be interested in the events of the day?’ It hardly seemed right. ‘Shouldn’t soldiers attacking women and children concern everyone? Not to mention the unrest it has caused. There is talk of revolution.’
The old lady’s chin trembled. She looked at her grandson. ‘Jake, is this true? Are the peasants rising against us?’ She shuddered. ‘One cannot but help think of France.’
Rose’s stomach pitched. ‘I am sorry, Your Grace. I did not mean to scare you.’
The Duke’s lips thinned. ‘We do not have peasants in England, Grandmama. And let us not jump to conclusions. That was your advice, was it not, Rose?’
Rose wished she’d never opened her mouth. Anyone of nobility would be scared witless after what had happened in France.
The old lady fixed her grandson with an intense stare. ‘Cooler heads must prevail, Jacob. I am relying on you to speak to the Prince. To make him see reason. This is England. Our soldiers do not run roughshod over the populace. Now, if we have quite exhausted this topic, I find I am tired. Ring the bell, Jake. I wish to retire.’
Her heart sank. How could she have been so thoughtless as to upset the old lady? ‘I am sure it will all be resolved satisfactorily in the end. I am sorry if my careless words caused you worry.’
‘Nonsense, child. My weariness has nothing to do with politics. I need my sleep after all our gadding about today.’
Jake rang the bell, then went to help his grandmother to rise. ‘I will escort you up, Grandmama.’
‘No need. Previs is here now. Finish your tea, Jake. Entertain Miss Nightingale. Perhaps you would read to her for a change.’
The elderly butler had indeed arrived and was handing the old lady her cane and offering an arm. They staggered out, closing the door behind them. An unusual mistake. Should she get up and open it? Would it not seem distrustful? She glanced at Westmoor for his reaction and was surprised at his strained expression.
‘I am so sorry, Your Grace. I would not upset your grandmother for the world. She has been so very kind.’
When he said nothing, she felt compelled to continue. ‘I told you I’d muck things up. Me pretending to be a lady is such a...’ she waved a hand to encompass everything around her ‘...farce.’
She had never seen a farce at the theatre, but she’d read them. Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream and As You Like It. People dressing up as what they were not. While as funny as all get out, things often ended badly.
‘Rose,’ Jake said.
There was something in his voice that made her look at him more closely. He was laughing? She bridled. ‘What? Do you find me amusing?’
‘Not at all,’ he said, laughter dancing in the depths of his eyes. ‘Poor young Faxford. The brainless idiot didn’t have a clue what you were talking about. That is why he called you a bluestocking.’
‘How mean. I promise to be more careful.’ Something inside her shrivelled a little.
‘You certainly don’t want people to think you have any sort of brain,’ His Grace said, agreeably.
She glared at him. ‘Why must women act like foolish creatures without a sensible thought in their heads?’
He must have realised her distress, for he reached over and patted her hand. The touch of his bare skin on hers sent tingles rushing across her skin.
‘I’m teasing, Rose. I like you just as you are. Unfortunately, one derogatory remark can be picked up and passed from person to person until one’s reputation is in tatters. Men love to deride intelligent women. It makes them feel superior.’
‘Derog...’ She frowned as she tried to get her tongue around the unfamiliar word. ‘Derogatory. I assume it was something intended to hurt.’
‘From the Latin, derogatorius, meaning impairing in force or effect, criticising.’
Her head whirled. ‘You speak Latin?’
‘I learned Latin. No one speaks it any more. But that is beside the point. Faxford is a twit, whereas you are eminently sensible.’
A feeling of pride at his praise swelled her heart. ‘Which account do you believe?’
‘The prognosis is not good.’ He winced. ‘I apologise, I forget you have not had the same opportunity to—’
‘Oh, I know what that means. It is a medical term for the course of a disease.’ She had heard the doctors at the orphanage use it. ‘You think there is cause for concern?’
‘I do. I ran into Tonbridge, a military man with friends in the army. He believes the press has the right of it, for a change. Resentment among the people is building.’
She gasped. ‘Revolution?’
‘No need to look so hopeful, my dear.’
They both burst out laughing.
When their laughter died away, once more Rose looked so adorably serious, Jake wanted to kiss her.
‘You really think it will come to that?’ she asked.
‘Let us hope not, though there is talk of Acts which will not be popular with the people.’
‘You will speak against them in the Lords?’
He ignored the pang of guilt. ‘I have no seat.’
She frowned at him. ‘You are a duke, are you not? A peer?’
‘I am. But there are customs and processes to be observed. I haven’t bothered.’ He hadn’t felt he had the right or the need. Against his will his gaze flicked to the swath of black crepe covering the picture over mantel. ‘I have been otherwise occupied since gaining the title.’ If one could call it a gain. He frequently felt he had been much better off as plain Lord Jake.
‘Did your father take an active role in politics?’ she asked casually.
‘He did.’ A memory made him want to smile. ‘He and I were not always in accord with how the country should be run, but he was...assiduous in voting his seat.’
She glanced down at her hands. ‘Assiduous.’ She rolled the word around her mouth. ‘I see.’
