Kitabı oku: «Beguiling The Duke», sayfa 4
Through bitter experience she had learnt to let such behaviour wash over her. So she did what she always did in such circumstances: breathed in deeply, forced herself to relax her tensely gripped hands and smiled her sunniest smile.
‘That’s right. I’m the banker’s daughter—Arabella van Haven. How do you do?’
She received the expected glare in return, which only caused Rosie to smile more brightly.
‘I hear you’re seeking a titled husband?’ Lady Beaufort said after a prolonged silence.
Several guests nearby gasped at this blatant breach of the rules of polite conversation, but their shock didn’t stop them from leaning forward, eager to hear more of this exchange.
‘Oh, come, come, Lady Beaufort,’ the Dowager said with a false laugh. ‘Miss van Haven is here to enjoy our hospitality. If she and Alexander should happen to fall in love, well...’
‘I’m just pleased my dear daughter Lydia is not here to see this shameless behaviour.’
The Dowager’s mouth opened and closed as she gasped for something to say.
‘And now that I’ve met the banker’s daughter who is trying to buy herself a title I think I’ll take my leave.’
Lady Beaufort swept past Rosie, causing her to jump out of her way to avoid getting trampled in her bull-like progress.
But Rosie had failed to notice one of the couples who had moved closer to hear the conversation. She stepped back on to the listening man’s foot, causing him to cry out and send his teacup clattering to the ground.
The sound of shattering china brought all conversation to a sudden halt as every head turned in their direction.
‘Oh, look what the clumsy little thing has done!’ Lady Beaufort said as a young maid scrambled on the floor to retrieve the pieces of broken porcelain. ‘It’s a shame these Americans don’t know how to act in polite society.’
‘Lady Beaufort, I think you should leave. Now.’
Rosie heard Alexander’s commanding voice behind her.
‘Oh, don’t worry. I’m leaving. I’m quite particular about the company I keep. Thank goodness Lydia was saved from seeing this appalling display.’
She gave Rosie another disapproving look and swept out of the room, her exit watched by every one of the assembled guests.
‘I think our guests are in need of a drink somewhat stronger than tea,’ Alexander announced, and signalled to the servants, who began pouring glasses of port.
Conversation instantly erupted in the room, but it was no longer the murmur of polite chatter. The assembled guests were talking loudly, all at once, and judging from the repeated glances in Rosie’s direction they were all speculating on what had just happened.
Alexander leaned down and whispered in her ear. ‘Would you like to take some air, Arabella?’
She nodded rapidly. She most certainly did want to escape. The last thing she felt like doing was remaining in the drawing room while a group of gossiping lords and ladies discussed that bizarre outburst.
Rosie had been snubbed by some of New York’s finest snobs, and she had smiled through every subtle and not so subtle insult. But she was decidedly shaken by Lady Beaufort’s outburst.
Why this woman should hate her was unfathomable. Surely being a banker’s daughter was not so shameful? Particularly when that banker was one of America’s wealthiest men and therefore, by extension, one of the world’s wealthiest men. And why was Lady Beaufort so concerned about her daughter not being exposed to someone like Arabella? And why should she care whether she married Alexander?
This was clearly more than just good old-fashioned snobbery.
Chapter Five
Alexander led Arabella out through the drawing room towards the French doors. Voices fell silent as they passed, and each guest turned and attentively followed their progress as they walked across the room. He’d leave his guests to their gossip and speculation, and he was sure there would be an excessive amount of that. All that was important was to get Arabella away from the wagging tongues.
As he closed the doors behind them every gleeful face turned in their direction, all eyes peering out of the large sash windows with insatiable curiosity.
He exhaled with impatience. No doubt talking about that incident would keep them entertained for many weeks to come. It was a pity they did not have more to occupy their time, but with wealth and a multitude of servants came plenty of free hours to gossip.
For once Alexander was grateful that he had such an enormous task ahead of him in saving the estate.
They walked down some stone stairs and across a gravel pathway to a wooden bench in front of the garden.
Arabella seated herself, then looked back over her shoulder at the house. ‘Well, that was certainly strange.’
‘Strange’ was an understatement. Alexander gazed at her, amazed at her composure. But her lack of distress was neither here nor there. She should not have been exposed to Lady Beaufort’s wrath.
