Читать книгу Beguiling The Duke - Eva Shepherd - Страница 13

Why had she said that? Of all the excuses she could have come up with why had she said she was in love with another man?

Usually she could think much faster than that when put on the spot. Instead she had said the first thing that had come into her head and invented a non-existent lover to explain why an American heiress would not be interested in marrying the eminently suitable Alexander FitzRoy, Lord Ashton, the handsome and charming Duke of Knightsbrook.

But she could hardly have told him the truth, could she? She couldn’t tell him that the real Arabella van Haven didn’t want to marry because her one and only true love was the theatre, and she was determined to dedicate herself to pursuing a career on the stage.

Nor could she tell him that she, Rosie Smith, had long ago resigned herself to remaining unmarried. As the ward of a wealthy man, she knew that none of the men who moved in Mr van Haven’s circles would be interested in marrying a woman who had no money of her own and no dowry. How could she tell him that a man like him, who could trace his family back countless generations, was so far out of reach it would be a joke for her even to contemplate marriage to such a man.

And she certainly couldn’t tell him that she wasn’t Arabella van Haven. She had promised Arabella she would help her and her goal had been easily achieved. But she still couldn’t reveal that secret without Arabella’s knowledge. It would be a betrayal of her promise to her friend—something she would never do.

Instead she had lied to Alexander. Again.

She should have thought more clearly. She should have come up with a better reason—one that was closer to the truth than her invention of a beau for Arabella. Why had she done that? It must have been because that image of the two entwined lovers was still in her mind. That beautiful painting had made her realise that such passion would be something she would never experience. But it had still been a dim-witted thing to say, and Rosie could kick herself for her lack of clear thinking.

She would have to keep her head and her emotions in check for the rest of the weekend, so she didn’t say or do anything so foolhardy again.

She took one last glance over her shoulder at the art works she would never see again as Alexander hurried her out of the gallery. Such a shame. She could have spent the rest of the day and the evening looking at the paintings, but it seemed Alexander had different ideas. It appeared he’d had enough of the gallery. Or he’d had enough of her company.

They rushed down the hall as if they were late for an important appointment, his hand on her back hurrying her forward. It was apparent that now Alexander had done as his mother had commanded—had shown her the gardens and done his duty to his guest—he wanted rid of her.

Rosie tried hard not to be offended. It hardly mattered, really. So he was suddenly tired of her company and wanted to end their time alone together? It mattered not one jot.

And yet previously he had been so attentive to her. Right up till the time she had told him she was in love with another man. But there could be no connection between them; that would be too ridiculous. He had no interest in her. He had said so himself. And yet...

Rosie dismissed such scatter-brained thoughts. Even if his change in demeanour had come about because she had told him about the man she supposedly loved, it was the man American heiress Arabella van Haven loved—a woman from a respectable wealthy family. Not poor orphaned Rosie Smith.

Whatever his reason for such haste, trying to figure it out was pointless speculation.

As they rushed down the corridors towards the drawing room Rosie told herself she would not be offended by his determination to be rid of her. After all, what did it matter? She had got what she’d come for. Arabella was safe from an unwanted marriage. She had seen a beautiful garden, and viewed some exquisite paintings that few people got to see. That was a memory she would treasure always. Her plan had worked—not in the way she had envisaged, but it had still worked. Surely that was a satisfying conclusion?

All she had to do now was relax and enjoy the rest of her weekend in this grand home.

She glanced up at Alexander. His handsome face was set like stone as he focused straight ahead. It was as if he had one purpose and one purpose only: to end his time with Rosie as quickly as possible.

They reached the drawing room and she almost expected him to push her in, slam the doors behind her and make his escape. Instead he stood politely behind her, waited for the footman to open the doors, then followed her in.

The stately room was filled with the murmur of polite conversation as the assembled guests took afternoon tea. Fires crackled in several fireplaces, struggling to warm the expansive room, which held a slight chill despite the mild spring afternoon.

Rosie quickly scanned the room and took in every aspect of its opulence—from the large crystal chandelier suspended from the soaring engraved ceiling down to the intricate silk carpets that adorned the polished oak flooring. More of the family’s art collection was on display here. The walls were filled with paintings, and every surface seemed to be decorated with artefacts and antiques—presumably collected by Alexander’s many wealthy ancestors.

Rosie could only hope she would have an opportunity during the weekend to admire them more closely.

The Dowager was engrossed in conversation with a group of elderly women. When she saw Rosie and Alexander she instantly excused herself, rose from the chaise longue and with a purposeful swish of her black satin skirt walked over to join them.

Her gaze quickly moved from Rosie to Alexander and back again, giving her every appearance of making an assessment as to just how close her plan of marrying off her son to a wealthy heiress was to completion.

‘There you two young people are,’ she said. ‘You were away so long I thought perhaps you had eloped!’

Alexander’s body stiffened beside Rosie. She looked up and could see his lips drawn into a tight grimace.

‘No, Mother, you are quite wrong. Yet again.’

