He put the paper back inside the envelope, set it aside, and then sat down on the red velvet window seat beside her. Despite his stiff livery and the impropriety of the action, he pulled her into his arms and held her tight as she sobbed until she felt no more tears were left inside of her.
“You sob all you like, Your Grace,” Jennings said as he patted her repeatedly on the shoulder. “You sob all you like.”
Rose was holding onto the lapels of his jacket as all the negative emotions she had been hoarding flowed from her.He is not getting married, he is not getting married, were the only words rolling around in her head.
Eventually, her sobs slowed, and she was able to gulp down her tears. A little embarrassed, she pulled away from Jennings’ shirt front and sat up as he handed her a handkerchief.
“I am sorry, Jennings,” she said. “I have no idea what came over me.”
He handed her the note in the envelope, not saying anything. She took it and slid it into one of the books.
“Why don’t you go up to your bedchamber. Cook can send you up some tea,” Jennings suggested gently. “I will ask Anna to come up.”
Rose imagined she looked a complete fright. Her bodice was soaked from her tears. She nodded, and he got up and walked out of the room.
Rose waited for Will to come after his note. She imagined he had written it that way so that if it was opened, no one would think there was anything between them. She read it through again and again, but three days later, he had still not arrived.
Never mind, she told herself.At least he is free. But how long wouldshebe?
The next day another note arrived, this time from Ernest, saying that he was returning the next evening, but he would be leaving London late, so she should not wait up for him. He stated that all was well and he was looking forward to returning.
She heard his horses’ hooves in the courtyard well after midnight. She did not go down to greet him as he had suggested. Instead, she went to see him after breakfast the next morning. She found Jennings standing outside his door.
“Good morning Jennings,” she said brightly. He turned kindly eyes upon her. They had not spoken again of her breakdown in the library.
“Is His Grace receiving visitors?”
“No, Your Grace.”
“No?” Rose became concerned. “Is he quite well?”
“He is quite well. He just told me he does not want you to enter.”
Rose was perplexed.
“Have I done something wrong?”
“Not as far as I know, Your Grace. I am sure not.”
“Oh, well,” Rose was flummoxed. “Then will you at least tell him I called on him, and I will see him later.”
“Very well, Your Grace.”
She saw Jennings later that morning carrying a large tray up the stairs towards Ernest’s wing.”
“Is His Grace not coming down for luncheon?” she queried.
“It would seem not, Your Grace.”
“And he still does not want me to join him.”
“No,” Jennings said, over his shoulder as he rounded the bend in the stairs.
“How very curious,” Rose said to herself.
When Ernest did not appear for afternoon tea either, she could only surmise that he was exhausted after his trip to the capital, so she stopped pestering Jennings and retired to her room.
She had only been there about fifteen minutes when there was a knock on the door. She opened it to see Jennings standing outside.