He wanted to scream at her, “How could you?” He wanted to take her in his arms and shake her to bring her to her senses, but the level of anger surging through his veins was scaring him. If he started shaking her, he was not sure he would stop. He took several deep breaths, then he stood up to put a distance between them.
“When will you be married?” He bit out tersely. Rose’s eyes flew to his.
“I am not certain.”
“And you will become the Duchess of Norfolk?”
She nodded and uttered a barely perceptible “Yes.”
“Well.” What could he say? What could one say to that? Finally, he ground out, “How wonderful for you!”
In all their time together, Will had never been sarcastic. He could see how it wounded her now as her lip trembled. She was breathing like a scared colt. He did not care anymore. She was ruining her life, and his, for money and status.
“You are a fool, Rose,” he said, straight at her. “And you have made a fool of me.”
He had no idea where he had found the strength to walk out of that room that day when she had looked so sad and so broken, but he knew that if he didn’t, he would crumple himself. He turned on his heel and stormed from the drawing room into the entry hall, where Mary was loitering with huge eyes.
“Mary.” A dip of his head and he strode past her.
He heard Rose call his name, but he did not stop. He went out of the front door and straight to his horse. He could feel tears gathering thick in his throat, but he gulped them down.
“Will!” Rose had followed him. He'd turned and glared at her. Her shoulders were hunched and her hands were wringing. But she had done this. He could feel a trap door closing over his heart inside him, and as it clanged shut, he dug his heels into the side of his horse and spurred him forward. He heard her call his name twice or thrice more, but he didn't slow down or look back. That chapter of his life was over.
He had returned home and demanded that he be allowed to relocate to London and work full-time in the family shipping office. His father had been surprised but pleased, and he had never inquired about Rose, even when he was dying. Will could see his son's pain as he watched him cycle through a desultory clutch of women without ever selecting one for his wife. The girl he had treated as another daughter had vanished from Ben's life, just as she had vanished from Will's.
Will had never laid eyes on Rose again until the day by the river. He had avoided running into her by never going anywhere she might be. The previous few weeks had been unfortunate, as fate had hijacked him, but it was down to him to close that door again and keep it closed this time.
CHAPTEREIGHT
It was easier to try to forget her in London. He could work from sunrise to sunset, and he lived in a beautiful four-story townhouse near Grosvenor Square. His neighbors were earls and viscounts. He was aware of their wives' and daughters' covetinglooks. He was a remarkably eligible bachelor with a decent fortune, and for the young ladies who didn't get a noble match in their first season at the ton, he was invariably a target. The problem was, even if he sometimes succumbed and asked a young lady to walk out with him or attend a supper or a ball, he was always deathly bored in a very short time. The women were like show ponies—so minutely bred, trained to prance and simper at all the right moments, reveling in showing off their coiffured locks and perfect coats rather than trying to impress him by running faster than him or climbing higher. There was no challenge in any sinew in their body.
He supposed there might occasionally be a jewel on offer, and indeed Rose had had a coming out season. Will had been terrified a young fop would turn her head. She had just laughed at his fears.
“If my mother wants me to wear a dress and flounce around at parties for months, that is one thing.” She had pulled an appalled face. “But if she thinks I am going to commit my life to any of these vapid young men, she has another think coming. Imagine.”
But that was the problem. Will could imagine it only too well. That is all he did imagine for the six months she was in the capital, staying with her mother’s cousin. Even when he went to London himself to work with his father, he was not allowed to see her unchaperoned. He spent a couple of awkward afternoons perched very uncomfortably on a wooden chair in a parlor room, engaging in small talk with Rose under the watchful eye of her aged cousin. It was obvious the old crone believed Will was well below her station.
Rose had also looked uncomfortable, although utterly beautiful. Her hair was always perfectly rolled into a chignon, and she wore satin or silk gowns rather than cotton. The bustlines of her dresses were cut so tightly that her cleavage was pushed upwards, and her breasts looked ready to spill out. He spent much of the time speaking to the wooden arm of his chair, picking at the tassels, for fear one look might betray his lust. He was convinced that Rose knew full well the effect she was having on him, as she would arch an eyebrow when he eventually looked up; her eyes would twinkle at him.
As much as she was still his Rose, with all the sparkle and the fun, he had had the horrible feeling she was pulling away from him. The clothing, the jewelry, the ribbons in her hair, even the fancy parlor chairs were so far removed from their normal existence that he found it hard to imagine she would return to Sussex unchanged. But then she would end his visits by looking him straight in the eye and saying, “It will soon be August.”
She had never told him who she danced with, if anyone came calling, if she had a beau of any sort, or several. He didn’t ask, telling himself he didn’t want to know. But he so did, although he didn’t.
In the end, he stopped trying to visit her and did not even write as he knew her cousin would read whatever he sent.
He simply cursed the inadequacy of his birthright. If his father had been of noble blood, he could have walked straight into the first ball of the ton, taken Rose in his arms, and demanded she marry him. But he was on the outside then, and there was nothing he could do about it. Society was set.
In the end, Rose had come home, insisting she would not be going back for a second season, and she had not become betrothed to a young fop, and he thought the danger had been over. But he had not reckoned on an old fop sweeping in and ripping her out from under him. And now history had repeated itself.
He had only one other woman with whom he had shared his life. Soon after losing Rose, he had an affair with the Countess of Denbigh. She was older than he was and a Napoleonic war widow. They had met at a soiree hosted by a friend of John's and had bonded for a while over their shared grief, regardless of status or decorum. Both had had enough of someone else in order to get over the person they missed the most. She understood him. She'd let him complain about his situation. She would sit next to him if he did not want to talk. In the bedchamber, she would let him make love to her with a force that clearly showed the tension he was harboring, and afterward she would hold him until the anger dissipated, and both could enjoy the consolation of another warm body, but not the required one.
Slowly, they acknowledged that one cannot smother grief with the weight of someone else’s body. One can only sit with it and wait it out. Their relationship had deepened into a staunch friendship. She was the reason he did not become a complete hermit. She would insist he accompany her to dances and soirees. He protested and insisted he could not walk out with her.
“What would society think? Your name, or your initials at least, will be splattered all across the society papers in an instant. It won’t be hard to work out who they are writing about.”
But she had simply smiled and said that as the Earl of Denbigh’s young widow, even the ton made allowances for her situation.
“I am no blushing virgin nor a spinster. A chaperone would be ridiculous, but that also makes women like me dangerous. Wives prefer to see my kind occupied with someone else rather than tempting their husbands. So you see, we shall serve each other well. We shall each ward off unwanted advances towards the other.”