Annie Burrows (7 page)

‘Not necessarily,’ put in Robert.

‘Of course it does,’ cried Rose. ‘Lydia has to go to Cissy. And I cannot stay in town without a proper chaperon. And anyway, how could you think I would
want
to stay here now I know what it has cost Cissy?’

‘I didn’t, of course. It is just that I think I have found a way to deal with this problem without curtailing your Season completely.’

‘Cissy is not a problem,’ said Rose indignantly. ‘She is a darling!’

Lydia looked at the way brother and sister were squaring up to each other and sighed. They’d come so far in the months since their father’s death. The Colonel had been hopeless at demonstrating his feelings for his children when they’d been little. It had left Robert resentful at being sent away to school in England while he’d kept the girls with him, and them feeling second-best. They only saw that he’d been educated as an English gentleman, while they’d had ayahs and tutors. It had taken some time to explain that the Colonel had been afraid Robert might succumb to some tropical infection, as his English mother had done. That he was trying to protect him, rather than rejecting him. And that, conversely, he couldn’t bear to be parted from all his children.

She could not let all their newly established rapport disintegrate, just because Lord Rothersthorpe had put her out of countenance. For that was what it boiled down to. She had been angry before Robert had even entered the room.

‘I think we should both try to calm down and hear what Robert has to say,’ she said wearily. ‘There is no sense in us all falling out with each other.’

While she sank into the nearest chair, Rose flounced on to another and folded her arms.

‘It was meeting Lord Rothersthorpe that put me in mind of a solution, funnily enough,’ Robert began. ‘It made me recall how I used to treat the house, before Lydia married Father. How I used to invite parties of friends to row up and picnic in the grounds. And how popular those outings used to be.’

‘You mean, even though we will be staying at Westdene, we could still write and invite people down for the day?’ Rose sat up straighter. ‘Yes, that would work. What do you think, Mama Lyddy?’

Lydia flushed and looked down at her feet. It had been on one of those picnics that Lord Rothersthorpe had raised her hopes, for those few brief, exhilarating minutes. Robert surely was not going to suggest she organise another? It would mean reliving the pain of rejection all over again.

Fortunately, before she could draw breath to voice her reluctance, Robert spoke again.

‘That was not quite what I had in mind. I rather thought we might have a fully fledged house party. Mama Lyddy accused me of not letting you get to know any of these young men who claim to have been smitten by you. So I thought, if you have them about you all day, we will soon discover what they are really made of.’

Rose let out a shriek of delight, leapt to her feet and flung her arms round Robert’s neck.

‘Robert, you are brilliant! It is just the thing. I need only invite—’ she broke off with a blush ‘—the people I really like. And we
will
soon see what they are really made of, by the way they react to Cissy.’

‘Ah,’ said Robert with a frown. ‘I had not thought of that. And really, you know, perhaps that wouldn’t be quite fair. You cannot use Cissy as some sort of...test.’

‘What did you expect when you suggested having visitors, then, Robert?’ Lydia fumed. ‘Did you think I would keep her hidden away?’

‘Well, no. But she spends most of her time in the nursery, anyway.’

‘If anyone,’ said Rose, ‘says one unkind word to Cissy, I will send them packing.’

‘It might be a little too late for Cissy by then, though...’ said Robert pensively.

‘She is not as fragile as all that,’ said Lydia. ‘Provided we are there to love her, she will not care what anyone else may say to her, or think of her.’

‘Are you quite sure?’

‘Oh, yes.’ Well, probably. ‘And as Rose has so astutely pointed out, what better way to find out what a person is really made of, than to force him to confront a girl with all of Cissy’s disadvantages?’

It had certainly proved that she had made the right choice in accepting Colonel Morgan’s offer. He might have blustered and barked orders, and lost his temper when things were not done to his exacting standards, but he had not been, at bottom, a cruel man. When he’d first seen Cissy, he had lost his temper—oh dear me, yes. But he had done so to good effect, reducing those who had been maltreating her to quivering wrecks.

There was a great deal of difference between a man’s manner and his true self. She only had to think how she’d been taken in by Rothersthorpe’s charm when she’d been a naïve girl. Looking back now, she could see that though he had it in him to be kind, those random acts that had so impressed her were all of a rather showy variety. And none of them had cost him anything.

