“My father was a flirtatious, elderly rake.”
“Gently reformed, Rosalind. A leopard doesn’t change his spots, not when those spots are sixty years old. He might have strayed on occasion, but not with his heart. He loved Winnie.”
“She gave up her entire life to nurse him. He would demand she fetch him a pillow. Ask her to cut his meat. I was there, Your Grace.”
“When Richardson became ill, Winniechoseto nurse him because she wanted to spend every last moment with your father. I suspect what you recall most is Winnie’s collapse. It is a pity you cannot remember the joy your parents had between them that resulted in you.”
Rosalind’s fingers shook against her skirts, wishing she could shred the muslin. “She should have chosen a man closer to her own age. Instead, she was a grief-stricken widow before the age of twenty-five. That’s what my father’s heir hurled at her while Mother...” A tear threatened to fall from one eye, and Rosalind blinked it away. “She sobbed hysterically and begged to join my father.” It had been terrifying for a child of seven to witness, seeing her mother awash in anguish as she pleaded with God to allow her to leave this life and join her husband. “When they dragged her away, I ran into the kitchens. I made a spice cake.” A tear finally spilled down her cheek. “No one even came to look for me. Or cared where I was until you and Cousin Marcus came. I was alone.”
“Oh, Rosalind.” Cousin Amanda held out her arms. “Come here, my love.”
“And you.” Rosalind fell sobbing into her arms. “When Cousin Marcus died you... weren’t yourself. You wouldn’t leave his body.” She looked up at the dowager duchess. “Romy feared you would hurt yourself.”
“I—was not—well for a time.”
“Do you know what my father’s heir said to her? That Mother had put herself in this position by being foolish enough to marry a man so many years her senior. She should have been expecting to be a young widow.” The pain exploded across Rosalind’s chest. “And I wasalone. No one even looked for me. I thought my mother would die too.” She wiped furiously at her cheeks. “I promised I wouldneverallow that to happen to me.”
Cousin Amanda held her close, brushing her hair back from her forehead. “I know, dear. I’m so sorry it took Marcus and me so long to come to you. We didn’t know how bad—my poor Rosalind.”
“Why couldn’t Mother have allowed me to become a spinster? I don’t want to collapse.” She tried to pull away from Cousin Amanda, but the duchess wouldn’t allow it. “Or fall into fits. Lose myself and nearly die of grief because I wed a man twice my age. I won’t allow it.”
“My dear, Torrington could fall off his horse tomorrow. Perish from catching a fever. Be run over by a carriage leaving his club. He could be twenty or sixty and still meet with an unfortunate accident. Age has little to do with it. Merely bad luck.”
Rosalind sobbed louder.
“You are out of excuses as to why you must not love Torrington.”
“I don’t love him. I won’t.” She shook her head. “We will lead a separate existence.”
“Do you think by staying apart from him you will spare yourself? Because you won’t. It is far too late for that. You already love him.”
Another choking sob left her. Then a horrible wail. “I’m so afraid, Cousin Amanda. Like a weight on my chest which never goes away.”
The duchess pressed a kiss to her head. “Do not waste another precious moment on what may happen, Rosalind. It serves no purpose other than to keep you tethered to a perpetual state of misery. Fear. Even knowing how badly—”
Cousin Amanda trembled and hugged Rosalind tighter.
“I would still love Marcus. Every moment of my life with him has been worth it. I would changenothing. Not even the pain of losing him. You cannot live your life in constant worry. Have your bakery, with a healthy amount of discretion. Make the lemon blackberry cake my dear Marcus adored, as he did you.LoveTorrington. Give him children if you’re meant to. When the time comes, and you finally part, that love will sustain you.”
22
Rosalind handed Watkins her cloak with a tired smile. The visit with her mother had been exhausting, but necessary. Cousin Amanda had insisted, after leaving Rosalind, that a call be paid on Lady Richardson the following day. And one does not disappoint a duchess. Mother hadn’t known what her daughter had suffered in those months after the death of Lord Richardson. Her grief at her husband’s passing had been so profound, there was room for little else. She wept at having failed Rosalind and begged her daughter’s forgiveness.
Jacobson, seeing the excess of handkerchiefs and tears, had immediately shut the drawing room door.
Once the weeping had subsided, Mother implored Rosalind not shy away from the happiness to be found with Torrington. True to form, Mother had insisted she’d known from the start the earl would be a splendid match for Rosalind because, over tea one day, Lady Hertfort had mentioned her brother loved cookery far more than he did hunting, the theater, or anything else.
Torrington, Rosalind found out, had visited Mother, inquiring into the events surrounding Lord Richardson’s death. Her mother, bravely, had chosen to omit nothing, telling Rosalind’s new husband everything that had transpired.
“He loves you madly, Rosalind.”
Mother had then kissed her cheek and told her to go home to Torrington.
The panic and fear still lived inside Rosalind, having taken up space near her heart when she was a child, and was determined not to go quietly. It might always linger. But at least she now saw it for what it was: the terror of a young child.
And she could no longer be apart from Torrington. She loved him.
“Where is Lord Torrington?” she asked Watkins. “And Bijou? I expected her to greet me.”
