I shall console myself where my attentions are more welcomed…
Rose’s cheeks flamed hotly as she recalled the duke’s final words to her. Was this a boast that he could charm any other woman he wanted? An admission of some improper relationship with Lady Lepford? Or only a civil agreement that he would find another dance partner as Rose had suggested.
Josephine had confirmed Madeline’s stories of the Duke of Ravenhill’s scandalous life and both had agreed with Rose’s plan to avoid him. At the same time, Josephine seemed to think there was no real harm in the man, as long as he spent his time charming Lady Lepford or artists’ models rather than Rose.
At this moment, Rose herself was not so certain. Didn’t the behavior of Dorian Voss make him…a rake? It was a word she normally only heard whispered in ladies’ retiring rooms, and was not to be uttered lightly. And yet, both Cassius and Josephine welcomed him into their home. When she had the chance, she must interrogate Josephine and Madeline further on what a rake actually did.
“There you are, Rose,” said Edwin’s voice as her older brother came to her side. “I wondered if you had abandoned the ball already and gone to your room but Magnus assured me you were only resting. Then, I saw you talking to Ravenhill and thought I should…”
His eyes followed the direction Rose’s had been looking, to where Dorian Voss and Lady Lepford were now engaged in a graceful and harmonious waltz.
“The Duke of Ravenhill asked me to dance but I declined,” Rose admitted to her brother, half-expecting to be censured for this, after already hearing his disappointment in her earlier refusals.
Edwin only nodded thoughtfully, accepting her decision.
“That was prudent, Rose. The Duke of Ravenhill is to be respected, of course, but you would be better dancing with Benedict Emerton or George Wilkins.”
“Or Lord Gillingham,” Rose added, thinking that tonight was her last chance to make an impression on the only man here who possessed all of the theoretical qualities of her ideal husband. “I should certainly dance with Lord Gillingham, if he were to ask me.”
Her brother frowned slightly at this.
“From what I have seen this week, I believe that Gillingham is more interested in antique scripts than women. The Duchessof Ashbourne has told you the same, I know. I do wish you would be sensible and try to capture the interest of the many eligible and marriage-minded young gentlemen who are here rather than skulking behind doors or wasting your time on Lord Gillingham.”
On the dance floor, Dorian Voss and Lady Lepford twirled and spun as though they were one body rather than two. Something in the sight both stirred and irked Rose all over again, even more than Edwin’s scolding.
Rose refused to let the Duke of Ravenhill charm her into one of his presumably many playthings, and she equally refused to let Edwin come between her and her chance at true love. Spotting Lord Gillingham taking his leave of his sister on the far side of the room, she made an impulsive decision.
“I must go to the retiring room, Edwin,” Rose claimed. “When I return, I will dance. I promise.”
Then, before any further questions could be asked, Rose walked swiftly in the direction Lord Gillingham was taking and intercepted him before he reached the door. It was a slim chance, but if this man were really fated for her, it would all work out just as it always did in her favorite books…
“Lord Gillingham,” Rose called out, her voice sounding too loud to her own ears although she knew it was quieter than much of the conversation around her.
As the thin, mousy-haired man stopped and turned to her, she saw him wince and then adjust his silver-rimmed spectacles.
“Lady Rose,” he said with a polite but stiff bow that contained no encouragement at all.
“You are not leaving already are you, Lord Gillingham?” she blurted out. “I was hoping to speak with you this evening.”
“Balls do not agree with me, Lady Rose. I have been here for an hour, out of deference to our kind host and hostess and at my sister’s pleasure. Now, I have done my duty and look forward only to retiring for the night. You will excuse me.”
Lord Gillingham’s tone was impatient and barely civil, as though he could not wait to be gone. It was not a propitious start, but sometimes she too felt overwhelmed in such busy, crowded environments and she was not offended by his shortness of manner.
“I saw your quadrille with Lady Susan and thought you were a wonderful dancer, Lord Gillingham,” Rose volunteered, hoping that this might be enough to encourage him to invite her for the next dance. “Do you think you will dance again?”
She had never so directly tried to prompt a man to dance before and felt very forward in her approach, but told herself it was worth it for a chance at love. Lord Gillingham’s expression remained blank, however, and then became worse than blank, a sneer forming on his previously mild features.
“What?” he demanded contemptuously, with the air of a man finally losing patience. “Lady Rose, please stop insulting my intelligence or your own. I am obviously an entirely indifferent dancer who loathes every second I must waste in such useless pastimes. I equally abhor speaking with simpletons who squander their trivial lives in meaningless claptrap. Good night.”
With that, Lord Gillingham departed. Rose felt her heart shrivel, her courage now spent and her hopes dashed. Edwin had been right and she only hoped no one had overheard that rather brutal exchange. What a fool she was!
Utterly humiliated and afraid even to raise her face and look around in case people were laughing at her, Rose made for the conservatory door nearby and rushed out into the gardens.
Chapter Three
The air was fresh and cold but Rose was glad. Only a bath of ice could entirely extinguish the hot pain of humiliation and rejection, never mind the sense of failure underlying both.
Pulling her shawl over head and shoulders, Rose tripped away down the faintly torch-lit main path. Turning off to the left, she took refuge in a circle of severely pruned winter rose bushes around a sundial, with tall evergreen bushes beyond.
