“You know very well you’d be too embarrassed to be that bold.”
“Under normal circumstances, perhaps. But under these circumstances, I haven’t much choice. I’ve no time to be wasting on a proper courtship, and certainly no time to be sitting around waiting for the right man to come along. So point out the more experienced eligibles, and I’ll tell you which ones I want to be introduced to. I’ve quite had enough of these young bloods.”
“So be it,” Frances replied and looked casually about the room. “There, by the musicians, that tall one. I can’t think of his name off hand, but I understand he’s a widower with two children—no, three, I think it is. He must be forty-one or -two, and is a very likable sort from what I hear. Has a big estate up in Kent where the children are, but he prefers town life. Is he more what you had in mind?”
Roslynn grinned at Frances’ inept attempt at sarcasm. “Oh, he’s not bad, not bad a-tall. I like that silver at the temples. If I can’t have love, I must insist on pleasant-looking, and he is, don’t you think? Yes, he’ll do for a start. Now who else?”
Frances gave her a disgusted look, for she certainly felt as ifshewere at a market selecting choice goods, even if Roslynn didn’t. It was all so unsavory, the logical and businesslike way Ros was approaching this. But then wasn’t that really the way it was, only most women had a father or a guardian to handle the particulars, while they concerned themselves merely with the happy fantasies of love evermore, or in the unfortunate cases, love nevermore. Ros didn’t have anyone to deal with the realities of marriage for her, so she had to make all the arrangements herself, including the financial settlements.
More in the spirit of the thing now since to fight it was so useless, Frances pointed out another gentleman, and another; after an hour, Roslynn had met them all and had narrowed down a new list of possibles, this one much more acceptable agewise. But the young blades still wouldn’t leave her alone and insisted on dance after dance. Although her popularity relieved a good deal of her anxiety, a very great deal of it actually, it was becoming a bit of a nuisance too.
Having lived so long in seclusion with her grandfather and the servants known to her for most of her life, Roslynn had had very little traffic with gentlemen. The males of her acquaintance were used to her, and those she didn’t know she very properly didn’t take notice of. Unlike Nettie, who took in everything at a glance and was well aware of Roslynn’s effect on the male gender, Roslynn was too circumspect when out and about to pay attention to what went on around her. It was not surprising that she had put so little store in her looks, which had never seemed very out-of-the-ordinary to her, and so much store in her age, which seemed inappropriate for her purpose, and hadcounted solely on her status as an heiress to win her a husband quickly.
She had assumed, given her advanced age in comparison with all the other girls out on their first season, that she would have to settle for the second or third sons with no prospects, or even a gambling rogue, a lord who was down and out and heavily mortgaged. And even if there would be a marriage contract that would leave the control of the bulk of her fortune in her hands, she would be generous. She could afford to be generous. She was so rich it was embarrassing.
But she had had to reevaluate her situation after the first party Frances took her to. She had quickly found that all sorts of gentlemen were interested in her, and the extent of her wealth wasn’t even known yet. Of course, her gowns and jewels spoke for themselves, but really, that wealthy earl had already called on her at South Audley Street, and so had the obnoxious Lord Bradley. The older men on her new list were not paupers either, and all had seemed extremely flattered by her interest in them. But would they be willing to marry her? Well, that remained to be seen. Her priority now was to find out more about each of them. She wanted no nasty habits or surprises revealedaftershe was married.
What she was in need of at this point was a confidant and adviser, someone who had known these men for a number of years and could help her whittle down her list. Frances had simply been too sheltered and reclusive since her widowhood to be of any help in a thorough character analysis. She knew no men personally other than her late husband’s friends, none of whom she would recommend for consideration. The men she had introduced to Roslynn tonight were mereacquaintances about whom she had only the vaguest knowledge.
A good gossip might help, but that was so unreliable, and old gossip tended to be forgotten in lieu of new, so that wouldn’t serve her purpose anyway. If only Roslynn had other friends in London, but Frances was her one and only.
It never occurred to either woman that Roslynn could hire someone to find out anything she wanted to know about her candidates. And even if it had occurred to them, they wouldn’t know how to go about finding such a person. But then that would have been too simple, and Roslynn had expected from the beginning that this husband-hunting business would be difficult. She expected to agonize over it, simply because she knew she couldn’t afford the time necessary to make a cautious decision.
At least she was making progress tonight, slow but helpful. Sir Artemus Shadwell, her silver-templed widower, had braved her pack of randy bucks, as she was beginning to think of them because of their overzealous pursuit, and stolen her away for a dance. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a dance conducive to conversation, and the most she was able to learn from him was that with five children from his first marriage (och, but Frances was way off there!), he wasn’t at all interested in starting a new family if he ever married again. How he could avoid it, she’d like to know, but so he said.
That was too bad, because if Roslynn was determined to get anything out of the husband she eventually decided on, it was children. That was the only thing about getting married she was looking forward to. She wanted children, not many, but some, two or three or four, and that was definite. Nor was thissomething she could wait on either, not at her age. If she was going to have a family, it had to be started immediately. That would have to be understood. There would be no “Maybes” or “We’ll sees” about it.
But she needn’t write Sir Artemus off her list yet. After all, he wasn’t aware that he was one of her “possibles,” so he couldn’t have considered her question about children serious. And a man’s mind could be changed. If she knew anything about men, it was that.
