Lingering, butnothiding.
“Why, you silly thing, why didn’t you ring?” Abby joined her in front of the glass, taking up the hairbrush. “You seemed fatigued this morning when I brought your tray, so I thought I’d let you sleep, but I confess I expected you to come down before this.”
“I was just on my way.”
Rose darted a glance at Abby in the mirror, then looked quickly away, but not before she saw Abby’s brow wrinkle. “Whatever is the matter with you, Rose? You’re dreadfully flushed. Are you ill?”
“There’s not a thing the matter with me, I promise you.” Rose toyed with the hairpins scattered across the top of the vanity, avoiding Abby’s gaze. “Is, ah . . . has the Duke of Grantham appeared downstairs yet?”
He had, of course, likely hours ago. Why wouldn’t he? It wasn’t as if she was the first young lady he’d ever kissed. Why, a handsome gentleman like the Duke of Grantham must have kissed dozens of young ladies. Hundreds, even. He likely hadn’t given her a second thought since she left the kitchen last night.
“The Duke of Grantham!” Abby had been running the hairbrush through Rose’s curls in long, soothing strokes, but now her hand froze. “I might have knownhehad something to do with it!”
“To do with what? I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.” But the treacherous blush was deepening to a telltale magenta, the heat scalding her cheeks.
“Is that so? Then why are you turning as red as a summer strawberry?” Abby’s furious gaze met hers in the glass. “What’s that wicked duke done this time?”
Oh, dear. This had all the makings of a catastrophe. “Nothing at all, Abby, I promise you.”
Abby didn’t reply, but she assessed Rose’s reflection in the mirror with unrelenting intensity, her mouth pulled into a stern line. Rose gulped, but by some miracle, she managed to hold Abby’s gaze without squirming.
Whatever else might come of it, Abby couldnotfind out the Duke of Grantham had kissed her last night, because if she did, Abby would see to it she removed Rose from Grantham Lodge before she could squeak out a word of protest, and then all of her plans would fall to ruins.
What did it matter if the duke had kissed her? It had been a single, isolated moment. If they hadn’t been alone in a dark kitchen, and she hadn’t done him a good turn with the ginger biscuits, it never would have happened at all.
It wasn’t as if the duke had any particular affection for her. Quite the opposite.
Perhaps he wasn’t accustomed to receiving unexpected kindness from people. Considering how snarly he was, that would hardly be surprising. He might just have been overwhelmed with gratitude, or . . . well, he’d been overwhelmed withsomething, certainly.
Either that, or he’d merely been toying with her. He wasbetrothed, for pity’s sake, or nearly so. Betrothed dukes didn’t kiss inconsequential young ladies like her for any reason other than mere diversion.
In the end, it didn’t matter why he’d kissed her, as long as it didn’t happen again.
But surely, there was no danger of that?
“I don’t like it, Rose.” Abby began working the brush through Rose’s hair again, her strokes considerably less soothing this time. “I don’t trust that man—or any duke, come to that—and it isn’t proper for you to be under the same roof with him.”
“At least his roof is intact.” Rose’s eyes watered as Abby gave a particularly vicious tug. “If you keep on that way, Abby, I won’t have a hair left on my head for you to brush.”
Abby set the brush aside with a sigh. “Look at me, dearest.”
Rose met Abby’s gaze in the glass. “I know what you’re going to say—”
“You don’t have to remain here, Rose. We have another choice, and you know it just as well as I do.” Abby laid her hands on Rose’s shoulders. “Give the Duke of Grantham Hammond Court, Rose. Take the money he’s offered you, and start a new life somewhere else.”
“I can’t do that, Abby.” Not yet, that is. “It’s not what Ambrose wanted.”
“Do you suppose he wantedthisfor you?” Abby waved a hand around the elegant bedchamber. “He loved you, child. He never would have wanted you to put yourself at the mercy of a scoundrel like the Duke of Grantham.”
Rose sighed. It was true that Ambrose couldn’t have foreseen how things would play out with the duke. How could he have done so? Yet he’d asked her anyway—no, begged her to see his last wishes carried out, and she wouldn’t fail him. Not after everything he’d done for her.
She shook her head. “And leave the tenants at the duke’s mercy? No, Abby.”
“There’s not a single one of them that would begrudge you your freedom, Rose.” But there was a note of resignation in Abby’s voice, and a moment later she took up the brush again. She ran it through Rose’s hair until it shone, then tied the curls back with a violet-colored ribbon.
“There.” Abby took in her reflection, a proud smile curving her lips. “You look as pretty as a spring flower. Go on down, now, and find Mrs. Watson. She was looking for you earlier.”
“I will.” Rose got to her feet and kissed Abby on the cheek. “Thank you, Abby.”