Even when he’d caught her up in his arms and carried her indoors, it had been the kind of act that would have caught the eyes of all the other ladies in the party. When he returned to them, she would wager they had mobbed him, treating him as though he was some kind of hero.

But she couldn’t help reflecting that he’d managed to leave her side before she’d emptied the contents of her stomach all over the drawing-room floor. Nor had he meant a single word he’d spoken to her in such tender tones.

‘Men,’ she said with just a touch of bitterness, ‘can appear to be all that one would wish for in a husband, but turn out to be far from what you first thought them to be, only when it is too late. Invite who you will to Westdene, Rose. So long as I am there to support her, nobody will be able to do Cissy any harm.’

‘Anyone who tries will have to answer to me, too,’ said Robert gruffly, taking her hand.

‘And we will send them packing,’ said Rose with a militant lift to her chin and the light of battle in her eyes. ‘For I wouldn’t dream of marrying a man who could not accept Cissy exactly as she is.’

Chapter Four

R
ose was all for getting into their carriage and leaving town at once, then writing to the people they would invite to stay with them for a week.

Robert said it was the worst thing they could do.

‘People will become intrigued if we all just up and leave in a hurry. And they will ask questions. If we prevaricate, their curiosity will be roused to fever pitch. Do you really want Cissy to become the topic of gossip?’

‘Mama Lyddy,’ said Rose, turning to her imploringly. ‘What do you think we should do?’

While the two siblings had been squabbling, Lydia had been sitting quietly, thinking. There was only one event she still really wanted Rose to attend and it was only a few days away. She would be willing to put off their departure from town until after the soirée at Lord Danbury’s house, so important for Rose’s future did she believe it could be.

‘On this occasion,’ she therefore said, ‘I concede that Robert has raised a good point. I do think it would be for the best if people thought we were leaving town because we’d decided to throw a house party, rather than having been called home for an emergency. And if I were to write to Marigold and tell her the exact date on which we will return, she and Michael could help Cissy to count down the days. It might help her to calm down, a little.’ Perhaps.

* * *

Once they’d agreed this was the course to take, she had written to Marigold, outlining their plans. She had left it to Rose to write out the invitations to her favourites, merely requesting a copy of her list so she could warn their housekeeper, Mrs Broome, how many people to expect.

She could not stop worrying about Cissy, but she thought she managed to hide the depth of her concern from Rose. The last thing she needed was to hear that she did not believe anything would calm Cissy down but her own return to Westdene.

* * *

At last it was the eve of their departure and there they all were in Lord Danbury’s house, courtesy of his daughter, Lady Susan.

She had her suspicions that the lady in question had her eye on Robert, though her invitation had included them all. Robert had wealth and reasonable looks, and, from what she could see of the other guests, Lady Susan had a kind of fascination for the unusual. And from the way she had questioned Rose, upon their arrival, at such length about her mother and her life in India, she had appeared truly interested, if a bit patronising in her manner.

Perhaps, after this, when they returned to town, other society hostesses would begin to admit Rose to their ranks. If only Rose managed to make a good impression while she was here. The trouble was, even though Lady Susan had told Robert this was to be ‘a gloriously informal evening’, she wasn’t too sure what that meant. She had a horrid suspicion that the daughter of an earl could get away with much, under the banner of being ‘informal’, but that if the dark-skinned daughter of a colonel in the East India Company army behaved in exactly the same way, she would be condemned as ‘fast’.

Not that Rose was doing anything more outrageous than attracting a group of her admirers and holding court in her usual, impartial manner.

But ought Lydia to be part of the group? Was it acceptable to stay on the far side of the room, observing? Or should she, as chaperon, stick much closer to her charge?

She did not really want to intrude and put a damper on Rose’s enjoyment. It was just that several rather haughty-looking people had looked down their noses at the jolly group of youngsters as they had stalked past. Was it the fact of finding a nabob’s daughter, and a couple of junior naval officers in Lord Danbury’s house at all, or their free and easy manner of interacting, which was drawing down such disapproving stares?

She had almost decided that she ought to go and stand a little nearer, just to give them more of an appearance of respectability, when she was startled by an all-too-familiar, dark-brown voice drawling into her ear.

‘Champagne?’

