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“On the contrary, I have finished my business in London, and I have the time to do anything you need. It would be an honor.”

He was eating his meal heartily between sentences, suffering no loss of appetite, it seemed. She hoped he would choke on it.

“I think that is a splendid idea, Browning,” Ernest said then. “As long as you are sure. Then the bride can just sit back and enjoy the day.”

It was a fait accompli. There was nothing Rose could do about it. All she had to do now was speak up and tell Ernest that she did not want to marry him and that she was breaking the engagement. But what was the point of doing so? She had thought Will did not want her for his real wife. Now, she knew he didn’t want her at all romantically.Perhaps his close encounter with Lady Camilla had put him off marriage, and his business plans with Ernest were far more appealing than she was.

If she refused Ernest now, hurting a man who had been rejected so much in his life, someone who could potentially become a kind companion to her, she would truly have nowhere to go.

Will didn’t want her. As hard as it was for her to accept those four words, she had to.

She stood up as both Ernest and Will finished their meals, and hers was left almost untouched on her plate.

“I am very sorry, gentlemen, but I must retire to my bedchamber. I feel rather nauseous.”

“Oh my dear,” Ernest made to struggle to his feet, wincing as he did so. “I am so sorry. We have rather sprung this on you. It must be challenging your disposition.”

“Stay seated, Your Grace, please. The less exertion you entertain, the better. You will never make Saturday if you don’t take care.”

Ernest sat back down. “If you are sure!”

“Quite sure.” She turned to Will, who was wiping his mouth with his napkin as he looked at her. “As always, Mr. Browning, it has been… interesting.”

She stared at him with an anger she had never before felt for him; the acknowledgment of betrayal. She guessed that was exactly how he had felt about her all those years before.

“It is always a pleasure, Your Grace,” Will said, seeming to not notice, or choosing not to, the fury in her gaze. He got to his feet and dipped his head. Rose did not grace him with a reply and simply turned on her heel and walked from the room, trying not to catch her dress on anything as she went.

“Are you quite finished, Your Grace?” Jennings asked as she surprised him outside the door.

“Quite finished,” she fumed at him. “Finished, finished, finished.”

With that, she strode off towards the stairs.

She waited up for hours. She fully expected Will to come to her bedchamber when Ernest had retired. She was ready for him. She had prepared a raft of things to say to him, chief among them being that if he so much as lifted a finger to advance the wedding plans to Saturday, she would never speak to him again.

But he never came. By two o’clock in the morning, when she poked her head out of her door to see if she could hear anything in the corridor, all was quiet. It seemed the whole household was asleep, including him. Rose flounced to bed and lay there. Then she got back up again and went to the door. If he would not come to her, she would go to him. She was going to have her say. She marched down the corridor, not caring she was in her nightgown.

Rose knocked on the door to Will’s bedchamber and waited, but she heard nothing from the other side. She wondered if she was being foolish and should just creep back to her own room. What good could truly come from confronting him? He had made his acceptance of the marriage clear by what he had said at dinner. But there was something inside her which felt compelled to see him, talk to him and find out exactly what he was thinking because nothing about his behavior made sense.

Rose knocked once more. Nothing. She reached for the door handle and turned it, and it easily opened, allowing her to walk straight into his bed chamber. The room was dark, but he had left the curtains open so she could see his shape in the bed under themoonlight.

She moved close to the footboard and hissed, “Will!”

He rose up rapidly from the mattress, so quickly he startled her, and she took a step back. She realized he was naked under the bedclothes, but he grabbed at the sheet as he came to a sitting position and peered into the dark where she stood.

“Rose? Is that you?”

“Of course, it is me. Who else is going to come in here?” She took a step forward so she could see him better. He was disheveled, his hair tousled, and he had obviously been fast asleep. How could he sleep so deeply in these circumstances?

“Well, this is a nice surprise?” he said sleepily.

“No, it is not,” she said firmly. “I wish to talk.”

“Now? What time is it?”

“Who cares what time it is? I waited for you to come to me, but you didn’t.”

“You wanted me in your bedchamber?” he asked surprised, and she did not miss the wry smile around his lips. It almost derailed her. She felt the tell-tale stirring inside her and had to fight it down. What spell did this man have over her?


Tags: Roselyn Francis Historical