by Bree Wolf
Lifting her head, Rosabel’s eyes met Leonora’s, gazing down at them from the portrait that decorated the east wall of the nursery. Help me! Rosabel pleaded. What am I to do? How can I protect our child?
Leonora’s blue eyes looked as kind and loving as ever. But as she gazed down at her daughter’s bent head, Rosabel thought to detect something else. Strength. Determination. And in that moment Rosabel knew what Leonora would do.
Leonora would fight. She would not bend to her husband’s will. She would not back down. Leonora would fight for her daughter, no matter the consequences.
The hint of a smile came to Rosabel’s lips as her resolve strengthened, and the decision to act became a certainty. She didn’t know how. She didn’t know what she would do. But she knew her goal.
Georgiana’s happiness. To see a permanent smile on those soft, rosy features. Not one constantly overshadowed by grief and disappointment.
Tomorrow, Rosabel would go to war. She would fight her husband with everything at her disposal.
However, that was easier said than done. For the question remained, what were the means at her disposal?
Chapter Twenty − London
“Why don’t you call me Helen, Dear?”
Rosabel saw the warmth in the woman’s eyes and felt herself respond. After losing her mother at such a young age and resigning herself to her aunt’s rejection, the Dowager Duchess was the answer to Rosabel’s prayers. Finally, a mother to confide in.
Taking her hand, she smiled at her. “I’d like that very much.” Tears came to her eyes, and she quickly blinked them away.
“When will you be leaving?” the old woman asked, her own eyes growing moist. “I will surely miss you.”
Rosabel swallowed the lump in her throat, “Tomorrow.”
“And my grandson?”
“According to his note, he is already there, tending to some urgent business.” The Dowager Duchess scoffed. “The carriage will take me to his townhouse.”
“How long will you be gone? The whole season?”
Rosabel shook her head. “He didn’t say, but I doubt he wishes to spend that much time in my company.”
A gentle squeeze of her hand made her look up. “Watch him carefully,” the old woman implored, her eyes intense with meaning. “For years now, he has been wearing a mask, and although he has nearly perfected it, no mask is ever truly flawless. It cannot be, for it is not real. Every now and then a mask slips, revealing the true self underneath. Look for it.”
Rosabel nodded, wondering if she would ever catch more than a glimpse of her husband’s true self.
***
The next day, saying goodbye to Georgiana broke Rosabel’s heart. Not even by the time the carriage had left Westmore grounds far behind had her tears dried. Even inside, the icy air rested on her shoulders like a heavy blanket. Not long ago the snow and ice had turned everything into a winter wonderland, and Rosabel had walked through it with open eyes, watching everything with rapt attention, seeing awe everywhere she looked. Now, the snow seemed smothering, heavy, a burden. How could things change so drastically in so short a time?
Occasionally, Rosabel slipped into a fitful sleep, exhausted after spending her nights worrying about the days ahead, and so she did not notice when the carriage finally drew up a hill and approached the city of London. Only when its sounds, the sounds of crowds of people going about their everyday business, drifted to her ears did her mind abandon sleep.
At first her eyes cracked open a fraction, then widened as she took in the sights before her eyes. Sitting up, Rosabel stared out the window at the tall buildings and wide cobblestone streets filled with people on foot, people in carriages, people driving carts, people on horses. People were everywhere, no matter where she looked, and their voices rose into the air completely extinguishing the more familiar sounds of nature. Rosabel could not hear the calls of birds or the soft rustle of a breeze brushing through the trees. In a strange way, the world before her eyes fascinated Rosabel, and yet, it frightened her all the same. Soon, she would have to abandon her observational post and join the people of London in their crowded lives.
When the carriage stopped, Rosabel found herself facing the steps of a massive townhouse, silently standing side by side with its brothers. A few rays found their way through the thick mass of clouds obscuring the skies and gently touched her cheek. Rosabel took a deep breath and stepped across the threshold, entering not only the house but also a life she had never wished for.
