Toblethorpe Manor (33 page)

“As long as I get something to eat, you may share supper between you,” promised Rosalind. “And now I shall take Lady Annabel’s advice and rest a little.”

When Rosalind reached her room, she found an elaborate posy from Lord Harry and a simple spray of copper-colored beech leaves from Richard. She would gladly have worn the latter, which exactly suited her taste, but the last thing she wanted to do was to spoil the newfound and, she suspected, fragile accord between the two. Taking the circlet of wilted daisies from her head, she wished she might wear that.

She read for a while, and then rang for Joan. It took her some time to dress, as she had decided to try her hair in a new style. Usually she wore it pulled gently back into a knot at the nape of her neck. Now the maid wove it into braids that softly framed her face and rose to circle her head in a coronet of shining copper. Gazing into the looking glass, she wondered why she had not experimented before.

“I think it suits me, do not you, Joan?” she asked.

“Oh yes, Miss Rosalind. When you are all ready, you’ll be as fine as fivepence, and no mistake.”

“How did you learn to dress hair like this? I’d no idea you could do such beautiful work.”

“Lady Annabel’s maid condescended to give me a few tips, miss. She’ve taken a rare liking to you.”

“How strange. I don’t believe I have spoken to her above twice. I must thank her for coaching you. And thank you, Joan, for taking the trouble to learn.”

“I’m happy as you like it, Miss Rosalind. It’s a pleasure to work with hair like yourn. I’ve taken those tucks in the gown. Will you put it on now?”

“Yes, I am ready. You know, it is a long time since I have been to such a grand ball. I feel quite fluttery.”

“There’ll not be a lady to beat you, miss. I just wish I could see you dancing, a proper picture you’ll be.”

“I wish I could take you, Joan, if it would please you. You’ll not wait up. I’ve no notion how late we’ll be.”

“Oh, we’re to have a bit of a fling in the servants’ hall, miss. I ‘spect I’ll still be about.”

“Enjoy yourself, my dear. I’ll wager you’ll look as pretty as a picture yourself. There, just the necklace and I’ll be ready to go down.”

The abigail fastened the chain, and the huge stone lay glowing on her breast. She looked at it in the mirror, a little awed, and thought of Charles with sudden tenderness. How kind he was to think of her at such a time.

When she entered the salon, the reaction was all she could have desired. Richard and Harry came swiftly to greet her, and she read in their faces that she was beautiful.

“What a magnificent stone!” exclaimed Harry. “Yet your eyes are more brilliant by far, and the copper of your hair is more precious than any gold chain.”

“Very poetic,” declared Rosalind, laughing at him. “Now make it rhyme.”

“Lucy told me Charles was giving you a pendant,” Richard said. “A princely gift indeed! No brother could be more generous and thoughtful.”

“He was always loving and considerate,” Rosalind assured him softly. “You need have no fears for Lucy.”

He smiled at her with gratitude, and spoke in a voice as low as hers. “You are right. I think if I had to pick any one quality I should most require in a husband for my little sister, I should choose kindness. I shall put away my doubts.”

Rosalind would have replied, but Harry, who had been hovering impatiently, trying not to eavesdrop, interrupted.

“Come, Rosalind,” he cried gaily, “we are agreed to share your time fairly tonight, and you must promise to favor neither. Tomorrow is Sunday. You would not have us fight a duel on the Sabbath?”

“No, nor any other day. If I thought you contemplated such a shocking action, I should have no hesitation in informing the nearest magistrate and having you both clapped up in jail,” said Rosalind with mock severity.

“You would catch cold there, for Tony is a justice and would free me at once.”

“Whatever makes you think so?” asked Lord Denham, appearing at his brother’s elbow. “Miss Stuart looks a very queen. If she commanded it, I should undoubtedly ship you to Botany Bay on the next transport!”

“Oh, unnatural brother!” Harry groaned and clutched his head.

“You see, Rosalind,” Richard pointed out with a twinkle in his eye, “you must be a very paragon of fairness this night, or you will be responsible for fratricide at the least.”

“I think it will be much easier if I simply refuse to speak to either of you,” suggested Rosalind.

Both gentlemen cried out upon this, and they went in to dinner laughing.

