Rosalind took the book and held it against her chest in utter worship. The leather was ancient and worn, the binding cracked in several places. Opening the cover, she leafed through the pages, noting stains from bits of egg or cream. Tiny notes in French were written into the corners of the well-used pages in a feminine hand which could have only belonged to Torrington’s mother.
“I won’t let anything happen to it, Bram. Ever. I promise,” Rosalind whispered.
“I know.” Warm lips pressed to her temple. “Look to your heart’s content, but unless you are going to surprise me with a sudden fluency in French, I’ll need to copy the recipes into English for you. And Pennyfoil.”
Rosalind’s fingers tightened on the book at the mention of her partner.
“Yes, I know about Pennyfoil. No, Lady Richardson didn’t inform me. I already knew about Mr. Rudolph Pennyfoil before your mother warned me of his existence. She suggested once we wed, that I forbid you to engage in such a scandalous venture, but Pennyfoil’s other partner disagreed.”
Rosalind’s stomach pitched. Pennyfoil had replaced her so quickly and without her knowledge? How could he? It was her recipes which had made Pennyfoil’s profitable.
“Stop frowning and clenching your jaw. I am the partner, Rosalind. Me.”
“How is that possible?” A strangled breath fell from her lips. “How could you—”
“Before you throw the cookbook at my head”—Torrington nodded at the tome—“let me explain, my brazen baker. Pennyfoil did not betray you, in fact he went to great lengths in denying you were involved in his bakery. I explained that as your future husband, mindful of your reputation, that certain adjustments to your partnership would need to be made.” Torrington held up a hand to stop her from speaking. “Allow me to finish. I have no desire to become involved in the management of your establishment unless you ask my opinion. Whether you wish it or not, you are now a countess, Rosalind. Discretion is necessary. Legally, Pennyfoil ismypartner. I had my solicitor draw up papers to that effect. But in all the ways that matter, Pennyfoil’s belongs to you. The law does not favor women. Nor society. This is the loophole Lady Andromeda used. Legally, it is the Duke of Granby who owns half of Madame Dupree’s modiste shop. I’ve only done the same for you. And I bought the building you wanted from Ledbean outright.”
“Bram.” Her fingers gripped tighter on the book. The enormity of what he’d done for her wasn’t lost on Rosalind. No one had ever gone to such trouble for her. Her heart beat fiercely for Torrington, so much so it was in danger of bursting from her chest. A terrifying fear suffused her limbs, though she tried to will it away.
“Keep in mind that technically Pennyfoil is leasing the building fromme, but since your partner has informed me that you actually keep the ledgers, I will tell you that I expect the rent to be received promptly. I would hate to evict my own wife from the premises.” A kiss pressed along the skin of her neck.
“You will really allow me to have Pennyfoil’s. You won’t stop me.”
“No, my love. I will not. Just be a bit more discreet than you have thus far. I had no problem trailing you to Pennyfoil’s. The Duke of Averell has asked that I prevent you from becoming another Barrington scandal, if possible." A half-smile tilted his lips.
“I can truly have Pennyfoil’s,” she said again, the words trembling from her lips. “You’ve done all of this for me.” Fear crushed her chest, swallowing the joy trying to fill her.
“Yes.” His fingers closed around hers. “I will neverdemandfrom you, Rosalind. Mostly because you’ll ignore me, and I will have wasted my breath. I may”—he trailed his tongue along the edge of her ear—“issue an order in the bedroom on occasion, but I expect you’ll enjoy that. I will also not ask you to attend functions just for the sake of being seen, pretend to enjoy the opera, or have you pay rounds of calls, because then you would be forced to eat substandard pastries from someone else’s tea tray and listen to tedious gossip you don’t care about. You don’t have to wear a corset if you don’t want to. Or underthings. Honestly, I would rather you didn’t.”
“Bram.” The name choked out of her. Rosalind’s emotions, kept so tightly bottled up since yesterday, clawed at her skin. She shifted on the bed, every instinct screaming at her to get away.
“I told you I don’t care if I have an heir for the bloody title, and I meant it. I hope we will be blessed with a child, but if we are not, I will still consider myself to be the luckiest of men. I only wantyou.” He cupped her cheek. “I love you, Rosalind, with everything I am.” He kissed her gently. “And I know you love me. We can be happy.Willbe happy. I promise.”
She shook her head violently, scooting away from him as she dropped the cookbook. “I can’t—I won’t be able to.”
“Rosalind.” Torrington reached for her wrist, but she jerked away.
The image of her mother, dressed all in black, clawing at the floor, skirts billowing like some horrible cloud of death, filled her vision. The words, wrenched from her mother’s anguished chest, screamed in her ears.
“Let me go be with him. I beg you.”
The doctor rushing forward to sedate Lady Richardson as two footmen had to be summoned to haul away her mother’s unconscious form. The butler yelling at someone to send for the Duke of Averell to fetch Rosalind. Then the later anguish of Cousin Amanda ripping apart the entire household at Cherry Hill, weeping hysterically as Cousin Marcus was buried. She had to be carried away because she refused to leave his body.
That’s what Rosalind would become. A grieving anguished wraith. Because of Torrington.
“No.” Hysterical sobs left her. “No. I don’t love you. I won’t. I can’t.”
She needed to bake. Lose herself in the comfort of the kitchen and make muffins. Or scones. A spice cake.
“Youdolove me.” Torrington’s voice was wounded. Hurt. He reached for her again, but Rosalind sprang from the bed, slapping away his hands.
“Stop, Rosalind.”
Racing to the adjoining door between their rooms, Rosalind walked through and shut the door firmly behind her, throwing the lock, unable to look at Torrington a moment longer.
She took a step inside the rooms her husband had so carefully decorated for her, one hand pressed against her heart.
She needed to bathe. Dress. Visit Pennyfoil’s.