She did not need to look round to know that it was Lord Rothersthorpe standing behind her, offering her a drink. She knew his voice only too well.

Though for the life of her, she could not think why he had approached her tonight. They had seen nothing of him since his visit to their house on the day they had decided to leave town. And on that occasion he had made it quite plain that he despised her for having
die-away airs
which made her so vulnerable she could only ever have been an
encumbrance
to him.

Though it made no difference to her, not now. How could it?

‘It does not have poison in it,’ he said, moving to stand in front of her, which gave her no choice but to acknowledge him. ‘I just thought you looked as though you could do with some fortification.’ He glanced across the room to where Rose was holding court.

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said, though she took the glass from his outstretched hand. It was the only way to make his arms go back to hanging by his sides. It was ridiculous of her, but having his hand stretched towards her like that made her remember things better left forgotten. Like how it had felt to be held in his arms. And taking a drink would give her something to blame for the peculiar fizz that was rushing down her spine. For it was not, it
could
not have been, created merely by the sound of his voice.

‘You were debating whether you ought to go over there and lend an air of respectability to the proceedings,’ he said.

Since it was ridiculous not to look at him while he was talking to her, she lifted her head, and did exactly that. The initial fizz turned into a sort of slow burn.

‘And I would guess, from the look of trepidation on your face, that you were also imagining the beauty’s reaction should you attempt anything so heavy-handed.’

She hated the way he’d read her so accurately. But what she hated even more was the way her body leapt to attention, just because he was standing so close and giving her his undivided attention. Bother her heart for fluttering and her lungs for needing to drag in extra amounts of air, and her knees for behaving exactly as they always did in his vicinity. Could they not pay attention to her head? It had been a
mistake
to been so taken in by him when she’d been a girl. She’d known it then and he’d confirmed it by the way he’d spoken to her since. He was not, and had never been, the man for her.

‘I fail to see why it should concern you,’ she retorted waspishly.

‘Nor do I, to be perfectly honest.’ He rubbed the back of his neck with the hand that had just held her champagne glass, his eyes growing uncharacteristically perplexed.

‘I have come to town to look for a wife, but ever since discovering that you are here, I keep looking out for you instead. And now that we happen to be at the same event, I have not been able to stay away from you. Have you any idea how annoying that is?’

He couldn’t stay away from her? He had been looking for her? Didn’t he mean, for Rose? She instinctively looked across the room and saw Rose looking back at her with open curiosity.

Oh dear. She hoped he would not linger talking to her for long, or Rose was bound to want to know what they had been discussing. And Rose was far too perceptive and inquisitive to be fobbed off for very long. Though her own thoughts in regard to Lord Rothersthorpe were far too muddled for her to comprehend, let alone attempt to explain to anyone else.

‘Perhaps,’ Lord Rothersthorpe continued, having raised his glass to Rose in salute, ‘it is just that something about the expression on your face reminded me of the girl you used to be. Which, in turn, made me behave like the green boy I used to be, too. An attack of nostalgia.’ His expression cleared. ‘Yes, that must have been it.’

‘You must certainly have changed since those days,’ she said, with a touch of asperity, ‘if you have to examine your motives for wanting to speak to an old friend.’

‘And thank God for it,’ he replied, his face turning cynical. ‘In those days I was completely taken in by that air of fragility you used to cultivate. Though fortunately, you have lost it, now.’ He frowned. ‘At least I thought you had.’ He gave a short, harsh laugh. ‘And yet you only have to look the slightest bit troubled to have me galloping to your rescue all over again.’

‘You never once galloped to my rescue,’ she retorted.

‘Oh? That is not what you used to say. Whenever I asked you to dance, you used to hang on my arm, looking up into my face as though I was a knight on a white charger.’ He bit the words out between clenched teeth. ‘You used to plead with me to take you out for air on the terrace, or a walk in the park...’

‘I did no such thing!’

‘Perhaps not in so many words, I will concede that point. But you used to plead with your eyes. They used to have such a speaking expression in them. Like a spaniel,’ he finished on a sneer.

‘Well I...that is, m...’ She finally managed to untangle her tongue. ‘I wonder that you b-bothered with me, then, if I reminded you of a d-dog. And exactly how did taking me for a walk equate with rescuing me?’