To Rosalind’s surprise, the truce continued throughout dinner and the drive to Haddesdon Hall. She stood up for a country dance with Harry, and then was partnered by Charles, Lord Denham and William Denison in turn. The orchestra struck up a waltz next, and Richard claimed her hand.

She had felt his arm around her before, but her memory was only of the times he had supported her as she learned to ride again. She had been too agitated to notice anything except the task before her. Now it made her slightly breathless, and she was constantly conscious of the light pressure at her waist as they spun about the room. They did not speak. They floated in a dream, seeing only each other’s eyes, dark gazing down into green, oblivious of all else.

The music ended. Rosalind stood a moment within the circle of his arm, then gave a tiny sigh and pulled away. He kept hold of her hand.

“Rosalind …,” he began urgently, and there was Harry bearing down on them.

“Suppertime,” he announced. “Come quick or someone will snaffle all the lobster patties.”

They joined Charles and Lucy and several others of Lord Denham’s guests in the supper room. Nothing seemed quite real to Rosalind. She ate a little, drank some champagne, talked and laughed, and politely acquiesced when Sir Peter Allington reminded her that she had promised the next dance to him.

Somehow she found her way through the figures of the dance, and then found herself waltzing with Lord Harry, a splendid figure in his regimentals and slightly tipsy on champagne. His extravagant compliments soon brought her back to earth, and between laughter and exercise, she began fanning her hot face vigorously when the dance ended.

“Come out on the terrace for a minute or two,” suggested Harry. “There is a full moon, you know.”

They stood by the stone parapet for a moment. Rosalind admired the golden harvest moon, hanging huge and low over a glittering lake. Harry was admiring her.

“What, struck dumb?” she mocked, laughing. “I did not know you ever lost your tongue.”

Suddenly Harry was sober. “Rosalind!”

She turned her laughing face to him.

“You don’t take me seriously, do you?” he asked with abrupt bitterness.

His tone chased Rosalind’s mirth. She was silent for a moment. “No, Harry,” she answered gently.

“Richard?”

Again she paused before replying. “I take Richard seriously.”

“I thought so.” Harry recovered his gaiety with an effort. He seized her hands. “I shall leave for London in the morning. Kiss me good-bye?”

She turned her face up to his and their lips touched briefly.

“Good-bye, Harry,” she murmured.

Richard was beside them, his face unreadable even in the bright moonlight. “My dance, I think, Miss Stuart.” His voice was expressionless.

Harry watched as they walked silently back to the crowded ballroom.

Rosalind had been taken by surprise, or she would have asked for a word in private and explained the apparent breach of her promise. They were taking their place in the set before she could do so. Even then, had Richard seemed angry, she would have insisted on an explanation later. However, when his eyes briefly met hers, there was no anger in them, only a deep hurt.

It made her feel guilty, and from guilt her feelings quickly moved to an anger of her own. What right had he to look at her like that, to make her feel ashamed of an act that, while perhaps a little fast, she could not think improper in the circumstances? He was not her brother, to watch over her conduct, nor had he any other claim on her. She resolved to show him that she did not care what he thought of her.

The movements of the dance rarely presented opportunities for conversation, and neither seized those that were offered.

When Rosalind’s next partner claimed her, Richard bowed curtly, carefully avoiding her eye. She felt inexplicably fatigued and begged the very youthful gentleman to excuse her.

“To tell the truth, ma’am, I’m not much of a hand at dancing. I shall be happy to sit it out,” he confessed ingenuously. “Should you object to telling me a little about Major Bowen’s adventures in India?”

“So I owe our acquaintance to my cousin, do I?” she teased.

He blushed. “I am hoping to enter the army myself, you see,” he stammered. “I thought you looked kind as well as beautiful, so I wangled an introduction.”

Rosalind took pity on him, and related all the most exciting parts of Charles’s tales, hoping she was retelling them correctly.

She drove home from the ball with Lucy and Charles and Lady Annabel, both her cavaliers having deserted her. She quite understood Harry’s defection, but Richard’s annoyed her intensely.
I was only
comforting
poor Harry,
she thought bitterly. Anyone would think she had run off to Gretna Green with him.

She cried herself to sleep.

