An Unkissed Lady: A Historical Regency Romance (The Evesham Series) Page 4
“Father, maybe. Mother is on our side,” said Felicity. “She also thinks that Richard de Coucy is not right for you.”
“Better an engagement that never took place than one that happened only to be broken off,” uttered Annabelle.
“When did you become so arrogant?” Rose asked, growing increasingly angry with her older sisters. “May I remind you that you both chose your own husbands? You,” she turned to her eldest sister,” brought a papist into the family, which Father did not like at all. And you,” Rose stared at Felicity, “fell head over heels in love with Luke when you did not even know if he was a nobleman. And you both want to deny me the decision to marry the man I have loved for two years? Richard has everything a woman could wish for. He is good looking, he is wealthy, has a title and worships the ground I walk on.” At least, that is what he had said when he had asked for her hand.
“The lady doth protest too much, methinks1,” said Felicity, trying to lighten the tone, but her sister of all people, who knew as much about books as you might hear kidney pudding mentioned in Hamlet, caused Rose to finally lose her patience.
“If you intended to ruin this evening for me, you’ve almost succeeded,” she snapped, blinking a few times in quick succession to banish the tears welling up in the corners of her eyes. There was no way she would cry, dashing the tedious work with burnt cork, powder, and the slightest hint of blusher that she and her maid had used to make Rose glow this evening in full, natural beauty. “I suggest you tell me now what you have against Richard – or forever hold your peace.”
Annabelle struggled to return to an upright position and extended a conciliatory hand to Rose. “We were hoping that you would work it out on your own, Rosie.” The pet name was supposed to sound placatory, but the only thing Annabelle achieved was to make Rose feel even more like a child, which she certainly was not. She was almost too old for an engagement and had finally had enough of Annabelle and Felicity.
“In a nutshell, I am fairly sure that he does not love you the way you deserve.” Felicity folded her arms over her chest and looked at Rose expectantly. “Wait a while … at least until you are absolutely sure that you love him.”
“But I am sure of it.” Rose focused her answer on a point she could refute with certainty. “Since when have you been able to feel what I feel? I love him … There is not the slightest doubt about that.” She stood up. If this conversation were to go on for any longer, the tears welling up would not only redden her eyes but also ruin her dress. “As for his feelings for me … when did you become experts to … so … severely condemn the behaviour of an unmarried gentleman?” The side swipe alluded to the unconventional and, in Felicity’s case, even dangerous paths they had taken when they had fallen madly in love. Annabelle blushed upon hearing Rose’s words, but her middle sister simply lifted her chin stubbornly, then pulled Annabelle up from the bed. “Come on, Bell, we are not welcome here.”
Breathless, Rose’s oldest sister found her feet. “I wish you good luck,” she said, trying to kiss Rose on the cheek, which was not easy because of her enormous size – and because Rose was as stiff as a board.
“I do not need luck,” she replied in as dignified a manner as possible.
“Whether you like it or not is all the same to me. You will need it,” said Annabelle firmly. She and Felicity joined hands. Before leaving, Felicity turned and looked at Rose again.
“Do not forget, Rosie: Whatever happens, we are here for you. Should you decide to break off the engagement, our door will always be open.”
When the door closed behind them, Rose wanted to do nothing but throw herself on the bed and cry. Why had her sisters decided to turn her big evening into a disaster? She touched her lower lip with her index finger. No, she was not at all in doubt of Richard’s love. He had put his heart and even a little more into the kiss – it had been a passionate kiss, much more than a soulless touch of two pairs of lips.
Richard loved her.
And she loved him.
1 Shakespeare, William, 1891, Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, Folger Shakespeare Library. The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark from Folger Digital Texts. Ed. Barbara Mowat, Paul Werstine, Michael Poston, and Rebecca Niles. Folk Shakespeare Library, 16 April 2019. www.folgerdigitaltexts.org
Chapter 6
Undecided, Gabriel held the invitation in his hand. Edward had brought it to him in the early afternoon, and when he recognised the sender, his first reaction had been to throw the letter into the fire. But then curiosity had gotten the better of him. What did Richard de Coucy want from him?
On the back of the formal letter, written in the meticulous handwriting of a scribe, de Coucy had added a few personal lines that Gabriel could hardly decipher.
Cavanaugh, my old friend,
I just found out that you are back on home soil. Why have you not contacted me? I could have shown you personally how the city has changed and what you have missed. But I suppose you got your money’s worth in France, you philanderer.
Gabriel dropped the letter and shook his head. De Coucy had not changed a bit. He was still the life-lusting, pleasure-seeking man who had missed the opportunity to kiss Lady Rose and who judged others by his own standards. Presumably, Richard saw the term “philanderer” as a compliment, however, Gabriel saw it entirely differently. But as it turned out, over the past two years, he had at least learned to appreciate Lady Rose.
Good for him.
Even for a man like de Coucy, not all hope was lost.
Do you still remember that evening when I appointed you to be my representative? Well, you seem to have done well, because since that day, she has not left my side. I, too, have come to appreciate her merits and, this evening, will join the ranks of those who seek domestic happiness.