After their dance he took her back to Frances, who was standing by the refreshment table with a young woman Roslynn hadn’t met yet. But a waltz began immediately, and Roslynn noticed the persistent Lord Bradley making a beeline toward her. She groaned audibly. It was too much. She wasnotgoing to get her feet mashed up again by that clumsy fellow.
“What’s wrong now, Roslynn?” Frances inquired, hearing her.
“Nothing—och, everything,” she answered, exasperated and then quite determined, without the least thought for the stranger who hadn’t yet been introduced to her. “I’m not going to dance with that looby Bradley again, Frances. I swear I’m not. I’ll faint first, which will embarrass you, so you must excuse me while I go hide this one out.”
And with a pleased chuckle for the one decision she had been able to make with ease, she gave both ladies a conspiratorial grin and disappeared into the crowd, leaving them to explain to the persistent Bradley how his quarry could simply vanish.
Quickly making her way to one of several open French doors that led out onto a terrace, Roslynn ducked outside but went no further. Pressed up againstthe wall beside the door, she spared a quick glance to make sure she wouldn’t be observed by anyone taking advantage of the lovely moonlit garden that spread out over a large lawn beyond the flat stone terrace, but thankfully she saw no one. She then twisted and bent over at the waist to peek around the door to make sure her escape was successful. And it was. She was just in time to see Lord Bradley leaving Frances, quite obviously disappointed.
It was shameful, but she couldn’t dredge up even the slightest pang of remorse. In fact, she continued to watch Lord Bradley just to make certain he wouldn’t think to look outside for her when he couldn’t find her on the dance floor. She would have to rush to another hiding place then, and she could see herself crouching ridiculously behind flower beds in the garden, but looking no more ridiculous than she did at the moment, she realized belatedly and spared another nervous glance behind her to make sure the garden was still deserted. It was, as far as she could see. After spying on Lord Bradley for a few moments longer, she finally saw him ask someone else to dance.
Roslynn straightened then with a sigh, silently congratulating herself on saving her feet for the time being. She should have escaped to the garden sooner. The fresh air was welcome, a balm to her muddled thoughts so filled with the complexity her life had become. She could use a few minutes alone, to simply think of nothing, to let it all drain away on the gentle strains of the waltz coming through the open doorways.
Soft gold light spread across the stone terrace in rectangular patches from each doorway and window facing the lawn. A few chairs and tables were scattered about but were too noticeable from inside, so Roslynn wisely avoided them.
She spotted a bench tucked under a tree just on the edge of the terrace where it blended into the lawn, or at least the legs of what looked like a bench. The light reached only that far, what with one low-hanging branch bending toward the house, almost like a shielding curtain. The rest of the area was darkly shadowed because of the thick tree limbs, the moonlight unable to penetrate either. How perfect. She could tuck her feet up on the seat and be almost invisible if someone should come outside. Invisible would be nice for a change.
It was only a few dozen feet away, but still Roslynn ran toward this unexpected haven, hoping in those few seconds she wouldn’t be spotted through one of the windows. She actually had a moment’s anxiety that she wouldn’t reach the safe shadows in time. Their importance was absurd. She was desirous of only a few minutes’ respite. She wouldn’t crumble if her wish weren’t granted. She couldn’t stay away long anyway, or Frances would worry.
But none of that seemed to matter next to her anxiety. The silly bench had become essential for a purely emotional need. And then abruptly everything she was feeling froze. She had reached no haven at all. The bench,herbench, was already occupied.
She stood there in a pool of light, staring blankly at what had seemed no more than a dark shadow from a dozen feet away but was revealed now to be a man’s black-clad leg, just one leg, bent over the backrest of the bench at the corner of it, his foot planted firmly on the seat thatshehad intended to become invisible on. Her eyes traveled upward, discovering the bent knee, seeing finally that he was bracing one hip onthe edge of the backrest, half sitting, half standing, no doubt comfortably. She looked higher and saw the forearms casually resting on the bent knee, the hands lax, palms down, fingers long and graceful, details clear only because they were lighter in color next to the black of his trousers. Higher still were wide shoulders relaxed, bent forward, and the contrasting, lighter shade at his neck of a white cravat, loosely tied. She finally looked at his face but could see nothing of his features even at this close distance, just a gray blur defined by dark hair.
He was totally in shadow, where she had meant to be. He was nothing but shades of black and gray to her, but he was there, real, silent. Her feelings melted with a vengeance. She felt violated, angry beyond reason. She knew he could see her clearly in the light from the house, and where that light didn’t reach, there was the silvery moonlight. He had probably been able to see her looking utterly ridiculous peeking around the door into the ballroom, like a little child in a game of hide-and-seek. And he said nothing. He hadn’t moved. He simply looked at her.
Her skin burned with the shame of it. Her anger soared that he was playing mute, as if he were still invisible to her. He could have put her at ease. A gentleman would have said something to make her believe she had been noticed only now, at this moment, even if it weren’t true.
The continued silence tugged on her instinct to flee, but it was too much, not knowing who he was, while he could easily recognize her. To meet new men at some later date, and she surely would, and have to constantly wonder if one of them was this man, the one who would be silently laughing at her. One more worry to add to her others. It just wouldn’t do.
