A long-forgotten yearning overtookher. Before she realized just what had happened, their eyes had locked. The sternness on his face had fallen away, and he was no longer Joseph Palgrave, the bastard son of a duke, but Joseph, the boy who’d once chosen her. Plain, uninteresting Rose Verdier. He was still gorgeous, his skin still that golden, glowing tan. In a moment he would reach for her. Of that she was certain. If he touched her, she would not be able to help herself; she would forget herself, her hurt, their past. To be with him.
But as soon as he extended his arm, she turned away, panic coursing through her veins. It was just as well.
The door opened.
The dog was still yipping. Mrs. Hartley rushed over to pick him up, alternately tutting and soothing.
“Ah, Miss Verdier,” Mr. Hartley said with interest, “leaving us so soon?”
“Shall I stay?” Rose asked, hoping it came off as nonchalant, though she reckoned her voice sounded a bit raspy. She drifted back to her abandoned chair, where her work lay on the seat.
“Oh no, no dear. Walter’s gone off in a fit, I’m afraid,” apologized Mrs. Hartley. “And he was doing so well!”
“It’s quite alright. I should have enough to begin with the face, at the very least.” Everything seemed a confusing rush as Rose packed away her materials in her valise. She worried she was forgetting something, and she looked about the floor, starting when she noticed a very smart, very polished pair of shoes enter her view. Her heart jumped into her throat.
“May I arrange a carriage for you?” Joseph’s perfectly accented tone sounded so cold, so confidently indifferent.
Rose frowned at her open bag, reassuring herself that everything was there before closing it with a bit more force than necessary. “No, thank you. I prefer to walk.”
“Then allow me to accompany you.”
She opened her mouth, a tart reply on her tongue. But then she caught Mrs. Hartley’s pursed mouth and raised brows.Wonderful. Now they’d gone and attracted interest. Interest from the one paying her, unfortunately. Swallowing her anger, Rose plastered on an unctuous grin for Mrs. Hartley’s benefit.
“I should not wish to put you out, Mr. Palgrave. Your shoes aremuchtoo fine to be mucking about the streets with the rest of us,” she said in a syrupy tone, gesturing to his feet.
“Oh, nonsense,” Mrs. Hartley cut in, seemingly forgetting she had Walter tucked under one arm as she rushed forward to nudge Rose in Joseph’s direction, squeezing the dog in the process. With all the confidence afforded by her ignorance, she exhorted, “Why, it hasn’t rained in a fortnight. Though I’m not one to walk myself, I daresay it should be a pleasant enough stroll.”
“No!” Rose interjected, startling her host. She immediately reddened, then tried to recover. “What I mean to say is, er, no thank you, I beg. I’ve… business to attend to. And I couldn’t bearto be a hindrance.” She glanced at Joseph and choked out, “Mr. Palgrave.”
“Right,” Mr. Hartley said, standing. His tone was firm, and he shot a hard glance Joseph’s way. “Come along, then. Fennell will have fetched your things.”
Still flustered and discomposed, Rose bade goodbye to a befuddled Mrs. Hartley, and offered just enough of a nod to Joseph that it would not appear as though she’d deliberately ignored him.
Relief flooded through Rose as she scurried after Mr. Hartley into the hallway, slowing her heart and steadying her limbs.
It didn’t last for long.
At the end of the hall, the weathered, elderly butler waited with her hat and gloves. But before they reached him, Mr. Hartley spun about, hands in his pockets.
“Miss Verdier. I apologize for my behavior before.” He looked away, avoiding her eyes.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Before, when I…” he sighed. “When I fabricated a request to remove my mother from your presence. Yours and Mr. Palgrave’s.” Now he looked at her, his face very serious.
Humiliation pricked at the back of her neck. This commission was turning out to be a long, mortifying process that would try the resolve of Boney himself.
Mr. Hartley continued. “If I’d any reason to suppose his affections were not reciprocated—”
“Affections?” she interrupted, her voice shriller than she ever supposed it could be.
Mr. Hartley took his hands from his pockets and crossed his arms. He studied her thoughtfully.
Rose did not care for it. But she also knew better than to run her mouth. So she stood tall, doing her best to portray a womanscandalized, and tried to ignore the panic racing through her body.
“Interesting,” Mr. Hartley finally said, then shook his head, as if scattering any further thoughts on the matter. “Well. Consider accepting my remorse, even so.”
What ought she do? She still did not know, and she felt so abjectly embarrassed, having her private matters so blatantly exposed to the Hartleys, that she simply nodded, then rushed forth to accept her hat and gloves. In her hurry, she dropped everything save one glove to the floor. Biting back a curse, she leaned over only to nearly knock her skull against Mr. Hartley’s, who retrieved the other items and handed them to her.
