Lady Be Good: Lord Love a Lady Series, Book 5 Page 23

  “Wench,” he whispered behind her ear. “I don’t eat ices.”

  All she could do at such nonsense was shake her head in disbelief before accepting the small cups to juggle between the two of them.

  “You see what you’ve done now?” He laughed. “Six ices and only four hands between the two of us.” And yet he managed to hold two in each of his hands.

  “I hope we can get these to Margaret before they melt.” Rose licked one of hers.

  She followed him back outside and they were lucky in that John came cruising slowly along the road. After handing the ices back and forth and holding up traffic for a few minutes, they sat beside one another on the bench, trying each other’s ices and doing their best to keep Margaret’s from making a mess.

  “Margaret will be sorry for this idea when she sees my gown!” Rose could only laugh. The small cones were made up of paper and the sticky concoction was already dribbling down her hand.

  She did not laugh, however, when Rome caught hold of her wrist. “You missed some.” Then he had her blushing to her roots when he flicked his tongue along the edge of her glove. She remembered other things he’d done to her with that tongue. Another time when he had tasted her.

  They were driving now, but passengers in other vehicles could easily see.

  “You mustn’t, Rome.”

  What would people say? All of the gowns that had been made up—the day’s introductions, her hair—all of it would be ruined if someone were to see her doing something untoward.

  Something in the way she pulled away erased the warmth from his expression. Those blue eyes of his that seemed almost black sometimes turned an icy blue.

  “Is it because you are in search of a husband? Is that what all of this is about?” He gestured with his hand at her gown, her hair. His eyes stared pointedly at her rouge-colored lips.

  “I’m not searching for a husband!” But wasn’t that what Margaret had continually referred to? Rose’s prospects? “I am not opposed—”

  “To anyone but me?” He scowled outright, dropped her hand, and leaned away.

  Rose could not leave their afternoon at that. “I am not here to find a husband. I am here so that Lady Asherton can find a husband. You are supposed to be courting her, and might I say that you’re doing a rotten job of it?”

  She taunted him, wanting—needing— to know where he stood. Was he only toying with Rose now? She didn’t wish to be the object of his games. She needed to know if he merely flirted with her for sport, as gentlemen often did, or if there was more to it.

  Because she was beginning to believe in him.

  “I am not courting Lady Asherton! For God’s sake, Rose. I came to London for you. Only you. Did you think I would leave my son so soon for any other reason? When are you going to take me at my word? What is it going to take for you to believe in me?”

  And that was when the truth hit her.

  It wasn’t him she did not believe in.

  It was herself.

  “I…” She struggled to find the words to explain inexplicable emotions, but her mind went blank. Had the ten years she’d spent as Penelope’s maid altered something deep within her soul? She’d not always doubted herself like this. She’d once been confident and well-liked. When they’d been in school together, she’d had numerous friends—friends who were the daughters of wealthy landowners, daughters of titled gentlemen.

  “I believe in you, Rome.” Barely a whisper, she finally got the words out just as they pulled up to Margaret’s impressive townhouse. He met her eyes and she hated that he seemed distant now, cautious.

  At last, he let out a deep breath. “I have been thinking about why you refused my proposal. I’m not so obtuse as to not consider what you had to say on the matter. That you have legitimate fears.”

  Rose lifted her brows.

  “One has a tendency to do far too much thinking, especially when riding one’s horse for hours at a time crossing half of England.”

  “And?” she pressed. Needing to know what he was thinking. He never ceased to surprise her.

  “And I think you had some valid points.” She lifted her brows even higher at his admission. “But…”

  “But?” Was she actually feeling hopeful? Margaret’s ice was rapidly dripping out of the cup by now.

  “If we’re—” He glanced down at her dress, where the liquid from the sticky concoction had made a tidy little pool. “Blast and damnation.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and began dabbing at the mess.

  “It’s fine.” What were you going to say?

