“I did, thank you. I slept quite deeply. I was tired, Charles.” Nellie picked up her shawl and the black-beaded reticule.
Charles eyed the reticule. “Where did you get the rose?”
“From the vase in the sitting room.”
“I don’t care for it.”
“Do you wish me to remove it?”
“I do.” He didn’t wait for her and instead, plucked the rose from her reticule, scattering petals and tossed it, sadly crushed, onto the dressing table.
“We must leave, or we’ll be late.” He offered her his arm. “Shall we set London on its ear?”
He seemed annoyed. Was it with her for refusing him earlier or the sender of the roses? She forced a laugh. “I believe Wellington has that pleasure.”
They descended the stairs to the entry.
Grove waited, holding Nellie’s evening cape in his hands. Charles took it from the butler and placed it around her shoulders. And they walked out, to where the coach waited on the gravel drive.
Charles gave the coachman his direction as the steps were put down.
“Shall we try to leave the ball at a reasonable hour?” Charles asked as they took their seats. “I have seen too little of you.”
His blue eyes offered an invitation she knew she could not resist. She brushed away her confusion and concern. If a battle for his affection was to be fought with another woman, let the terms be to Nellie’s advantage. She had his nights.
*
Charles had instructedFeeley to send any further bunches of roses to the housekeeper. He must tackle the even more thorny problem of his former mistress before Nellie became aware of where these flowers came from.
In the Hammond’s ballroom, decorated with enough exotic blooms to suggest they’d robbed all the hothouses in England, Nellie quickly became surrounded. He thought her graceful and self-assured, and in that gown, she stood out among the more soberly dressed ladies, and the debutantes in their white dresses. He’d anticipated some disapproval, for the satin clung to her curves, and there were a few sour faces, but many more clearly admired her. It pleased him how Nellie set her own style and was already putting her stamp on society. He had married a spirited woman, it seemed. Although one he wished he could know better.
With a regretful sigh, he thought of the passion they’d shared. Had her wish to rest alone been merely physical? He might have pursued her, offered just to lie down with her without asking anything more, but the way she’d looked at him, as if she distrusted him, gave him pause. There was that wall between them again. She could not know who sent the roses or the details of the court case, for Barlow had assured him nothing had been said.
He and Nellie barely knew each other. But it still bothered him more than it should have. A cold, indifferent marriage was never in his plans. He could demand she tell him what had happened to change her from the warm, passionate woman of last night, but better perhaps to ignore it and hope it passed. And he’d had a devil of a day and was a little bruised by the battle with Fairbrother after they’d carried their disagreement into the House of Lords. Although at least his problem was at an end now, the earl finally realized that using his son as a pawn to strike at Charles would not work.
Nellie laughed and employed her fan while chatting to Lawrence. By God, Charles wanted to see that sparkle in her eyes when she looked at him. He wanted to drag her home like a caveman and demand she tell him what troubled her. To kiss her, make love to her, hold her until she confessed. He feared that even then he wouldn’t get the full story. He shook his head and went in search of male company. Men at least could be relied upon to be relatively uncomplicated and fairly rational.
When Charles saw Nellie again, she talked to the poet, Walsh, who had returned from Ireland. He watched the way the Irishman looked at his wife and decided it displeased him. It clearly wasn’t poetry that drew him to her. He suspected the man was after a means to better himself socially. But no sense in warning Nellie. He’d look like a jealous fool.
Charles spent the evening in conversation with friends. He danced with their wives, spying Nellie on the dance floor with one partner or other.
The night grew late when a footman brought a note to Charles. He excused himself from those he was with and moved to a branch of candles to read it. It was an appeal from Drusilla to meet him in the antechamber off the hall. Charles had caught sight of her earlier. He searched the room for a black gown and saw her exiting the ballroom.Damn it!What the devil did she want with him? This must be dealt with swiftly before it caused a scandal. And before Nellie got wind of it. Charles strolled out after her.
Seated on a satin chair in the curtained alcove closed-off from the hall, Drusilla smiled a welcome, her black skirts arranged around her, her gloved hands resting in her lap. With a cautious look down the corridor leading back to the ballroom, he pulled the curtain to and faced her.
“What is it, Drusilla? Your note sounded urgent.” He searched her face for signs of distress, but her brown eyes danced.
“Thank you for coming. Please sit down, Charles,” she said, gesturing to the seat placed beside her with her fan.
“I prefer to stand. We should not be found together like this. It will only cause gossip.”
She lowered her eyes and fiddled with her fan. “We have never been able to talk about what happened when Father ended our engagement. I did try to speak of it at the Brocklehurst’s soiree…but you…” She shrugged.
“I don’t see any necessity to talk of it,” he said gently. “It’s in the past, surely.”
She leaned forward. “You’ve no idea how miserable I’ve been. The marquess was a monster. A savage hunter and vicious…” she lowered her eyes, “…. in the bedroom. He would not allow me to leave our country estate. He threatened to lock me in my bedroom if I tried. And it was the same when we came to London.”
“I’m sorry, Drusilla,” he said quietly. “But should you be telling me this? What possible good does it do now?”