‘Oh, well, never mind,’ the Dowager continued, ignoring the note of censure in Alexander’s voice. ‘I’m pleased you have had a chance to get better acquainted. Did you enjoy your tour of the grounds, Miss van Haven? I hope Alexander showed you just how beautiful Knightsbrook is—particularly when the trees are in blossom. Although I think it’s beautiful in every season of the year.’

Rosie smiled politely. Now that the issue of marriage had been settled between her and Alexander there was no need to try and shock the Dowager with her bad behaviour. She could be herself. Well, not quite herself. She still had to be Arabella. But she didn’t have to pretend to be a completely unacceptable potential bride who posed a constant threat to priceless heirlooms.

‘Oh, yes, he did—and you’re right. It is beautiful. I’m sorry we took so long, Your Grace, but Alexander also showed me your family’s magnificent collection of paintings in the gallery, and I’m afraid we lost all sense of time.’

The Dowager beamed a delighted smile. ‘I see you two have become quite familiar and are on first-name terms already. I’m very happy to hear it.’

Alexander returned his mother’s smile with a frown. ‘I apologise, Mother, for keeping Miss van Haven from the other guests.’ His expressionless voice was a stark contrast to his mother’s enthusiasm.

‘So, how much of the estate did you get the chance to see, Miss van Haven?’ the Dowager asked, drawing Rosie’s attention away from the frowning Alexander. ‘No doubt Alexander told you we have more than five thousand acres of land and that our gardens are among the finest in England?’

Alexander sighed loudly. ‘You’re starting to sound like a salesman, Mother.’

‘Don’t be vulgar, Alexander.’ The Dowager’s smile faltered slightly, before returning, just as large as before, as she focused her attention back on Rosie. ‘I hope he told you that the FitzRoys have lived on this land since the fifteenth century? The house is reputed to be one of the most elegant in the country, with more than two hundred rooms. Not that I’ve counted them, of course. That includes the summer and winter parlours and two formal dining rooms, as well as the breakfast room, three drawing rooms, the ballroom, and countless bedchambers to accommodate as many guests as you could possibly wish to entertain. Do you like to entertain, Miss van Haven?’

Rosie forced herself not to smile as she watched Alexander roll his eyes. Instead she nodded non-committally.

‘And every part of this house is desperately in need of extensive and very expensive renovation work,’ he said.

The Dowager’s lips drew into a tight line and her nostrils flared. She sent Alexander a quick, narrow-eyed glare then resumed smiling at Rosie. ‘And you say that Alexander showed you the gallery? Indeed, it contains many priceless works of art—but it houses only a fraction of the family’s collection, which can be found in every room of the house.’

Alexander’s frown deepened further. ‘And many of those works of art will have to be sold to cover our mounting debts.’

‘Oh, Alexander, you can be such a bore sometimes,’ the Dowager snapped.

Rosie looked from Alexander to the Dowager and back again. It was as if she were watching a tennis match, played by two equally determined and equally matched opponents.

The Dowager continued to frown at her son, and then, as if remembering herself, she smiled at Rosie. ‘Not that he’s a bore, really. This is most unlike him. Usually he’s not in the least bit serious. Oh, yes, Alexander loves to have fun and live life to the full.’

Rosie bit the edge of her top lip to stifle a giggle. The supposedly fun-loving Alexander his mother was describing was as far from the serious, disapproving man standing beside her as it was possible to get.

‘Really, Your Grace?’ Rosie tried hard not to laugh. ‘In that case I look forward to seeing Alexander perform a few party tricks.’

The Dowager flicked a nervous look in Alexander’s direction, her smile twitching at the edges. Alexander glared back at her, as if challenging his mother to try and talk her way out of her outrageous claim.

Instead of attempting the impossible, she took Rosie’s arm. ‘There will be plenty of time for that later, but now our other guests are anxious to meet you.’

They swept their way around the large room and Rosie was introduced to Lord This and Lady That, the Countess of This and the Earl of That. If the assembled guests were anything to go by it seemed the FitzRoys really did mix in exclusive society. There was not a Mr or Mrs among them, with everyone in the room bearing a title from Duke down to Baron.

And each guest, no matter what their title, reacted in exactly the same manner when they were introduced to Rosie—with enthusiastic delight, as if they really were meeting the future Duchess of Knightsbrook. She was greeted with smiles, nods of approval, and even the occasional curtsey from the assembled aristocrats.

It seemed the Dowager was so convinced she was going to marry Alexander that she had all but announced the engagement already.

Alexander was right. The Dowager was a very determined woman. But unfortunately for her she was going to discover that both Rosie and Alexander were equally resolute that they would not be wed.

Their circuit of the large room took them to the last guest, a rather severe elderly woman standing by the fire. The Dowager seemed to hesitate, her smile quivering slightly, before she smiled and made the introductions.

‘Lady Beaufort, may I introduce Arabella van Haven? She is our guest from America.’

Lady Beaufort’s straight posture grew more rigid and her nose rose higher in the air as she tilted back her head and raked her gaze over Rosie from head to toe, then back again. ‘So you’re the banker’s daughter?’

Rosie’s fists clenched at her sides. Since her father had lost all his money through no fault of his own, reducing their family to a state of poverty, Rosie had been forced to endure being snubbed, insulted and belittled by people who had once treated her family with respect.

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.