  Instead of absorbing the ice, he’d managed to somehow increase the size of the stain to at least twice what it had been before. And when he swiped at it again, he inadvertently dumped the other cup onto the seat. Rose sprang to her feet and Margaret’s manservant arrived to open the door. “We’ve made a mess in here, Chadwick!” She indicated the cups of ice. “Will you send out a maid with some cloths?”

  The efficient servant nodded and disappeared as quickly as he’d arrived.

  Realizing the futility of any further attempts to clean up the mess on his part, Rome moved to the opposite bench and stared at the ice all over his hands in frustration. “My apologies, Rose.”

  But... What had he been going to say to her?

  She smiled weakly at him. “I’ll be sure to add your name to my dance card for tomorrow’s ball?” Perhaps he’d changed his mind.

  His eyes softened when he smiled back. “The first dance and the supper one. I shall look forward to both, my dear Miss Waring.”

  “As shall I.”

  Chapter 24

  He is downstairs waiting

  Rose knew all about the Willoughby Ball. Practically every year for the past decade, she’d helped Penelope go through the ritual of preparing for the highly anticipated event.

  Of course, Rose had never attended. In fact, she’d never once met the Willoughbys nor set foot in the Willoughbys’ Mayfair mansion.

  Penelope had always made a point to rest in bed for at least two hours in the afternoon while Rose inspected whatever dress they’d selected, and shoes, and undergarments before ordering tea and small sandwiches brought up, since supper was not served until almost midnight.

  Today it was Rose who found herself lying in her bed, in the middle of the day, not even pretending that she was going to be able to sleep.

  She’d barely accomplished anything before Margaret had insisted she return to her chamber. Sharing breakfast and then taking a short walk around the park with Margaret did not count as accomplishments. Neither did such a strenuous task of soaking in a bath of heated water infused with lavender oils.

  And yet, now, she was expected to rest. Of all things!

  It would be her first ball. She’d attended a few country assemblies before she’d become Penelope’s maid, but those had been held in the local village and barely thirty or so people had ever attended. Besides, she’d only been a girl.

  Hundreds of London’s most elite citizens had been invited to this event.

  It was a London Ball!

  She closed her eyes and tried to steady her breathing.

  Rome was to escort them and then would lead her onto the floor for the first dance. She wasn’t nervous about the dancing. She’d learned all but the waltz when she’d been in school and Margaret had hired a dancing master to come and teach her twice a week since they’d arrived.

  No, it was not the dancing that concerned her.

  He needed to marry.

  Margaret had even mentioned as much, saying that Lady Sheffield had expressed her concern the day before. Not that anyone who knew him believed the rumors to be true, but the suggestion of such impropriety on his part had already been damaging.

  Rome had to extinguish the fiery tongues before the errant rumor hurt Wesley.

  “I’m not courting Lady Asherton! For God’s sake, Rose. I’m here for you.”

  Rose rolled over in the bed and hugged her knees.

&
nbsp; “When are you going to come to accept this? What is it going to take for you to believe in me?”

  She did believe in him. From the very beginning, she’d known he was different than other titled gentlemen.

  He’d gone from the child of poverty-stricken parents to the heir to one of England’s wealthiest estates. And rather than become a spendthrift and a man of leisure, like so many other titled gentlemen, he’d focused upon his responsibilities wholeheartedly.

  Until this past Christmas.

  He’d lain with a lady’s maid. And then he’d offered her marriage.

  He told me he loved me.

  She turned over again and stared at the ceiling. The memory of him dabbing at the spilled ice on her gown and then becoming frustrated with himself as he realized he’d only made it worse brought a smile to her face.

  She loved him.

  And then she sat up.

  I love him.

  But what reason could he possibly have to love her?

  Aside from the obvious physical gratification that they’d shared, she’d wasn’t sure what she had to offer him.

  She would find out tonight.

  She would ask him.