As the door closed behind her, Rosabel realized that the sounds of the street were still there -- muted, but not gone. They would never be gone. She would have to learn to live with them, hopefully not for too long.
Rosabel spent the rest of the day alone, exploring the house and being introduced to the staff. Only when supper came around did her husband grace her with his presence. Taking their seats at opposite ends of the large dining room table, Rosabel felt dwarfed by the size of her surroundings. Not that the rooms at Westmore had been smaller, but in the country everything was vast and wide. In town, however, space was limited, and the crowded streets had altered her understanding.
As the soft clatter of silverware on porcelain echoed across the room, Rosabel felt her own muscles tense, casting a careful glance at her husband.
His eyes too were fixed on his own hands as they moved fork and knife across the plate. Watching, Rosabel saw him take a deep breath before lifting his eyes to her. “I hope this is to your liking, my lady.”
Rosabel nodded. “It is, my lord.” She took another bite in order to avert her eyes.
“We will be at the theatre tomorrow.”
Rosabel’s head snapped up. “The theatre?”
“Yes, Covent Garden,” he elaborated. “Then there will be a number of social gatherings in the following days that will represent the perfect opportunity for you to acquaint yourself with your new social circle.” When they had both finished, he gestured for the maid to clear the table and bring the next course. “I have a week, maybe two before my presence is required elsewhere. I believe that ought to be enough time.”
“Of course, my lord,” Rosabel mumbled, inwardly rejoicing. No matter what her husband thought she ought to do after her introduction to her new social circle, Rosabel’s own plans were quite specific. As soon as possible, she would return home to Georgiana.
***
Like a deer hunted by a pack of wolves, Rosabel stood surrounded by the ton, all appearing nonchalant while their eyes betrayed their eagerness at getting a good look at the new Duchess of Kensington. Appraising looks slid up and down her frame, and Rosabel trembled with the effort it took not to bolt and return to the safety of the carriage.
While her husband greeted friends and business acquaintances, Rosabel stood by his side, her own arm looped through his, a lifeline to keep her from drowning. Occasionally, she smiled or nodded, gave a quick greeting, desperately hoping that no one would seek to draw her into a conversation. Clutching her husband’s arm, she prayed they would not be separated. More than anything she wanted to avoid a repetition of the embarrassing scene she had witnessed at the Earl’s Christmas ball.
To her surprise, her husband would now and then place his hand on hers, giving it a gentle squeeze as though to reassure her. She would look at him then, and whenever his eyes would flash to hers, she would see compassion and understanding there, not cold appraisal as she had feared.
Helen’s voice echoed in her head as she carefully observed her husband through batted eyelashes. Watch him carefully. Every now and then a mask slips, revealing the true self underneath. Look for it.
When it was finally time to take their seats, Rosabel breathed a sigh of relief, reluctantly letting go of her husband’s arm.
***
As her fingers slipped from his arm, Graham felt their loss acutely. Never before had he felt the desire to protect her. But as the hyenas grouped around them, preying on his wife, Graham had stood his ground
, firmly redirecting every attempt at drawing her away.
Throughout the performance, Graham only had eyes for the woman by his side. While his head was directed at the stage and the actors, his eyes frequently strayed to his right, his mind occupied with only one thing: keeping his hands to himself. More than anything, he wanted to feel her again. Even through the layers of fabric, the way she had clung to his arm had touched his heart and stirred his desire. Had there been mistletoe anywhere in sight, today he would not have been able to stop himself!
Watching her every move, Graham saw her shivering again and again as her eyes occasionally shifted from the stage to the rest of the audience around them, equally unoccupied with the performance on stage. Instead, their eyes openly stared into their box.
Graham wondered why he had not noticed before.
Of course. He only had eyes for his wife. How had this happened? He wondered.
Slightly turning toward her, he leaned over. “Are you still cold, my lady?” he whispered.
As her eyes came to rest on him, he could read her answer. Before she could decline though, he placed his hand on her arm, her silky skin soft and warm under his touch, and said, “You do feel cold, my lady.”
Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him, and he saw her confusion at his lie. He smiled at her then, rose from his seat and offered her his hand. “Allow me to escort you home lest you catch cold, my lady.”
For a second she hesitated, but then a grateful smile lifted the corners of her mouth, and Graham saw the relief in her eyes as she placed her hand in his. Savouring her touch, he pulled her arm through his once more and led her away from the stares and out into the cold where their carriage waited to take them home.
***
When they bid each other good night, Rosabel saw something in her husband’s eyes that made the breath catch in her throat. His blue eyes shone with a warmth she had never seen before, and sudden heat invaded her cheeks. She took a slow breath to steady her nerves.
As his eyes seemed to burn into hers, Rosabel watched his chest slowly rise and fall as he too remembered to breathe. He stepped toward her then, head lowered to gaze into her face. A small smile curled his lips as his head slowly dipped lower, his eyes flitting from hers down to her lips.
As though in trance, Rosabel watched him slowly move toward her, his lips aiming for her own until all of a sudden he froze.
His upper body snapped back up, and he drew in a sharp breath, the smile vanished from his face. Clearing his throat, he merely whispered, “Good night.”
Before he turned away though, Rosabel reached out a hand and held him back. “May I speak with you?” she asked, feeling the disappointment over the distance he once again forced between them burning in her heart.
Again turning to face her, he barely met her eyes.
“I have been meaning to speak to you about something, but there never seemed to be a right moment.” Drawing in a deep breath, Rosabel gathered her courage. “I know you intend to return to Camden Hall.” He nodded. “What about Georgiana? When will you return to see her?”
Eyes hardening, he almost glared at her. “That is none of your concern!” Gone was the warmth that had melted her heart before.
Feeling her lips press into a thin line, Rosabel lifted her chin. “I beg your pardon! She is my daughter. Of course, it concerns me. How can you just disregard her like this?”
At her words his muscles tensed, and he took a menacing step toward her. “As I said, it does not concern you!” He turned on his heel, about to walk away and leave her standing in the hallway.
“If you could only see the heartbreak, your actions cause her,” Rosabel spoke to his receding back, “you would not disregard her so easily.”
He stopped, and his head slowly turned back to look at her. Then he drew another laboured breath before his jaw tensed. Rosabel could see the indecision in his eyes, but then rigid determination chased it away and without another word, he walked down the hallway.
***
The next engagements on her husband’s list proved less straining. For once, a ball generally offered a more engaging atmosphere with many opportunities for socializing. People talked and danced, shared food and secrets. Venturing from the ballroom to one of the adjoining rooms, Rosabel felt herself reminded of the Earl’s Christmas ball. However, with repetition her own attitude changed. Not that she felt comfortable in such a crowd. Not at all, but at least her heart beat did not threaten to knock the feet out from under her.
Another reason for people’s lessened interest in her person came in the form of Edmond Dunsworth, Duke of Cromwell.
Seeing his warm smile and twinkling eyes, Rosabel immediately felt herself relax. A friendly face, a little voice whispered. A face she knew. For once she did not have to face a stranger.
He greeted her warmly, twirling her around the dance floor mere minutes later.
“You look radiant,” he beamed, eyes flitting over her shoulder. “And my friend’s scowl seems to have lessened as well.”
When they turned about the room, Rosabel glanced at her husband’s face. Edmond was right. His eyes were far from cold as he stood, drink in hand, following them with his gaze.
Turning back to her dance partner, Rosabel detected the same mischievous twinkle in his eyes she had seen many times before. “He has that same glow in his eyes he did the night of the Christmas ball,” he whispered grinning at her. “Before I…made a mess of things.” he sighed, looking disgusted with himself, “Rosabel, I apologize for interfering.” Once again he glanced at his friend. “I suppose you’ll be more likely to succeed on your own, without my…help.”
Staring at his face, Rosabel smiled at him. “Are you truly admitting to a wrongdoing on your part? Edmond, I am shocked.” A giggle escaped her, and she sighed at the lightness of heart she felt at that moment.
