And those plans would begin tomorrow.
Chapter Five
Unfortunately for Rosalie, on this, the evening of his only daughter’s betrothal ball, her father appeared to be enjoying a level of popularity previously only experienced by the Duke of Wellington after winning the Battle of Waterloo.
She managed to slither through the throng of well-wishers surrounding him. One could be forgiven for assuming that someone might want to offer congratulations to the bride. But standing in the shadow of her gregarious papa, Rosalie was all but invisible.
That was all right. Rosalie did not want congratulations.
What she wanted was to figure out how to dissolve this ill-advised betrothal.
Leaning forward, she managed to seize his elbow. “Papa!” she hissed.
She feared he could not hear her over the congratulatory cacophony. But the duke, who had an almost animalistic awareness where his daughter was concerned, turned his head at once. “Rosie-Roo!” he exclaimed, forgetting in his exuberancethat she did not like him to use the nickname in public. “What did I tell you? It all worked out splendidly, did it not?”
Now, everyone was staring at her.Perfect.
She drew in a breath. And she smiled at her Papa—a genuine smile, because she knew his intentions had been good. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so surprised!”
That drew a round of chuckles from his circle of admirers.
Her father patted her hand and started to turn away. But Rosalie tightened her grip on his arm and craned her neck toward his ear. “I need to speak with you,” she whispered.
Her father looked at her then. Some sign of distress must have been visible on her face, because his eyes flared. “Of course.” He smiled at his friends. “Excuse us a moment, gentlemen.”
Crossing the ballroom was slow going, as everyone wanted a quick word with the duke. It soon became apparent to Rosalie that they would not make it to her father’s study before the party ended.
She settled for pulling him into a space along the wall between two potted palms. Nobody would be able to hear them over the orchestra. “About Lucian,” she began.
Her father beamed. “I was delighted when he turned up this morning! Truly, his timing could not have been better.”
She had best just come out and say it. “I cannot marry him.”
“What?” Her father looked generally startled. “No, this fellow… this is the one! I like him much better than that other Lord Valentine.”
“Well, I don’t!” Rosalie snapped.
Her father’s expression darkened. “Has he done something to you?”
“N-no!” The denial burst from her reflexively. It wasn’t the truth, of course. But she could hardly tell him the truth! It wastoo humiliating, for one. It also involved the sort of intimate details one could not discuss with one’sfather.
There was also the distinct possibility that her father would charge across the ballroom, bellowing like an angry bear, and strangle Lucian Deverell in front of five-hundred-some-odd eyewitnesses.
“No,” she repeated, calmer this time. “But I scarcely know him!”
Her father’s shoulders visibly relaxed. “You will come to know him. I have a good feeling about this one, Rosie.” He tapped his temple with a thick finger. “You must trust your papa on this one. I know the signs! I have a good instinct for this sort of thing.”
Obviously not, if he thought Lucian to be anything other than a blackguard and a scoundrel.
Papa continued, “Your mother is planning things already.” He leaned close, his eyes gleaming. “I hope you fancy a Valentine’s Day wedding!”
Oh, dear God! She couldn’t marry Lucian Deverell on Valentine’s Day. The whole notion was utterly preposterous!
And, more importantly, it gave her very little time to figure a way out of this wedding.
Her father was looking over her shoulder. “Ah, there is Lord Spencer. There’s a bill I’ve been meaning to discuss with him.” He squeezed Rosalie’s hand. “Spend some time with your young man. I daresay you’ll come to discover that your papa occasionally knows what he’s about!”
Before Rosalie could protest, he was striding away. “Spencer!” he boomed. “Come here, you old dog.”
