The Duchess of Ravenhill’s carriage pulled up to the gates of Haybridge Hall as the bells in a nearby church were striking noon.
It was an old fashioned English manor house in reasonable repair but rather empty-looking. Wooden shutters were closed across many of the windows and the front gardens had a still, undisturbed air. As Rose descended the steps to the gravel path, there was no opening of doors or noise of flurrying activity within the house.
“Shall I ring the bell, Your Grace?” asked the driver, looking rather doubtfully at the house.
“I shall do it,” Rose told him. “But please wait here in case there is no one to let me in. I did not have time to send word of my coming.”
Pulling her thick black velvet cloak tightly around her against the winds, she walked to the heavy oaken doors and pulled at the heavy door bell chain.
It was only after the second pull that Rose thought she heard faint footsteps and it was some moments later that the door swung open to reveal a buxom and handsome-faced woman in her mid-twenties with copious golden-brown hair and an affable expression.
While not richly dressed, nor was this woman dressed like a servant. Her dress was a serviceable but high quality brown wool and a cheerful red shawl was pulled around her body against the cold. She had something of the air of a gentlewoman, and yet was not quite of Rose’s own class.
“How may I help you?” the woman asked, the shawl slipping slightly as she held open the door and glanced across to the coach.
It was then that Rose noticed the thick swell of the woman’s belly and her heart lurched. What was this? Dear God, it could be worse than any of her imaginings!
“I am the Duchess of Ravenhill…” she said weakly, clutching at the doorframe as her vision spun and the woman sprang quickly forward to support her.
The coach driver too came running and was pressed into service by the brown-clad woman, helping Rose into the drawing room and settling her on a sofa there.
Pulling a bell, the woman briskly instructed a young maid to bring smelling salts and then a tray of tea. Behind a chair, Rose could see a golden-haired little girl with a doll, peaking out shyly at the visitors and sudden fuss.It was likely a second child that the woman expected, not only the first…
“Maisie here will give you tea and cake in the kitchen, sir,” the woman told the driver, who seemed reluctant to leave Rose’sside. “I am presently the caretaker for this house and will look after the duchess.”
“I am feeling better, Kettering,” Rose assured him, waving away the smelling salts from Maisie the maid and trying to breathe steadily. “It was only a momentary weakness. I ate a light and insufficient breakfast. That is all.”
Finally persuaded, the maid and driver departed together, leaving the two women alone. Rose was almost shaking with nervousness but knew she must speak first.
“I am Rose, Duchess of Ravenhill,” she introduced herself again. “I am afraid that we have not been properly introduced.”
How dignified and steady she sounded, Rose marveled. She could not imagine that there was any etiquette for meeting your husband’s presumed mistress but she could not have been more proper if there was.
“Congratulations to you both on your marriage!” returned the woman with a broad and unexpected smile. “I’ve only seen Dorian briefly since the wedding, but I’ve never seen him so happy.”
“Really?” said Rose in astonishment, none of this being what she might have expected to hear.
How on earth could Rose reply? The woman spoke so familiarly of Dorian and yet there was no self-consciousness to her or airof possessiveness over him. She was not trying to assert any prior claim to Rose and seemed genuinely pleased that he had married.
“Yes, I wish I could have been there but it would only have complicated matters,” the woman added, patting the swell below her waistline. “Has Dorian told you the story?”
Now Rose was speechless. This was too much. No woman could be so audacious with her lover’s wife, surely!?
“Dorian has told me nothing,” she admitted, taking refuge in truth. “When I came here, I did not even know if the place was empty. I did not expect to find…you.”
“Are you married to Uncle Dorian?” lisped the little girl, having come forward from her hiding place now and taken her mother’s hand.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Uncle Dorian?!Even the child spoke him with great familiarity.
Rose nodded weakly, searching that shy young face for some resemblance to her own handsome husband. The blond hair was certainly not from his side of the family, but what about those high cheekbones and playful mouth?
“You don’t know who we are, do you?” the woman asked suddenly, the realization spreading across her face. “Dorian really hasn’t told you, has he?”
At that moment, Rose could pretend no longer and burst into tears. It was all too much. Both the woman and the little girl came forward and tried to comfort her.
“Why are you crying?” asked the child, patting Rose’s hand and kissing her cheek.