Edmond grinned sheepishly. “Begrudgingly, I do.” His eye brows arched up. “Do me a favour and keep this to yourself.”
Rosabel nodded, her smile still unwilling to abandon her lips. “This is truly a day to remember, dear brother?” she said, before her mouth dropped open in shock as her own words rang loudly in her ears. “I apologize.” She shook her head. “I shouldn’t have…”
“There is no need,” he assured her, his smile less beaming but all the more genuine. “You are not Leonora, but I am proud to call you my sister.”
***
The end of their first week in Town brought Rosabel another insight into her husband’s true self. As his grandmother had advised her, Rosabel watched him carefully whenever she could without being too obvious.
Once again attending a social gathering, Rosabel felt more and more confident to occasionally venture off on her own. Here and there, she returned a greeting or even exchanged a few words with a recent acquaintance.
In the corner by the currently unoccupied pianoforte, Rosabel saw a young woman. Though tall, her frame was slim and her ash blonde hair flowed far past her shoulders, stretching her even more. From her pale complexion, Rosabel would have thought her feeble if it weren’t for her eyes. Although pale blue like a summer’s sky, they spoke of deep emotions and thoughts held in check, buried underneath a surface of pliability and acceptance. Her name was Henrietta Turner.
“Duchess,” the woman smiled as she caught sight of Rosabel. “You are attending tonight’s soiree as well? Well, what do you think of these gatherings? Yesterday, you mentioned you had never been to London before. Is that true?”
Rosabel nodded, feeling an instant connection to the young woman. “It is very crowded. I have to admit it does make me uncomfortable. I never know what to say.”
Henrietta laughed, “The sad thing is people do not generally care what others have to say. Especially men.” Frustration rang in her voice as her eyes travelled across the room where her brother, the new Viscount Elton, stood with their uncle, a Mr. Harris, Henrietta’s guardian since her parents’ passing. “As long as you have a pretty face, they ar
e satisfied.” As though remembering something, Henrietta shook her head, turning her eyes back to Rosabel, forcing a smile on her lips. “I apologize. I did not mean to make you uncomfortable. Here, let us get some refreshment.” She gestured to the adjoining room, where long tables groaned under the loads of food piled on top of them.
Stepping through the doorway, they stopped as a small group of men and women stood in their way, and Rosabel felt oddly reminded of the Christmas ball. Goosebumps rose on her skin, and she drew in a breath. And as though only waiting for her to overhear, a dark-haired beauty in a pale blue dress said in a rather melodious voice, “The new Duchess of Kensington is a rather plain woman, wouldn’t you agree? Oh, sure she is pretty, but she does not have this air of superiority about her that dear Leonora did.”
Rosabel felt her limbs grow rigid at the woman’s words, echoing her own thoughts.
Henrietta touched her arm, beckoning her to follow, but Rosabel couldn’t move. Hidden in the crowd she felt somewhat safe. What if they saw her?
“I suppose she had a sizable dowry to recommend her,” the woman continued. “Why else would the duke have married her?” She snickered but instantly stopped when another, quite familiar voice echoed through the little group.
“Because the moment he laid eyes on her, he knew her to be the one woman who could make his life complete.”
All chattering stopped. As people drifted apart, revealing the speaker of these eloquent words, Rosabel found herself staring at her husband. A smile on his face, he looked at the small crowd before him, then gave a quick nod and walked away.
***
Entering the ballroom, Graham felt a small stab of regret. Tomorrow he would return to Camden Hall.
Glancing at his wife drifting through the crowd on his arm, deep down he knew that something had changed. The only thing he didn’t know was whether or not he was ready to admit that to himself.
Throughout the evening, he kept his eyes firmly planted on her beautiful smile, shy and yet honest, the sparkle that came to her eyes when Edmond drew her onto the dance floor and the gracefulness with which she held her head high even though he knew she wished for nothing more but to retreat into a corner.