  A combination of fear and excitement hummed in her veins. Perhaps he would ask her again.

  And if courage somehow discovered her, perhaps she’d give him a different answer.

  “Miss Waring? Miss Waring? It’s time to wake up, we must begin preparing you for the ball.”

  Rose blinked open her eyes, surprised that the sun no longer shone brightly into the room and Beth, the maid sent over by the agency, was hovering beside the tall bed. “Tea and meats with cheese and bread.”

  The significance of the occasion slated for tonight came roaring back at Rose as she caught sight of her gown laid out on the chair nearby, along with shoes, a fan, and carefully washed and pressed undergarments.

  “I cannot believe I slept so long.” Stretching, she glanced at a clock on the mantle and breathed a sigh of relief that it was only just past five.

  “Perhaps it was the bath,” Beth reassured her as she held up a dressing gown for Rose to slip on. “Once you’re finished with tea, I’ll do your hair, unless you prefer I apply the paints first?”

  The next few hours passed in a dreamlike fog. Beth combed and curled and pinned Rose’s hair and then lightly dabbed rouge on her lips before assisting her into the gown designed specifically for this very special ball. Made of a pearlescent white, the fine silk shone luminescent beneath a silver lace overlay embroidered with tiny stars. Despite the cut, her hair was just long enough to be loosely swept atop her head and pinned into an artful array of swirling braids with jeweled pins that sparkled like diamonds.

  Turning from side to side, Rose exhaled in awe upon examining the final effect. A few silken curls curved around her chin and although they looked to be naturally placed, Rose knew Beth had created the effect most deliberately.

  She felt like a princess. She did not look like Rosie or even Rose.

  Rising from the cushioned bench, she swirled around and glanced at the back of her gown in the mirror.

  It was beautiful.

  Too beautiful.

  She would not be recognized as a lady’s maid, she was most certain, but she would most definitively not be invisible. She would be noticed. In this dress, made up so artfully, her look demanded to be noticed.

  “Stunning.” Margaret stood at the door, looking quite elegant in a ruby red gown, her own hair pinned into a tight chignon at her neck. “We shall make quite the splash, if I say so myself.”

  “It’s too much, Margaret.” Rose bit her lip as she stared at herself in the mirror. “The dress, the hair, all of it.” Ice had replaced the blood in her veins. “I can’t do it. Someone will remember me.” The terror that had been hiding behind excitement since she’d woken from her nap crashed into her mercilessly.

  “No one is going to recognize you. And it is not too much. It is merely a lovely dress on a beautiful woman. It is you, Rose. Nothing is going to change the fact that you were never meant to be a maid. You were not born to enter service, regardless of your clothing, your residence or your official station. You, my dear, always have been, and always will be, your father’s daughter, Miss Ursula Waring.” She stepped forward with something in her hands. “One more thing.” Pearls; the same silvery-white color of her gown.

  “Oh, but I cannot—”

  “Hush.” Ignoring Rose’s protests, Margaret stepped across the room, draped the cool smooth jewels around her neck, and locked the clasp behind her. “Just remember who you are.”

  Rose lifted her fingers and ran them along the smooth stones before letting out a deep breath. “It’s time?”

  “He is downstairs waiting.”

  Rose did not need to ask who “he” was. It could only be him. Rome. For her, it always had been, and she was beginning to believe, it always would be.

  Rome’s breath caught in his chest when Rose appeared at the top of the stairs, but somehow, he knew that to praise her appearance effusively was not what she needed. He merely held her gaze and nodded.

  “I will be the envy of every gentleman in attendance tonight.” He directed the comment toward Lady Asherton as both women gracefully descended. Rome took the lace wrap from Rose’s hands and carefully settled it upon her shoulders while the butler did the same for his employer.

  She wasn’t trembling beneath his hands, for which he was grateful. She was stronger than either of them realized. Her sense of purpose and strength were part of what had drawn him to her initially.