Alexander had difficulty understanding why his mother had invited her to an event such as this. It was inevitable that Lady Beaufort would be offended by the possibility of Alexander being betrothed to another woman when he had once been betrothed to Lady Beaufort’s daughter.
He could only assume his mother had invited her because Lady Beaufort remained a doyen of society, despite Lydia’s fall from grace, and it would be thought a folly to slight her. But whatever his illogical mother had been thinking she had caused upset to Arabella, and that was unacceptable.
The American heiress had done nothing to deserve such treatment. She had been set up for a marriage she didn’t want by her father and his mother, and invited into this house under false pretences. And now she had been insulted by one of the guests.
Alexander was unsure why he felt such a strong need to protect her—whether it was just a natural instinct or something stronger. Whatever it was, he did not want her subjected to such outrages again.
‘I’m sorry. I hope you are not too distressed by Lady Beaufort’s rudeness. Unfortunately she has suffered some major disappointments in her life, and that has turned her into a rather unpleasant woman. But she had no right to take it out on you.’
Arabella shook her head. ‘That’s usually the way, isn’t it? When people are unhappy they tend to lash out. And, no, of course I’m not upset.’ She looked over her shoulder at the house. ‘I’m a bit confused, but not upset.’
Alexander shook his head, dragged in a long, unsteady breath and tried not to think of what had caused that outburst. He did not want to think of how he had been betrayed by Lydia Beaufort, or of how she had caused him so much pain that he had sworn that he would never allow himself to be hurt like that again.
‘Lady Beaufort’s daughter Lydia was a lovely young woman and we were betrothed to be married.’
Arabella’s eyes grew wide. He obviously had her full attention.
‘But you are not any more?’ she asked, her voice barely audible.
‘No, not any more. Lydia...’ He dragged in a deep breath. ‘Lydia changed. She did things that caused her to be shunned from society.’
He paused again. Arabella did not need to know the full extent of why Lydia had suffered such a fate. Nor did she need to know how she had almost destroyed him in the process. She merely needed an explanation for Lady Beaufort’s outburst.
‘Her family is one of the best-connected in England, but even that couldn’t save her when she chose to live a life that has shocked many people,’ he said, hoping that would suffice.
‘And Lady Beaufort blames you for this?’
He exhaled a ragged breath and nodded. ‘Yes—but she has no right to blame you.’
‘I’m sorry, Alexander. Is this something you’d rather not talk about?’
He shook his head. ‘It is of no matter,’ he said, with as much nonchalance as he could muster. ‘I’m used to being on the receiving end of Lady Beaufort’s misdirected rage. But you should never have been subjected to it, and I am truly sorry. If I had known she would behave like that towards you I would have insisted my mother not invite her.’
Arabella shrugged. ‘You’ve got nothing to apologise for. And I can’t really criticise anyone’s bad behaviour—not after my somewhat unconventional arrival. At least your mother was standing right next to me. She could see that it wasn’t my fault that the teacup was shattered. I wouldn’t want her to think breaking porcelain is my special party trick.’ She gave a little laugh and patted him on the arm. ‘Let’s just forget about that horrible Lady Beaufort and pretend it never happened.’
Alexander could hardly believe it. He should be comforting her; instead she was patting his arm in a reassuring manner and making light of the incident. She really was quite remarkable. An experience like that would have had most woman reaching for the smelling salts, but she was completely calm. He wondered what had given this young woman such resilience—something usually lacking in the gently reared women of his class.
‘You will not have to worry about her being rude to you again. After that outburst I will make it clear to her that she is not welcome in this house.’
‘Oh, you don’t have to do that. A few insults aren’t going to ruffle me. I’m made of stronger stuff than that and I have learnt to cope with much worse.’
Alexander looked into her deep blue eyes, curious to know why a woman who had lived the pampered and protected life of an heiress would need to be strong. ‘And why is that? Why do you need to be strong, Arabella?’
Once again he saw that sadness come into her eyes, before she shrugged her shoulders and smiled at him. ‘Perhaps it just comes naturally to someone whose grandfather was a mule driver,’ she said, in her now familiar flippant tone.