Chapter 20

Harry was gone before most of his brother’s guests roused the next morning. A few gentlemen straggled down to breakfast, and several ladies dressed in time to attend church in the village, but the majority were not seen before luncheon.

Richard had ridden home after his last dance with Rosalind, and retired to his chamber with a bottle of his host’s best brandy. He woke after noon with a mild hangover, his first since the spring, and cursed the day he had found Miss Fell on the moors. He drank a cup of coffee, dressed, and went out for a long and solitary ride in spite of the heavy drizzle.

Rosalind did not see him all day. Her low spirits went unnoticed in the general depression caused by the weather and the approaching end of the party. When he entered the salon where the company was gathering before dinner, she thought he looked unwell. She would have been glad of a chance to talk to him, but he did not look at her, going straight to Lady Annabel and remaining in conversation with her.

Lord Harry’s disappearance had been remarked on during the course of the day. Now Rosalind saw that Miss AIlington and one of her cronies were whispering and giggling behind their hands and casting frequent glances in her direction. She was sure that they were discussing the loss of both of her admirers, and her anger against Richard, which was dying, reanimated. How dare he expose her to the impertinence of a pair of schoolroom misses! She tried to ignore them, and continued her conversation with Emma Denison, wishing that on the morrow she would be setting out not for Toblethorpe but for home and Ian. She would like to show the arrogant Mr. Carstairs how little she needed him!

At last he came to her side. He bowed and muttered something about making an early start in the morning. At that moment the butler announced dinner, and once more she had no chance to speak with him. They were seated at opposite ends of the table and on the same side, so she could not even see him.

She eagerly awaited his appearance in the drawing room when the gentlemen joined the ladies. Lord Denham made his way to her.

“Richard asked me to present his excuses, Miss Stuart. Captain Denison challenged him to a game of billiards. I believe they wish to discuss his brother at Toblethorpe.”

“I was not expecting Mr. Carstairs,” announced Rosalind brightly. “I have a slight headache, and in view of the journey tomorrow, I shall retire very soon.” She went on to thank him for the delightful visit and his kind hospitality.

When she left in search of Lady Catherine, Tony shook his head and sighed. Richard had asked him to arrange the party to provide an unexceptionable meeting place for Charles and Lucy, but he had really done it for Richard himself. It looked as if it had all been in vain, he thought, watching Miss Stuart’s straight back and the proud tilt to her chin as she passed the malicious Miss Allington. She would have been good for his friend; she brought him out of his shell. He wondered what had caused the split, hoped it was not his mischievous younger brother, and then remembered that Richard would have several weeks in Yorkshire to try again. He decided to drop a hint that Miss Stuart was looking unhappy, and feeling more cheerful, made the rounds of his departing guests, most of whom he would be delighted to bid farewell.

Monday dawned blustery and grey. However, the rain had ceased, and it was generally agreed that it looked to be a reasonable day for travelling. Shortly after eight o’clock, carriages and chaises began to pull up before the front door as those with long journeys ahead of them prepared to depart.

At the last minute, Lady Annabel had declared that she simply could not face driving again over the dreadful roads between Nottingham and Leeds.

“They will be even worse after this wet weather,” she explained to Richard. “I know it is farther, dearest, but could we not take the Great North Road? Besides, I should very much like to stop at Arnden and make Charles properly known to Geoffrey and Blanche. It will be so confusing for the poor boy to meet all his new relatives only at the wedding, and you know in London he was introduced as a mere acquaintance.”

“Of course, mama,” replied Richard. “I should not dream of subjecting you to such discomfort. I had not properly considered the matter.”

“You have a great deal on your mind, do you not, Richard?” queried Lady Annabel hopefully. Richard was not to be drawn out.

“Nothing more important than my dear mama’s wishes,” he said lightly but firmly. “I shall send a message to Arnden at once.”

Lady Annabel, Lucy and Rosalind traveled in the Carstairs carriage, the two abigails and Richard’s valet, Willett, in Charles’s chaise. The gentlemen announced a preference for riding alongside, and would take turns in the carriage. In fact, though Charles joined the ladies quite frequently, when they stopped for a late luncheon in Newark Richard had been on horseback the entire way.