Did he know that even the smell of chocolate reminded her of that afternoon? There had been no special instructions on this recipe. Nothing which would lead anyone to think she and Torrington had any sort of connection to each other.
Because we do not have a connection. Not even friendship, any longer.
Which was entirely for the best.
Rosalind smoothed down her skirts. Checked her hands to make sure there wasn’t any dough stuck beneath her nails. “I can see myself in, Jacobson. Thank you.”
The butler gave a resigned sigh and turned back in the direction he’d come.
Reaching the drawing room door, Rosalind placed her hand on the knob, faltering when she heard Lady Hertfort’s voice echo through the door.
“Torrington finds her acceptable.” The snobbish tone of Torrington’s sister met her ears. “He won’t rescind his offer. You worry needlessly.”
“Then why hasn’t he made a formal announcement? Or allowed me to do so? I’ve been so concerned he would tear up the contracts, I even mentioned to Lord Cheshire that my daughter had not yet made a suitable match. Just in case.”
“Heavens, Winifred. I wish you hadn’t done so. Cheshire?” Lady Hertfort made a sound. “Torrington would never go back on his word. He’s far too honorable. Everything has been signed. Witnessed. Agreed upon. You needn’t concern yourself further.”
Rosalind pulled her fingers back as if the metal had scorched her palm.
Oh, God.
Her breathing halted, paused momentarily by shock and sheer panic at Lady Hertfort’s words.
“I worried that he’d found someone to replace Stanwell,” Mother said. “And was no longer in need of a wife.”
“The search continues, of course, but it is highly unlikely Torrington’s solicitor will find another Stanwell. Thankfully.” Lady Hertfort made a derogatory sound. “I never approved of Stanwell to begin with. How stupid must you be to secure a title and then be foolish enough not to keep it? He didn’t even expire”—she lowered her tone—“with any sort of taste or dignity.”
“So I’m given to understand,” Mother replied.
“There isn’t any hope of finding another distant relation, Winifred. Please, put your fears aside.”
Rosalind fell back a step, thinking of how close she’d been to being seduced in Torrington’s kitchen. Had he succeeded, would he have merely done the honorable thing, with Rosalind never knowing—that he and her mother had already agreed—
“I’m sure you’re right. I only grew concerned, Margarite. I told Cheshire I was hoping to have Rosalind wed by the end of the season, which is, for all intents and purposes, at an end. I wish my daughter to have a home and a family. A husband. Not become some withered spinster with nothing to recommend her but a delicious plate of scones.”
Mother hadneverunderstood.
Rosalind had to press her hand against her mouth to keep from screaming.
No. No. No.
Panic bubbled in her chest. Her first inclination was to escape to the kitchens and mix up a batch of muffins. A good way to soothe her nerves—but muffins would not solve the problem at hand. Instead, Rosalind turned the knob and opened the door to see her traitorous mother and Lady Hertfort calmly sipping tea. You’d never know the two of them had been deciding Rosalind’s future for her.
Regarding her mother with a cool look, Rosalind reminded herself to stay calm. At least until Lady Hertfort had vacated the premises. “Good afternoon, Mother. Lady Hertfort.”
“Ah, Rosalind. There you are. I was growing concerned.” Mother waved her forward. “Lady Hertfort and I were just enjoying a little bit of gossip. Lady Huft is about to marry again, for the fourth time. Can you imagine? Come join us.”
Torrington’s sister inclined her head and gave Rosalind a beaming smile, one far too welcoming.
Suitable.I’m suitable for her beloved brother. A convenient brood mare.
A surge of anger in Torrington’s direction had Rosalind wobbling. How could he have done this and not told her? He had given her the recipes. Encouraged her. Admired her skill.
Licked chocolate off my thighs.
“How nice to see you, Miss Richardson. You look lovely,” Lady Hertfort said.
“Thank you, Lady Hertfort.”