It seemed he was not going to get a serious answer to his question. He was not going to find out why that small shadow of sadness seemed to cloud her otherwise sunny disposition.
‘Perhaps you are right. Although I suspect there is more to you than you like to reveal to the world.’
Her cheeks burned a brighter shade of red, and she blinked repeatedly before giving a dismissive laugh. ‘No, there’s nothing more to reveal. I’m just your average young lady with no hidden depths.’
Her words contradicted her look of discomfort. It was obvious to Alexander that Arabella was anything but average. It was also obvious that she was not going to reveal anything to him. And he ought to leave her with her secrets. After all, what business was it of his?
‘Well, no doubt that inner strength is going to be called upon soon, when we have to face the guests again. I’m afraid that after Lady Beaufort’s outburst you will undoubtedly be the main topic of conversation for quite some time. You will need to prepare yourself for some curious looks at the very least, and no doubt some very impertinent questioning.’
‘Oh, that doesn’t worry me.’ She looked over her shoulder, back at the house. ‘It won’t be long before someone else makes an inexcusable faux pas—such as using the wrong knife for the fish course—and then they’ll be so scandalised that they’ll move on from discussing me to some other unfortunate victim.’
It seemed Arabella had the same low opinion of the ridiculous foibles of the gentry as he did himself.
Growing up, he had spent as much time as he could away from this house. His father’s riotous gambling parties had often gone on for weeks at a time, and he and Charlotte had taken refuge in the welcoming cottage of Annie, the wife of a tenant farmer, who worked in dairy. It was during his time with Annie and her husband that he had learnt how hard the tenants worked, tilling the soil and making the money which his father and his friends squandered. In contrast to Annie’s warm and welcoming ways, the excesses, rituals and snobbery of his own class had seemed absurd, but it was unusual to meet someone who thought the same way as him.
‘You must cause quite a stir amongst New York society with that attitude,’ he said.
She shrugged her shoulders and shook her head slightly. ‘Well, perhaps—but it’s an attitude I tend to keep to myself and only share with my closest friends.’
‘Your closest friends? Does that include this man you are in love with? Does he share your irreverent attitude to society?’
Damn. He had vowed to ask her nothing about the man, but the questions had come out before Alexander had realised he was asking. Questions that seemed now to hang in the air between them.
Hadn’t he told himself he did not want or need to know anything about the man? And yet at the same time he wanted to know everything there was to know about this man Arabella loved. He wanted to know what she felt for him and how he made her feel. And did this man know the reason for the sadness that cast a shroud over her bright blue eyes?
But why should it matter? She was a woman who was in love with another man, and he was unlikely to see her again after this weekend.
And yet it did matter.
His body tensed as he waited for the answers he both did and did not want to hear.
Chapter Six
Rosie squirmed uncomfortably on the wooden bench. How was she supposed to answer such a question? Did she share such thoughts with her non-existent lover? Would she share such things with him? Probably. Wasn’t that what people in love did? But how was Rosie supposed to know? She had never been in love. Never expected to be in love.
She glanced in Alexander’s direction. Yes, she could imagine that a woman who was in love would want to tell her man about herself, about her thoughts, her feelings. They would surely want to share their troubles and offer each other comfort and support. A woman in love with a man would also want to hear his thoughts, his feelings, and to know everything there was to know about him.
If a woman was in love with a man like Alexander she was sure that was how she would be feeling.
She turned to look straight ahead. But she had never been in love—not with this imaginary man, and certainly not with Alexander.
Rosie started. Where had that thought come from? Of course she wasn’t in love with Alexander. The mere idea of it was ludicrous.
She gave a little laugh, and took another quick sideways look in Alexander’s direction. He was staring at her, waiting for her to answer. An uncomfortable silence stretched out between them. Her cheeks burned hotter. She had to say something. Anything.
‘Oh, you know...we talk of this and that. And I suppose he’s a bit like me when it comes to not taking things too seriously.’
Would that be enough to satisfy his curiosity?
He looked down at her, then stared out at the garden and clasped his hands tightly together. ‘What sort of man is he, this man you are in love with?’
