I write to inquire as to the present whereabouts and general condition of the new Earl of Hallandale…
She paused, biting the inside of her cheek. It sounded so cold. So…mercenary. But what else could she say? She could hardly admit her true reasons for wanting to meet the man. It was too ridiculous to admit anything so emotional ashope. And yet that was what the true nature was. Lord Hallandale represented protection. Stability. A future unmarred by scandal or uncertainty.
Could she sound any more like a light-skirt?
So, what?she chastised herself. Did she truly wish to be alone for the rest of her life?
Her pen scratched on.
For the purposes of establishing a distant family connection, as I believe our mothers were related through the Ashleys of Yorkshire. Should the earl be amenable, I would be pleased to meet him socially. —Lady G. Marchwood.
It was a lie, of course. There were no Ashleys of Yorkshire. But the solicitor wouldn’t know that unless he thought to check Debrett’s. And how likely was that?
If Hallandale had a shred of decency, he would agree to a meeting. A foot in the door to Society. Yes, she would introduce him about. She was excellent at that sort of thing.
She read back through her note. Then, with a sharp nod, she sanded the ink and folded the paper. Oh, dear, but who to send it to? She went to the bookcase and found her latest copy of Debrett’s and lugged it back to the desk.
Most families, in her opinion, retained their solicitors without ever replacing them. Perhaps that would be the casehere. In a matter of minutes, she found what she was looking for. Sussex. His seat was in Sussex.
HALLANDALE, Earl of
Created 1714…
Family Seat: Winthrop Park, East Sussex…
Legal affairs administered by Hawking & Berridge, Solicitors, Gough Square, London.
Her fingers trembled, and the hair on her neck raised.
George Percival Massey, sixth Earl of Hallandale, deceased 1822.Dead, it said plainly.Oscar Percival Massey, styled Viscount Monclair, currently abroad.And that tidy line about the solicitors:Inquiries regarding the Hallandale estate may be directed to Hawking & Berridge, Solicitors, Gough Square, London.
Was she really going to do this, so bold a step? She was the new Adventurous Rose, wasn’t she?
Triumph curled warm in her chest. No name meant uncertainty. No wife meant possibility. And now, thanks to the helpful precision of Debrett’s, she had a name, an address, and just enough nerve to proceed.
She closed the book with a softthump. She dropped it on the desk and reached for her stationery, quickly penning the address atop.
“Winston,” she called out. “Have this sent immediately. Quietly. No footmen chatter.”
Winston gave her a slow, deliberate bow. “Of course, my lady.”
As he left, Rose drew her shawl around her shoulders and gazed out the rain-streaked window. She imagined the earl—faceless, unknown—reading her letter and deciding her fate.And what of Mr. Whitmore?
Then chastised herself, again. As if he mattered an iota.
But the part of her that still remembered his hands, his voice, his kiss—those parts of her brain hadn’t received the edict, resolving her determination to put him from her mind.
Forever.
~~~
“Finally,” Emerson muttered as he stepped down from the curb, his eyes fixed on the returning Stanford carriage disappearing into the mews.
He strode across the street and mounted the steps, frustration driving his determination. This was the fourth time he’d called. His patience was worn threadbare, and with good reason—she was avoiding him. The muscles in his stomach coiled to a tight spring, ready to thrust forward at the slightest touch.
The knocker fell with the force of his fury. The door opened a moment later, and the footman’s expression fell.
“Er, sir—”