  God, but she was stunning tonight. If he didn’t know better, he’d believe her to be royalty, a duke’s daughter at the very least.

  He would ask her to marry him again, when the moment felt right. How many of these balls had he attended and reluctantly made an appearance out of duty alone? Not inclined to gamble, he’d avoided the card rooms and made himself available to dance most of the sets, as was his obligation. He’d done so out of a sense of duty, not expecting to enjoy himself, not feeling any of the magic that hovered in the air tonight.

  Perhaps it was simply Rose.

  She was the magic.

  The temperate breeze stirred the cool night air as he handed Lady Asherton into the carriage and then turned to Rose. With the merest touch, they communicated a thousand words. She was nervous but also feeling brave. She did not smile, but she held her head proudly. Rome stared back into her eyes and promised anything she needed.

  She’d thought that he would hide her away, that he’d be ashamed of who she was. She needed to see, to know, that he’d stand proudly beside her and bludgeon anyone who dared not treat her with respect.

  Whatever her status.

  Something had started between the two of them that first night he’d stumbled into her chamber. An awareness, an unbreakable connection. Even when he’d left Summers Park, she’d never been far from his thoughts. Hell, she’d taken over his heart.

  “Have you forgotten something, Ursula?” Margaret asked in concern from inside the carriage, breaking the trance they’d both fallen into.

  Rose shook her head slightly, and Rome released her into the carriage before climbing in behind her. This time he sat across from both women. He could drink her in this way.

  She stared back at him and that feeling of connection returned. Reading her eyes brought back memories of the day they’d spent together in the cabin. Such a memory would never be enough. He wanted tonight. He wanted tomorrow.

  He wanted forever.

  Her eyes assured him that she felt the same.

  She only blushed and turned away when she remembered they were not alone.

  No one spoke as the driver embarked upon the short drive to the Willoughby mansion. They could have easily walked, but it would not do to arrive at such an affair on foot. They’d wait in line with all the other coaches, some with crests, others without, but all of them cleaned and polished for the occasion.

  �
��Lady Willoughby’s granddaughter is making her come out this year. I remember meeting her at a house party when she was just a girl.” Margaret finally broke the silence as though this evening was the same as any other. As if Rose had attended a thousand balls.

  Seated beside her, facing forward, Rose smiled weakly but then peered out the window. They’d arrived, and the driver was taking their place in line.

  It was a considerably long line.

  Margaret chuckled. “ I do believe this is going to be something of a crush.”

  Chapter 25

  Miss Ursula Waring

  People were staring at her.

  They’d been standing in the reception line for nearly ten minutes already, their hosts just now coming into view. The fragrant night air could not have been a more perfect temperature and yet Rose thought her limbs must surely be frozen. Dancing would be impossible if she had no sensation in her arms and legs.

  Or if her brain remained locked down in a state of fear.

  “Lady Willoughby. May I present to you my dear friend, Miss Ursula Waring.” The touch of Rome’s hand at her back, along with Margaret’s words of introduction, spurred her to life.

  “My Lady.” Rose dipped into a curtsey.

  Lady Willoughby nodded regally in a manner that Rose imagined the queen herself would envy, but then the woman seemed to study her. “You’re lovely, my dear. How can this be your first Season in London?”

  Rome had dropped his hand, but knowing he was there, standing behind her, calmed her fears. “I was needed at home.”

  “Miss Waring’s mother has been ill.” Margaret frowned sympathetically as she elaborated upon the excuse they’d settled upon weeks ago.

  Lady Willoughby’s gaze shifted to just beyond Rose’s shoulder.

  “You’re looking lovely, as usual, My Lady.” Rome stepped up and bowed.

  “Darlington? Er. Such a pleasure to have you here this evening. How is your mother?” Oddly enough, she’d taken a step backward and gestured toward Lord Willoughby. “Chester?” She caught her husband’s attention. “Did you see that Lord Darlington is joining us this evening?”