In which case, she wasn’t sure if she wanted their engagement to continue.
It would mean complete and utter ruin, to end it now. The social fallout would be even worse than if he’d never proposed to begin with and Navessa spread word of their indiscretion far and wide. But wasn’t public humiliation better than private heartbreak?
“I need to see him,” she said abruptly. “I need to see Sterling.”
“Right this minute?” Joanna cast a glance out the window. “But it’s pouring buckets.”
“I’m sure he’ll come to call on you sooner rather than later,” Evie assured her. “You have a wedding to plan. Speaking of that…”
“You didn’t,” Joanna groaned as her sister reached behind the sofa and lifted a large leather satchel that Rosemary hadn’t even seen her bring in.
“I most certainly did.” Humming happily under her breath, Evie reached into the bag and began to pull out a wide assortment of fabric swatches which she laid out on the cushions in a long, neat line. “Now,” she said, turning to face Rosemary. “I realize I mentioned ivory before, but what’s your opinion on mauve…”
Much to Rosemary’sconsternation, her fiancé–how peculiar it felt, to think of Sterling that way–did not call on her the next day, or the day after that. Even when it eventually stopped raining and the dismal weather could not be used as an excuse to explain away his absence, he did not come to see her. Nor did he send a letter, or a note, or a messenger pigeon.
That didn’t stop other people from coming to visit her, though.
Ladies who hadn’t cared enough about her to even say hello when they passed her in the park were suddenly clamoring to have tea every afternoon. The poor butler, an elderly man by the name of Dunbridge, who hadn’t done much more over the past ten years than hand Lady Ellinwood her gloves and hat whenever she went out, found himself inundated with countless calling cards and visitors and invitations.
By the fourth day, he’d taken to hiding in a broom closet whenever the doorbell chimed.
Rosemary was giving serious consideration to joining him.
She had no interest in pretending to smile for women who only wanted to be in her good graces now that she was to become a duchess. Women who had giggled at her behind their fans. Who had stood idly by while Navessa had openly berated her at Lady Garfield’s birthday picnic. Who wouldn’t have hesitated to slice her to the quick had Sterlingnotoffered to marry her.
Now that she had Joanna and Evie (both of whom had taken a short holiday to Campbell Castle in the Highlands to visit Brynne and her husband), she’d a better grasp of what real friendship was…and what it wasn’t. This simpering, idolized attention wasn’t real or genuine. It wasn’t even very flattering, when she considered that they weren’t the least bit interested in whoshewas but rather who she was marrying.
The invisible man, as it so happened.
At least that was what it seemed like these past few days.
When they were at Hawkridge Manor, she couldn’t turn a corner without bumping into Sterling. Now that they were engaged to be married, he was nowhere to be found.
Odd, how that worked.
Finally, after an entire week had gone by, she decided that if Sterling would not come to her then she would go to him. It was the nineteenth century, after all. Why couldn’t she call upon the man who had, for all intents and purposes, already jilted her before they’d had a chance to walk down the aisle? And so, after ensuring that Sir Reginald was tucked safely in the inside pocket of her pelisse and wouldn’t be swept away by the sharp, cutting breeze whipping through the streets like the flat edge of a blade, that was precisely what she did.
Rather, that was what shetriedto do.
After a long, chilly walk to Grosvenor Square with leaves dancing in the air, she discovered that Sterling was not in. A quick peek past the footman who had opened the door for her revealed that he most likely hadn’t been in for a while, unless he favored sitting on furniture draped in broadcloth.
“I do not understand,” she said. “Thisisthe residence of the Duke of Hanover, is it not?”
“Aye, Miss,” the footman replied. “But His Grace rarely comes here.”
“Where does he stay, then, when he is in London?”
“I’m sorry, Miss, but His Grace doesn’t like us sharing his whereabouts. If ye wanted to leave a card, I can see that he gets it.”
Had Rosemary not already waited seven days, she might have been content to wait some more. But she had, and she wasn’t, and her voice rose an octave as she said, “I am his fiancée and I would like,verymuch, to learn where I can find my husband-to-be!” She stomped her foot for emphasis, and immediately felt guilty. “I apologize. I shouldn’t have yelled like that. It’s just that I must speak with him. You see, he proposed rather impulsively, and we haven’t seen each other since.”
The footman tugged on his collar in confusion. “Then ye aren’t engaged?”
“No, no, we are.” She hesitated. “To the best of my knowledge. But we should talk about it, don’t you think? I’m not sure how all this works, to be honest. I’ve neverbeenengaged before. But it seems to me that you cannot just ask someone to marry you and then disappear. Unless that is what couples typically do. Except that’s not what my cousin and her fiancé, the Earl of Hawkridge, have done. They’re living together. Oh, nottogethertogether,” she corrected hastily. “Completely separate bedchambers. But they’re in the same house. His sister is there, too. Not right this minute. They’ve actually all gone off to the Highlands. I was invited, but on account of my recent engagement, my grandmother wanted me to remain in London to receive visitors. I was hoping one of those visitors was going to be the duke, but as you can see–”
“10 Cherry Lane in Mayfair,” the footman cut in somewhat desperately.
Rosemary’s brow creased. “Sorry? What was that?”
