JORDAN Nicole (39 page)

“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 marryyou, 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She had withdrawn completely from him; he could see it in her emotionless expression, in her rigid posture.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.

Chapter Eighteen

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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.

“Ido 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. Weshouted 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 donot 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.