Rosie winced. It seemed Alexander wasn’t satisfied with her vague answer, and wasn’t going to let the subject drop. She cast another quick look in his direction and wondered why he was so curious about her imaginary beloved. He had reacted so strangely when she had first told him, and now seemed to want to know all about him.
But it didn’t matter what he was thinking. She needed to concentrate. Needed to answer his question. So, what sort of man would he be, this fictional lover of hers? Rosie had no idea, but she had to say something.
‘Oh, you know. He’s just a man.’
Alexander turned and looked down at her, his eyebrows knitted together. ‘“Just a man”? He’s the man you say you are in love with—the man you’re all but betrothed to—and you dismiss him as “just a man”?’
Why was he interrogating her like this? Was he trying to make her feel uncomfortable? If that was his intention then he was succeeding. But it seemed he was uncomfortable too. He was staring down at her, his jaw tense, his hands tightly clasped together as he waited for her answer.
Could he be jealous?
Rosie shook her head slightly. No, she was being ridiculous. He was curious, that was all, and she should be thinking of an answer to his question—not letting her mind drift off to wistful fantasies.
She shrugged as she struggled to find one. What could she say? Especially as the man wasn’t even that. He wasn’t just a man—he wasn’t a man at all. He was a figment of her imagination.
‘He must at the very least have a name?’
‘Of course he’s got a name.’ Rosie gave a light, dismissive laugh.
He raised his eyebrows.
A name...a name. What on earth would her beloved be called?
She quickly scanned the garden, looking for inspiration. She focused on a statue of Pan, playing his pipes. Pan? Was that a good name? No. Pan might be suitable for a Greek god, but not for a young man in love with the daughter of an influential New York banker.
She spied a ginger cat, curled up and sleeping at Pan’s feet.
‘Tom—his name is Tom. Thomas, actually, although I call him Tom...sometimes Tommy.’ She all but shouted her answer.
‘And does Tom, Thomas, sometimes Tommy, have a surname?’
A surname? Yes, he probably would have a surname. But what could it be?
Her gaze shot to the other sculptures. She was desperate for inspiration. Hercules? No. Neptune? No.
She looked at the garden instead, at the sea of daffodils stretched out in front of them, their yellow heads bobbing in the slight breeze. Tom Daffodil? No. She took in the sculpted topiary. Then her frantic gaze shot to the rose garden, laden with multi-coloured buds, ready to burst forth. She looked up to the line of rustling oak trees.
Still no name occurred to her.
An elderly man pushing a squeaking wheelbarrow packed high with weeds and dead branches appeared from behind the line of oak trees and began walking up the path, his boots crunching on the gravel.
‘Gardener. His name is Thomas Gardener.’
She slumped back on to the bench in relief. Thank goodness for that. Now he had a name the subject could be dropped and hopefully never mentioned again.
‘Thomas Gardener...’ Alexander said slowly, as if considering the name. ‘And I take it your father does not approve of this Thomas Gardener? Or he would not have sent you across the ocean in pursuit of a husband. What exactly is wrong with him? Why doesn’t your father wish you to marry him?’
Rosie sat up straight. Why, indeed? Why would Mr van Haven not want a woman who was not his daughter to marry a non-existent man who was named after a sleeping cat and an elderly man with a wheelbarrow? It was a difficult question to answer.
‘Um...he doesn’t approve of him because...’ Once again she looked around the garden for inspiration. ‘Because...’ The garden refused to reveal a suitable reason.
She turned to the house and quickly scanned up and down its four-storey exterior. She spotted the balconies on the second floor, and the last play she had seen before sailing for England jumped to mind.
‘Because he’s the son of my father’s sworn enemy, who is the head of a rival New York banking family.’
It was a bit melodramatic, but it would have to do. Normally Rosie prided herself on being able to think under pressure, but the pressure she was feeling now was far greater than any she had felt before. It was as if all Alexander had to do was raise a questioning eyebrow and she lost all ability to think clearly.
‘Oh, so you’re like Romeo and Juliet? A couple of young star-crossed lovers whose fathers will never countenance the marriage?’ His words dripped with derision.
Rosie pulled at her collar, which seemed to be getting tighter and tighter as she dug herself deeper and deeper into a pit of lies.