‘I took you out from under the shadow of that chaperon of yours, that’s how. The minute I pried you away from her you blossomed. You lost your stutter, you laughed and smiled. Sometimes, you looked so pretty I wondered that other fellows did not notice it. Though I gather that was the whole point, wasn’t it?’

‘Pretty?’ The shock of having a compliment flung at her in a way that made it sound as though he would rather have been insulting her filled her with a strange mix of emotions. ‘You thought I was pretty?’ The past swirled round her, like a gossamer cloud. She’d adored him and he’d secretly thought she was pretty. He’d never said so, but then he’d done all he could to keep things between them light. Paying compliments would have led her to hope for things he wasn’t prepared to offer.

Still, she had dared to believe he genuinely liked her, because nobody had forced him to take her for walks in the park. He had not needed to dance with her every time they attended the same balls, either. There were plenty of other damsels in need of a hero to brighten up their evening, were he really indifferent to her. But he had not been indifferent to her. Which was why, when he’d started to talk about marriage, she’d very nearly believed he’d meant it.

‘No,’ he said in a tone she’d never heard him use before, harshly scattering the shreds of memory to the four winds. ‘I thought you could
become
pretty, if someone were to take care of you properly. Well,’ he said with another harsh laugh, ‘time has proved me correct in that respect.’

He ran his eyes over her body with an insufferably insolent intensity. It made her blush all over.

‘You have become just as beautiful,’ he grated, ‘as I always suspected you could be.’

‘B-beautiful?’ That surpassed pretty. Prettiness was something that was easy to dismiss. Beauty implied a kind of power over the beholder.

‘Oh, come,’ he sneered. ‘You know very well exactly how alluring you are. I despise you and everything about you, and yet you only have to hang your head, or look the slightest bit anxious, to have me running to your side.’

Her heart was beating very fast. He thought she was beautiful? Alluring? She could scarcely believe it. And yet here he was, pressing champagne on her and telling her he despised her, yet being completely powerless to stay away from her.

For the first time in her life, she felt as though she could almost be dangerous. It was a heady sensation. But the feeling only flared for a moment before fizzling out and plummeting her back down to earth.

‘You despise me,’ she repeated, looking up into his face in pained bewilderment.

‘Are you surprised? You made me believe you needed gentle handling, someone to cosset and care for you. What an idiot I was. All you needed was a man with an open purse. Any man, to judge by the indecent haste with which you dragged Colonel Morgan to the altar.’

Anguish coiled inside her like a snake. And like a snake, it reared up and struck out.

‘At least he was prepared to go to the altar. Which you,’ she reminded him, ‘were not.’

He clenched his jaw against the words that clamoured for release. He could not tell her what he thought of her inconstancy, not here in this crowded drawing room. And as for claiming that he wasn’t prepared to go to the altar... He raised his glass to his mouth and drained it of its contents. Better than calling her a liar to her face.

How could she say he hadn’t been prepared to go to the altar when he’d asked her, outright, to marry him?

At least, his conscience nudged him, he’d asked her to
think
about it. And she’d given him her answer by marrying someone else.

‘I don’t know how many times you warned me you were never going to marry,’ she said, sending a cold sensation swooping through him.

Had he been as adamant as that? If he had, he’d conveniently stuffed that fact to the back of his mental wardrobe. But now that she’d dragged it into the daylight, he supposed he could see exactly how he might have given her that impression. At first it was because he’d begun to suspect
she
might have been falling in love with
him.
He’d wrestled with his conscience, wondering if it would be better for her not to have any more to do with him. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her.

But he hadn’t been able to stay away from her either. She’d exerted a fascination which he’d been increasingly powerless to resist.

Until he’d decided to stop fighting it and simply surrender to marriage.

Only she hadn’t trusted in him, had she? While he’d been raising the funds to pay for a wedding licence, she’d gone and married her nabob.

Though that hadn’t been the only reason she’d spurned him.

‘You certainly did not want to marry a fribble like me anyway, did you?’

She’d told him she loved being with him because he made her laugh. At the time, he’d taken it as a compliment, fooling himself into believing she actually liked him. It was only later that he’d realised it was the exact opposite. All he’d been to her was a bit of light relief during intervals between the serious business of husband-hunting. She’d actually admitted that she used him to make her look attractive to other men. In short, he’d been the equivalent of the clown during the intermission.