Allow me the pleasure of welcoming you this evening as the man who brought about this marriage. Credit where credit is due has always been my motto, even though I ask you not to bring up our little, au fond harmless, charade.
Yours truly,
Richard de Coucy
What the hell … no.
Two years had passed since the night in which he had wanted nothing more than a warming memory, and instead received something that burned like a fire within him. He had tried to forget the shame of his deception and her devotion to a man he was not. As soon as he was back in London, his past had caught up with him. Under no circumstances would he go and congratulate the joyous pair. The marquess did not even know what he should say. A marriage made in heaven? What a wonderful stroke of fate? And all this while he knew that the connection was based on a deception, even a lie?
He remembered his determination to woo Lady Rose as soon as he had returned. It was too late. If de Coucy spoke the truth, he, Gabriel, was to blame for her marrying de Coucy.
But was it really his kiss that had convinced Lady Rose of de Coucy’s affection? In that case, perhaps it was his damned duty to see for himself that Rose and Richard had become a happy couple. It would certainly reassure him and banish that wretched kiss from his memory forever, if he could make sure that Lady Rose had gotten what she longed for.
On the contrary, he would not be behaving like a gentleman if he revealed to Lady Rose the extent of the deception she had fallen for.
Gabriel rubbed his forehead. If he was silent, he was acting dishonourably. If he spoke out, he was doing the same. Whichever way you looked at it, there was no easy solution. No, the fact remained that he had to accept the invitation and decide on one of the two options as soon as he saw the lady.
He was about to call for his valet and order him to pick one of the suits that was still passable, when he remembered something. He would take Henrietta with him. This would give his sister a distraction, and, with a little luck, he could find out if there were still any gentlemen left who would marry her. Perhaps, in the two years of his absence, Henrietta had spoiled things for herself with all those who had serious intentions and whom he would have found acceptable.
; Yes, that was an excellent idea.
He rang for Peters.
“I do not know what you were thinking,” his sister commented coolly as they stopped in front of the Evesham Townhouse. Henrietta had remained silent throughout the journey, despite his attempts to lure her out of her sulk. It had taken a lot of persuasion to even make her set foot outside the door. It was only when Gabriel mentioned Lady Rose and Richard de Coucy that she had given in and said that she had not seen Rose for half an eternity and would like to personally congratulate her on her good catch.
“You think he is a good catch?” Gabriel had asked in a deliberately calm manner.
“He is extremely charming and very attractive. He is also a determined man who is able to achieve anything he sets his mind to. Women find this purposefulness extremely appealing,” his sister had replied, sighing deeply, before putting her hand over her mouth and rushing out of the room. The marquess shook his head and turned to the slightly tricky task of picking out the black suit he felt most comfortable in, from the three that Peters had given him. Women were strange creatures. Although, only a few hours ago, Henrietta had said that she did not want to marry, she had been so moved by the engagement of one of her friends that she had to leave the room.
The light of the torches arranged by the father of the bride-to-be shone through one of the carriage windows. Henrietta appeared pale. Perhaps it had been a mistake to bring her along tonight. Gabriel leaned forward and touched her hand. “Would you rather turn back? You look like you are going to be sick at any moment. Have you eaten anything today? “
“Oh, Gabe, can you not just be horrid again?” The voice of his sister sounded suppressed. “When you are so nice to me, I lose control and want to cry.”
Gabriel felt the colour drain from his face. Had he really become such a rough, cold dog? His own answer was that, yes, he had. “What is wrong with you?” he asked, ignoring the shouts from the street telling his coachman to drive on. “You can tell me anything. I am your brother, or have you already forgotten that?”
“How could I?” Henrietta sobbed quietly, making a move to get out. Gabriel let her go, though he did not understand why his sister did not accept the offer of turning around and driving back.
He climbed out of the carriage and took her hand to help her out. The torchlight gave her pale complexion a much-needed touch of warmth, but she had deep shadows beneath her eyes that could not be overlooked. Her body, however, did not appear like she was suffering from any insufficiency. Her figure had become much womanlier since …
Gabriel turned his head and saw what he should have noticed three days ago.
“Who is the bastard who has violated you?” He growled, grabbing her by the upper arm. His sister uttered a cry that was half-sobbing and half-relieved sighing, then shook her head.
“I … am sorry that you found out like this,” she said and walked towards the steps. “But no one has violated me,” she whispered. “I just fell in love.”
“Henrietta, we are turning back,” Gabriel hissed between clenched teeth, but his sister had already reached the door and shook her head.
“No. Quite honestly, right now, I would rather not be alone with you.” The lackey opened the door, and the butler was already waiting for them in the house. For a moment, the marquess considered seizing his sister and bundling her into the carriage, despite the scandal he would undoubtedly provoke. But then he thought that by doing so he would undoubtedly reduce the chances of a marriage (that was now even more minimised) to zero, so, he composed himself. He stepped next to his sister’s side and gave the butler a smile that made the man retreat.
“I swear I will be sensible,” he whispered in Henrietta’s ear. “Just tell me one thing. Who is the father?
She bit her lower lip like she did when she was a child who was thinking hard, but her eyes flitted erratically back and forth. When she finally came to a decision, the ground tore from beneath Gabriel’s feet.