She stared straight ahead, hoping his disparaging comment hadn’t been made because he had seen her staring at the balcony and made the connection with Shakespeare’s famous romantic tragedy.
‘Well, not really.’ She gave a light laugh, which she hoped didn’t sound as false to Alexander as it did to her. ‘It’s not quite so romantic. After all, they’re boring bankers and we’re not living in Verona.’
‘And is it because of your father’s disapproval of this Thomas Gardener’s family that he sent you to England? Is that why he’s trying to marry you off to someone else?’
‘That...and because he wants his daughter to have a title; he wants her to be a duchess.’
Rosie smiled. Didn’t it feel good to finally be saying something that was true? Well, almost true. Mr van Haven didn’t care a fig whether Rosie married or not, but he most certainly wanted Arabella married, and married to a man with a title—the higher up the social strata the better. A daughter with a title would place him well above the rest of the New York elite—not just in money, but also in social status.
‘So it seems your father is going to be disappointed?’
‘Mmm, I suppose he will be...’
In more ways than one—especially when he finds out that Arabella has not only refused to give up her aspirations of becoming an actress, but has arrived in England with the intention of pursuing a career on the London stage.
But that was a problem they would deal with at a later date.
‘What about you, Alexander? Why don’t you want to marry?’
Rosie tried to keep her question flippant. After all, she had merely asked the question to save her from telling more lies. Hadn’t she?
If Alexander wanted to marry someone else that would mean Arabella was most definitely safe from an unwanted marriage. But the thought of Alexander in love with another woman, wanting to marry another woman, was doing strange things to her nervous system. Her stomach had clenched itself into a tight knot. Her breath was caught in her throat. And an odd light-headedness was making her dizzy.
It was so wrong for her to be feeling like this. What was causing her such pain? Could it be jealousy? Ridiculous. How could she feel jealous over a man she couldn’t have? Or be jealous of a woman he might or might not be in love with, who might or might not exist?
No, it couldn’t be jealousy. That was too ridiculous. But whatever it was she had to stop feeling like this. She had to stop it now.
‘I have more important things to occupy my time. I have an estate to save,’ he finally answered, his words brusque.
Rosie tilted her head slightly and cast him a sideways glance. His answer was curious. He claimed to abhor lying and yet his words had been so terse. That, along with his clenched jaw and pressed lips, suggested he was not telling the entire truth.
Rosie knew she should just leave it there. What did it matter why he didn’t want to marry? The fact that he didn’t want to marry Arabella should be enough. But, like an open wound she couldn’t stop prodding, she felt incapable of leaving the subject alone.
‘Can’t you save the estate and be married at the same time? They’re not mutually exclusive activities.’
‘My father has left substantial debts,’ he said, his brow furrowed, his jaw tightly held. ‘I would rather wait until I’ve cleared all those debts and the estate is once again capable of supporting the family. Then I would have something to offer a wife.’
Rosie was tempted to tell him he already had a lot to offer any woman. He was handsome, charming, kind and loyal. In every aspect he was the perfect man, and it was unlikely that she was the only woman to realise that.
‘Surely that wouldn’t matter if you met the right woman?’ she said quietly.
Alexander made no response and Rosie mentally chastised herself. She had to stop asking these questions—especially as every question and every answer was causing that knot in her stomach to tighten another notch.
She took in a few deep breaths to try and loosen its grip and reminded herself that it didn’t matter whether Alexander met any woman, the right one or not. It was none of her concern whether he wanted to marry, as long as he didn’t want to marry Arabella. If he wanted to wait until he had saved the estate and restored the family’s fortune then all the better. That meant it would be a long time before he considered taking a wife, and by then she and Arabella would be gone.
‘Not all women think like that, Arabella—and certainly not aristocratic women,’ he said finally. ‘They and their families want a marriage that not only improves their position in society but also guarantees they will continue to live in the manner to which they are accustomed. My title is attractive on its own merits, but I am a long way from being able to guarantee the second. And I won’t consider marriage until I can provide sufficiently for my wife.’
Rosie looked out at the expansive gardens and parklands, then back at the sweeping four-storey house behind her, with, as the Dowager had claimed, at least two hundred rooms, many of which contained priceless art works and treasures.
‘And this wouldn’t be enough?’ she murmured in disbelief.
