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“I don’t wish to wait long,” he said softly.

“We must wait until the end of the mourning period, Your Grace,” she reminded him, so uncharacteristically grateful at that moment for the bounds of propriety.

“That long, yes,” he confirmed. “And until then—"

Ernest suddenly swooped to kiss her, but before he could seize her lips with his own, her hand flew up to intercept him, slamming hard against his soft, pudgy face as she exclaimed, “No!” at the top of her voice. It had been an automatic reaction, and she was almost as taken aback as Ernest. He leaned away from her and brought his hand up to cover his nose.

“Your Grace, I am so sorry,” she said, mortified that she had essentially slapped him. “But… that was not seemly.”

He was touching his nose as if checking to see if anything was broken.

“A kiss between a betrothed couple is hardly a crime,” he protested.

“I am still in mourning garb, and we are not yet married. It is improper enough that I have no chaperone,” Rose said primly.

He stopped poking at his nose to stare at her. For a moment, he said nothing, but then rose to his feet as she let out an inaudible sigh of relief.

“Very well. As you wish. But my patience has bounds. We shall announce our engagement with a soiree exactly one year and one day after Ambrose’s death.” Rose knew that was two weeks away. “You shall organize the castle, and I will plan the guest list so they can meet their new Duke and understand what I shall require from them going forward.”

“Is a soiree really necessary?” She tried to dissuade him.

“I believe so, yes. I like to mark what is mine. I shall take my leave for now, but I shall write to you with my intentions.”

She watched as he reached inside his waistcoat for his snuffbox and took a large sniff of tobacco before moving towards the door. Jennings entered before he reached it and held it open, and she wondered how much the old butler had heard. Rose had no doubt that the news of their engagement would make it all around the castle and then the town with no need for a formal announcement. Jennings certainly looked quite shocked as Ernest’s corpulent form passed by him. He looked searchingly at her and then made to follow the Duke to his carriage.

Rose moved to the window to watch Ernest leave. The footman had to help her future husband up the carriage step, and he seemed to land on the seat like a sack of potatoes. Frustration was etched in every fiber of his being as he looked toward where she was standing. She took a step back behind the curtain, but he must have known she was watching. She noticed him coughing and watched as he reached into his breast pocket for a large patterned handkerchief.

All Rose could hope for was that one of his numerous ailments would render him incapacitated before the two weeks were up.

The preparations for the engagement soiree proceeded without any of the excitement one might have expected below stairs for such a grand event. They did well not to betray their shock at her decision, but she could tell there was a palpable relief they were not to be left to the mercy of the Duke without her.

Rose invited Mary and Jacob but as she expected, Mary declined. “I have told you I cannot watch you do this,” she wrote in her reply. “I cannot help but feel this will be the biggest mistake of your life.”

Onthe day of the grand event, the great hall was brimming with floral displays and the bunting was all hung. The huge refectory table was laid to seat their guests, the stables readied for the horse-drawn carriages,andthe kitchen had been preparing food for days. Everything was ready to meether future husband and his London guests.

She had not heard anything from Will, but then she hadn’t expected to. She remembered how, every morning after Ambrose had died, she had woken and wondered if this might be the day Will would call on her. Now it was the same. News of hers and Ernest’s engagement was splashed across the society papers, but there was no note from Will Browning.

Since their meeting by the river, her longing for him had only grown stronger. But by agreeing to marry Ernest Barrington, she had sealed their separate futures once more.

Rose picked up a novel from her bedside table and tried to read it, but all she could concentrate on was the steady procession of carriages pulling into the courtyard as the London guests arrived, dusty and weary from their long journeys.

Rose had not even purchased a new gown for this occasion. When she had shown her maid what she intended to wear, Anna had been shocked.

“You cannot wear this,” she proclaimed, holding up the grey calico gown, which had no embroidery on it, and did not look much different from the ones the servants wore in the kitchens.

“I hardly care,” Rose said apathetically. “You choose something then.”

That had been a mistake, as Anna was nothing if not a purveyor of high fashion, and she always took a close interest in all of the Duchess’s gowns and accessories. When Ambrose had been alive, Rose had found her enthusiasm endearing. This evening, it was simply tiring. While soaking in a perfumed bath, Anna laid out one of her most elaborate gowns in a deep sky blue hue, adorned with sequins and tiny pearls sparkling like stars across the bodice. It had short puffed sleeves and matching gloves. Sheeven chose a diamond tiara.

“Oh, Anna, this is excessive,” she protested.

“It is your engagement announcement, Your Grace,” Anna insisted. “Almost the entire ton will be present. You need to look the part of the Duchess of Norfolk and not give them any reason to gossip.”

Rose smiled. As if there was any chance that the ton would not gossip.

Still wrapped in her bath sheet, Rose wandered over toward the window and looked down just in time to see Ernest descending from his carriage, helped by the three footmen, who then gathered up his luggage in their hands. She noticed he had acquired a cane. He used it to support himself as he hobbled across to the castle entrance. He was not an old man, but he certainly looked it. Rose wondered how someone who obviously cared so greatly for the finery of his attire could take so little interest in, and indeed abuse, the body underneath.

She was in no hurry to join Ernest, and it was a full hour before her lady’s maid had arranged her hair in a cascade of curls rising high on her head, with twisted tendrils framing her face. Anna had expertly applied a little white powder and rouge along with some lip pomade. She'd even managed to hide the bags under Rose's eyes from staying up all night worrying about what was to come. Anna finished by placing the diamond tiara in the center of hercurls.


Tags: Roselyn Francis Historical