“It is Richard de Coucy,” she admitted, barely audible. Her fingers clawed at his arm, which he did not notice until the darned Evesham’s butler cleared his throat and stared quizzically at his sister’s face.
To make matters worse, the doors opened at that moment to give him a look into the dance hall. Just behind the servant stood Rose. She hung onto de Coucy’s arm like a fish on a fishing hook. Or, like a woman who had cast out her nets and made the catch of her life.
And she was wearing the very dress in which he had kissed her.
Chapter 7
Her sisters, wisely, kept away from her and Richard, and that was a good thing. Rose knew they were worried about her, but it would be a while before she could forgive them. It was easy for them to talk! Annabelle and Felicity were not only married, but also exceptionally blessed. Even Marcus St. John, the husband of her eldest sister, who had not exactly showered Annabelle with affection at the beginning of their marriage, now barely managed to keep his eyes off her. He and Luke, Felicity’s husband, had congratulated Richard and her politely, but even the two men did not seem to particularly appreciate Richard. Their eyes had remained unemotional, despite their kind words. Even Mrs Prisson, who once had been Mother’s chaperone and had always urged Rose to get married, fell noticeably silent as soon as Rose turned the conversation to Richard’s virtues. In Mrs Prisson’s case, the striking indifference may have been due to her advanced age and related poor eyesight, however, her sisters and their husbands had excellent vision.
But did that matter?
No.
Rose had decided to be perfectly happy tonight. All her friends had come. Most of them were already married, and she would soon be as well, namely with a man her friends envied. Lady Rowena – that was, now the Countess of Southfield – had even asked Rose how she had managed to catch de Coucy.
“I did not catch him,” Rose had whispered as she greeted her former girlfriend with two cheek kisses, left and right,” he came voluntarily. Not everyone is skilled in catching unwilling prey.” Everyone knew that Rowena had stopped at nothing to fish for the Earl of Southfield, who was twenty years her senior.
“Cavanaugh, my old friend.” Richards voice sounded so loud next to her that she almost flinched. “How nice that you and the lovely lady Henrietta should honour us with your presence.”
The marquess did not answer. Lady Henrietta, who looked unwell, bit her lower lip. Rose, whose heart gave a painful lurch, could not think of anything to fill the silence. It was her mother who put an end to the embarrassing situation by stepping forward and clasping her hands in his. “Welcome home,” her mother said and was interrupted by Rose’s father, who advanced two steps and patted the newcomer on the shoulder, which more than amazed Rose. Her father was not one to value a public display of emotions, but even he got carried away in showing his high regard for the marquess! Her father had never greeted Richard so warmly. Did nobody but her see what a wonderful man Richard de Coucy was?
She understood that her family cared for her well-being. More than once, Annabelle and Felicity had asked her to give another man a chance, someone other than Richard de Coucy, especially when he had set off to Italy without explaining himself. But how could Rose put into words what the one kiss had changed in her? One opportunity had led to the undeniable certainty that they were made for one another. At some point, Rose was convinced of that, her family would also realise that Richard was the best husband she could wish for and be happy for her.
Rose raised her head from Gabriel de Vere’s black-clad legs and shook his hand as well, embarrassed and confused. The only common ground with the man she had sent out as her raven two years ago and the one standing before her now, was his black clothes. But, Rose remembered, in his defence, his father had died a few months ago, and his brother had disappeared on the continent and was then declared dead. He also was no longer Lord de Vere, but the head of the family, having inherited the title of Marquess of Cavanaugh. Although the period of mourning was over, he still wore black just as he
had when his father had been alive. It seemed that it was more a matter of preference than his grief for his father. “My Lord,” she stammered, wishing his eyes would finally let her go. “My condolences for your loss.”
“Thank you,” he replied with noticeable hesitation, bowing over her hand. Then, he cleared his throat and turned to Richard in a noticeably cooler tone. “Do you have a few minutes for me, de Coucy?” It was formulated as a question, but, to Rose’s ears, it sounded like a threat. Her gaze flitted between the two men until it settled on Lady Henrietta, who clearly did not look well. More guests had gathered behind the pair, so Rose mustered her courage and suggested that the lady should retire to the drawing room.
“That is very kind of you, but you do not have to go to the trouble,” the marquess interrupted, looking her in the eye for a second, then turned back to Richard. He must have had the hearing of a fox, for Rose had deliberately spoken quietly so as not to embarrass Henrietta. Jutting out her chin, she looked at Gabriel, Marquess of Cavanaugh, as fearlessly as she could. She was the daughter of a duke and would certainly not be intimidated by him!
“My own room is to the rear of the garden. It is quiet, and you can lie down there for a while,” she said to Henrietta, who nodded gratefully and then, as Richard pushed forward, backed away almost fearfully. Gabriel’s eyes darkened as she mentioned the garden, and Rose’s heart leapt again. She had hoped he had forgotten the role of the messenger he had played that evening!
“It is all right, thank you, Lady Rose,” Lady Henrietta said in a more powerful voice, tucking her arm under her brother’s. “All I need is a refreshment.”