‘No—a bankrupt estate with ever-mounting debts would not be enough. A backward estate that has not been managed properly for generations would not be enough. It needs to change. It needs to be modernised. Perhaps when that has been achieved I’ll have the luxury of thinking about such things as marriage.’
‘The right woman wouldn’t care about any of that,’ she said quietly. ‘The right woman would want to work with you to make the estate viable. She would want to make your load lighter, not expect you to do all the work on your own and then hand it to her on a silver platter.’
He looked down at her and gazed deep into her eyes, as if trying to read her thoughts. ‘Not all women are like you, Arabella,’ he murmured.
Rosie swallowed away her embarrassment. No, not all women were like her. They didn’t all lie. They didn’t all pretend to be someone else. They didn’t all tell tall tales about imaginary men and fake betrothals. And surely most women would be sensible enough to stop talking about something that made them feel so intensely uncomfortable? But then, as he’d said, Rosie was not like most women.
‘You deserve to meet the right woman, Alexander. A woman who wants to marry you—not your title or your money, but you.’
There was so much more to Alexander than his title and his estate, and surely Rosie would not be the only woman to see this?
He gave a small, humourless laugh.
‘You should marry a woman who wants to work with you to achieve your dreams,’ she went on.
If Rosie had been in love with Alexander, and if he had been in love with her, that was what she would want. Not that there was any possibility of either of those laughable things ever happening.
He continued to gaze down at her, his deep brown eyes burning into hers. ‘Thomas Gardener is a lucky man to have a fiancée who believes in supporting her future husband the way you do.’
His words were kind, but his captivating eyes contained an intensity that caused heat to burn through her body.
She swallowed, looked away, and fought to compose herself. And the woman who eventually becomes the Duchess of Knightsbrook is even luckier, she wanted to say, but knew she never would.
They sat in silence for a few moments, seemingly both absorbed in their own thoughts.
Rosie wondered what was going through Alexander’s mind. Surely his thoughts couldn’t be as confused as hers? Nobody’s thoughts could be as confused hers.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. The plan had been so simple. But then, when she had come up with this plan over tea at the Ritz, she hadn’t expected the Duke to be anything like Alexander. She hadn’t expected him to be handsome. Nor had she expected him to be a proud, honest man who was determined to solve his financial problems without resorting to marrying for money.
And she hadn’t expected him to make her feel things she should not be feeling—emotions she could hardly understand, even less put names to.
If only he had been a stuffy duke, set on marrying Arabella for her money, then she would have been in her element. She would have had enormous fun at his expense. Instead she was unsure what she was supposed to do, how she was supposed to behave, how she was even supposed to feel.
All she knew was that she shouldn’t be feeling the way she was now.
The discreet cough of a footman broke the silence. ‘Her Grace wishes to make you aware that it is time you dressed for dinner,’ he said, and bowed then left.
‘It looks as if we are going to have to face the gossips,’ Alexander said, standing and taking Rosie’s hand. ‘As uncomfortable as this might be, as you are the guest of honour I fear it would be cause more of a stir for you not to appear at tonight’s dinner. But of course if you’d rather not then I will tell my mother that you are indisposed.’
Rosie rose from the bench. She doubted his guests could make her feel any more uncomfortable than she did right now. ‘No, it’s of no mind. They can gossip about me as much as they like. I’m happy to be their source of entertainment.’
They retraced their steps up the path to the stairs.
‘At least you won’t have to worry about my mother matchmaking. You’ll be saved that annoyance. When I tell her about Thomas Gardener even she will have to back down.’
Rosie halted. ‘No, please don’t do that,’ she blurted out, gripping his arm with both hands. She could not have anyone else knowing about Arabella’s non-existent beloved. If news of it got back to Mr van Haven it would cause huge problems for Arabella, and Rosie would never allow that to happen.
He raised a questioning eyebrow.
‘If it got back to my father...’ Rosie said desperately.
Alexander gently patted her hand. ‘I understand, Arabella. If you want to keep your Mr Gardener a secret, it will not be revealed by me.’
A mixture of relief and shame swept over Rosie. Relief that she would not be causing any problems for Arabella, and shame that once again she had lied to an honourable man who deserved better.
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