If only she could convince herself the repairs had nothing to do with her. That he’d done it all for himself because he intended to move back into Hammond Court.
But the porcelain vase, and the silver candlesticks, and the soft green walls . . .
He hadn’t chosen them for himself. He’d chosen them forher.
Everything he’d done had been for her.
All it would take was one glance from those gray eyes, and her resolve would scatter like petals on the wind. “I think it’s best if I don’t—”
“Come now, Rose. You’re hardly going to refuse a pair of duchesses, are you? What’s become of your cloak? Ah, here it is.” Abby snatched Rose’s cloak from the clothes press, and held it out to her, shaking it. “The duchesses said they’re leaving Fairford tomorrow. You can’t let them go without bidding them goodbye after they were so kind to you.”
Rose stifled a groan. No, she couldn’t allow them to leave without thanking them first. “Yes, all right.” She held out her arms with a sigh, and Abby helped her into the cloak. Rose buttoned it, then went to the door, but just as she was reaching for the knob, Abby stopped her.
“Wait, Rose.”
She turned. “Yes? What’s the matter, Abby? You look strange.”
“Oh, nothing at all, pet, just . . .” Another hesitation, then Abby blurted, “If you do happen to come across the Duke of Grantham while you’re out, and he asks to speak to you, you might consider listening to what he has to say.”
“Youwant me to listen to the Duke of Grantham? But you’ve been saying all along that he’s an arrogant, heartless villain!” Rose threw up her hands. “You told me that all aristocrats are scoundrels, and you insisted the Duke of Grantham was the wickedest of the lot! My goodness, Abby. That’s rather a sudden change of heart.”
Abby flushed to the roots of her hair. “I never used the wordvillain.”
“Scoundrel, then! Surely, that’s the same thing?”
“Very well.” Abby avoided her gaze. “I own I may have said he was wicked, once or twice, but he’s not quite the scoundrel I—”
“He spoke to you, didn’t he? When, Abby? When did you speak to him?”
“He came by Hammond Court this morning after you left. He asked to speak to you. I didn’t tell him you were here,” she hastened to add. “Though he’s certain to find it out soon enough if he hasn’t already. But he looked—that is, he seemed . . .” She sighed. “He looked as if his heart were breaking, Rose.”
Oh, God. It hurt to think of it, to recall the devastation on his face when she’d left him in the doorway of Grantham Lodge last night. “He lied to me, Abby! He schemed to steal Hammond Court from me.”
“Schemed, yes, but he didn’t go through with it, did he? Hush now, Rose.” Abby held up a hand to quiet her when Rose would have interrupted. “I’m not saying that excuses him, but—well, he did go to quite a lot of trouble to see Hammond Court set to rights, didn’t he? I can’t think of any reason he’d do that, but to please you.”
Ithadpleased her. She was tremendously grateful to him, but had it really changed anything between them? Oh, she didn’t know! So she’d done her best to banish it from her mind. If she thought too much about it, she’d begin to wonder if she was making a mistake, leaving Fairford, and her thoughts would start spinning in useless circles once again.
“All I’m saying, pet, is that a man who’d go to such lengths as that can’t be all bad. Just something to keep in mind, all right?” Abby fastened the last button at the top of Rose’s cloak and turned her toward the door. “Go on, now, and enjoy yourself with the duchesses. I expect you to return with some color in your cheeks.”
As it turned out, when Francesca and Prue said they wanted to take Rose for a drive, that was precisely what they’d meant. Neither of them mentioned a single word about Max, and they didn’t make any attempt to abscond with her to Grantham Lodge.
Instead, they insisted on riding through Fairford, so Rose might tell them all about the village, as she’d promised she would when they first arrived. It didn’t take long—Fairford was mainly just the High Street.
“Well, it’s lovely, isn’t it, Prue?” Francesca said when they’d left the village behind.
“Yes, indeed. It puts me in mind of Wiltshire.”
“Shall we drive a bit longer?” Francesca asked brightly. “It’s such a lovely day.”
Francesca didn’t wait for a reply but ordered the coachman to take them for a short drive in the countryside. The duchesses kept up a steady stream of cheerful chatter as the carriage bumped along, and Rose did her best to match their enthusiasm, but it wasn’t long before her dark thoughts caught up to her again.
It was good of her friends to try and distract her, but somehow, the drive depressed her spirits even further. Everywhere they went—every road, every building, and even every tree had a memory attached to it.
Fairford was herhome. How could she bear to leave it behind?
But she would. She had to. She’d already signed the papers turning Hammond Court over to Max. There was no going back now. Even if she could have done it, she wouldn’t. Ambrose wanted Max to have the house. She was certain of it.
But with every turn of the carriage wheels, she grew more and more despondent, until she became so lost in her misery that she lapsed into silence, keeping her listless gaze on the scenery rushing by the window, without truly seeing it.