What did she see? Guilt pricked his conscience. A feeling he resented. ‘What are you thinking, Miss Nightingale? That I should take up the cause of our northern citizens, perhaps? Insist that any soldier who used his sword on a member of the public be tried for murder?’
‘Not the soldiers,’ she said quickly, softly. ‘Those who gave the orders.’
‘Men like me.’
She stiffened. ‘You are offended. I do not agree with those who call for an uprising, you know. Too many people will be hurt, most of them women and children. I do, however, believe the way the country is run must change. Ordinary people must have more say.’
‘By Jove, you really are a bluestocking, Miss Nightingale.’ At the sight of her hurt, he touched a finger to her nose. ‘I mean that as a compliment.’
‘And you will...vote your seat, is it called? On this matter?’
‘I do not know.’ A very shameful truth. ‘I really do need more information.’ But he would speak to Tonbridge again. The man seemed to have more knowledge and intellect than most and he was also a ducal heir. ‘I will think about it, certainly.’ But to sit in his father’s place in the Lords, the very idea made him nauseous.
‘You still grieve for them,’ she said softly. ‘Your father and your brother.’
Shock rippled through him. At the words. At the look of understanding rather than sympathy that somehow made their deaths all the more real, when most days he still did not fully believe it. He forced his gaze away from the black crepe that hid nothing of their faces from his mind’s eye. ‘Shall we read that poetry as Grandmama suggested?’ He reached for the book.
‘No, thank you, Your Grace.’ She was already rising to her feet with a small smile. ‘It has been a very long day, with more than its share of excitement. I think I, too, will retire.’
Frowning, he shot to his feet. Had he said something wrong? Now he looked at her, he realised she was a little pale and drawn. Naturally she would have found her first foray into society daunting. Yet she’d still had the wit and the energy to debate politics with him. ‘Very well, I shall escort you up.’
‘No need.’
‘It will be my pleasure.’
Without further demur she placed her hand on his arm. He walked her sedately up the stairs to the door of her chamber.
She stopped and he opened it. About to step inside, she hesitated, looking up at him. ‘You do not think my error today is irredeemable, then? I would hate to give Her Grace cause for embarrassment. I—I have come to like my position here.’
Wonder of wonders. ‘I think your little faux pas will scarce make a ripple.’
‘Foh-pah?’
‘It is French for error. A minor mistake.’ He spelled it out.
She shook her head. ‘How will I ever learn all of this?’
‘You have made great strides, Miss Nightingale, do not doubt your ability.’
She swung around to face him, a smile on her face. ‘You know I don’t think I ever thanked you properly for this opportunity. Indeed, I came most unwillingly, I believe.’
‘You did. Believe me, no thanks are required. Your presence is a boon of the highest magnitude. I haven’t see Grandmama in such good spirits for a long while.’
‘You are good man, Jacob Huntingdon, despite your attempts to hide it.’
Surprised, he stared at her. ‘Why would you think I—?’
She touched a fingertip to his lips. ‘You hated that event today, yet you came to please your grandmother.’
Not only his grandmother, but he wasn’t about to admit that to Rose. ‘It was my duty.’ He sounded stilted. Uncomfortable. But what was new about that? Nothing in his life was comfortable. Except perhaps his private moments with Rose, when he could be himself.
She shook her head at him. ‘You really deserve more than duty, Your Grace.’
His breathing quickened at her teasing tone. The urge to smile back pulled at his lips. He closed the distance between them. ‘What would you suggest?’
The delicious scent of her body filled his nostrils, her warm smile was an unexpected welcome. He wanted to bask in that warmth. To drink his fill of her sweetness. He should not. Must not.
As she placed her hand flat on his chest, he found himself wanting to hold it. He clenched his fists behind his back instead. He would not treat her as if she was anything less than a lady, even if she could never be his lady, in red or any other colour. He steeled himself to step back. ‘I beg your pardon. A gentleman should not importune a lady under his roof. I—’
‘If I was truly a lady,’ she interrupted softly, ‘you would not have kissed me last night.’
Regret speared him. An apology leapt to his tongue. But that little hand gripped his lapel tight enough for her knuckles to show white through her skin. ‘And if I was any sort of real lady I would not have kissed you back. I don’t want you to go.’
She rose up on her toes and pressed her mouth to his.
Unable to stop himself, he swept her into the circle of one arm, deepening the kiss, while opening her door with the other. He edged her inside and closed it behind them. A long moment later, he lifted his head, breathing hard.
‘Rose. That is what I call an ambush. And it is not the first time I have been ambushed by a lady. So don’t think it.’
She was panting and staring at his mouth with the kind of raw hunger that called to him on a very basic level. ‘You really do kiss beautifully, Your Grace. I have missed those kisses.’
‘Call me, Jake, sweetheart, please.’
‘Jake, right now, I would love it if you would kiss me again.’
He had never been propositioned so sweetly or so devastatingly. He fought to find some rational thought, some reason why he should walk away and...found nothing but the desire to kiss her again.
A groan rumbled up from his chest. Where Rose was concerned when it came to kissing, he had almost no willpower. A kiss, that was all it would be, and then he would leave.
He touched his lips to hers.