“Would you like anything special on the menu tomorrow when your family visit, Your Grace?” asked Mrs. Jennings, coming into the drawing room where Rose sat at the window, writing a long letter to Josephine. “Mr. Smithers is sending a man to town this afternoon.”
The Duchess of Ravenhill shook her head.
“No, the plans we already decided for this week are perfect, and the joint of beef need only be a little larger. My mother will not stay to dine, in any case. She can only leave my father for a short time.”
“Will His Grace be joining your party?” the housekeeper asked further and Rose gave another negative, although she herself had written to invite him and received a noncommittal response.
“I don’t believe so,” she said lightly. “His Grace still has business in London, as far as I know.”
Dorian had only been back to Ravenhill House once in the fortnight since he had announced his departure for London. Even then, they had only spoken for five minutes before he made his excuses and went to his study, leaving again before luncheon.
Did Rose catch a flash of sympathy now in the housekeeper’s eyes? Were all the servants sorry for her, abandoned here by her husband? Likely they imagined that the Duke of Ravenhill was up to his old tricks in London. In her lowest moments, Rose suspected this too, but whenever she thought more deeply, she abandoned the notion.
It felt to her more as though Dorian had been driven from this house by something within himself, rather than drawn from it by something, or someone, outside. This idea fitted well what Rose had seen of his behavior.
Depressingly, however, it occurred to Rose that Dorian might still take comfort and distraction from a lover, even if not purposefully seeking one. It was what the handsome and charming Duke of Ravenhill did, wasn’t it? Habits might be hard to break.
Rose remembered Dorian seeking to distract her with erotic sketches in his studio in order to avoid talking of his childhood. Painful memories and emotions could be so easily and effectively be overridden by physical desire and its fulfillment, at least temporarily. Rose had learned this lesson well atDorian’s skillful hands. Who in London would distract him from whatever he had fled at Ravenhill House?
“Ravenhill House is a big place for one person, Your Grace,” remarked Mrs. Jennings, coming as close as she respectfully could to acknowledging Rose’s present situation.
“It is,” Rose answered with a sad smile. “Too big.”
Lonely and disconsolate, although determined to put on a brave face for her family, Rose embraced her mother and brothers with real warmth as Mrs. Jennings brought them through the house to find her.
The young duchess had been out on Clio and had ridden back quickly when a groom came out to tell her that the Westvale carriage was pulling up the drive. A moment of dizziness as she galloped made her wonder if Dorian was right and she ought not to ride out alone, but it soon passed.
“You are early!” Rose commented after initial greetings and enquiries as to her father’s health, unwrapping the scarf and veil from her riding habit and handing them off to a waiting maid. “But what a lovely surprise. I was counting the hours from when I woke up.”
Edwin frowned and remained standing at the mantelpiece although Rose and the others took seats. He took out his pocket watch and played with it rather than looking at the time.
“We’ve heard from Mrs. Jennings and others that the Duke of Ravenhill is not at home, and has not been at home for some time,” he remarked and Rose sighed.
“Yes, Dorian has business in London,” she said shortly, and hoped that would be an end to it.
“What kind of business?” her eldest brother asked, still with a slight scowl.
Rose’s heart fell and she looked down at the rug before the sofa.
“I cannot say,” she admitted, and glanced across to Magnus, hoping for rescue.
Today, however, she saw only the same sombre concern on her second brother’s usually cheerful blond-haired face that she read in Edwin’s expression. Rose’s eldest brother now muttered something and their mother met his eyes with a meaningful expression.
“I am sorry, Mother,” he said, shaking his head. “I cannot stay silent on the matter. Rose is my sister and the daughter of the Duke of Westvale as well as the Duchess of Ravenhill. I will not stand by and see her treated with so little respect.”
“Edwin, you do not know the facts of the matter,” pointed out Eugenia in a reasonable tone.
“Nor does Rose, by her own admission,” he retorted. “You know what a little daydreamer she is. A man like Dorian Voss could so easily pull the wool over Rose’s eyes and expose her to public ridicule and humiliation. I should speak to him, man to man.”
“No!” gasped Rose, confused and astonished. “What are you talking about Edwin? I don’t know what you mean.”
Solid, brown-haired Edwin rolled his eyes despairingly at his mother.
“You see?”
“Rose, dear,” the Duchess of Westvale stepped in now, seeing that her eldest son was not to be derailed and perhaps thinking to put his concerns more tactfully. “We are very worried about you here alone by yourself. Everyone knows that the Duke of Ravenhill has been in London without you these past weeks. Edwin wants to speak to Dorian about this. It isn’t right.”
Rose shook her head.
