Page 11 of Undercover with the Heiress
The confused fury in Rosanna’s eyes darkened, then shifted to horror. An unmistakable gasp and a tutting came from over Phineas’s shoulder.
‘Mrs C-crofts,’ Rosanna stammered. ‘This isn’t what you think it is.’
‘I don’t believe it! Or should I say, I do!’ Mrs Crofts’s voice cut through the hum of the park. ‘You have been at inappropriate activities. Inappropriate! I have invited your mother to my meetings and suggested she bring her daughters, but like the rest of the street, she ignores my offers of assistance. And now look at you. Caught alone with a man! Compromised! Ruined!’
‘There was another man—’
‘Two men!’ Mrs Crofts’s voice shifted higher, fuelled with self-importance and indignation.
‘Not in any problematic way, not…’ Rosanna took a step away from him. Her hand clasped at her torn dress, and she touched the swell of her lips. ‘He said a name, he said—’
Phineas grasped her wrist and pulled her close. ‘Don’t say that name. Don’t say another word.’
‘But she thinks we were together!’ Rosanna exclaimed.
‘This will make the papers,’ Mrs Crofts continued. ‘Take my word for it. I will see that it does, as an example to other young women on the dangers of immorality. And of parents who give their daughters too much freedom! I will send a special edition of my newsletter. I will hold an emergency session for my society next week, and everyone will attend to learn the dangers of licentiousness, freedom, and—’
Phineas turned around slowly. Mrs Crofts looked at him, her mouth contorting through various vowels, but her voice lost. One of her pastel society ladies rushed into the garden, then another. Bloody hell, now there was an audience. Rosanna’s gaze darted between them as she tugged at her dress.
‘Rosanna here is in no way compromised. She just caught her dress,’ he said.
Mrs Crofts raised a condemning brow. ‘Mr Babbage! I expect terrible behaviour from Mr Hunter or even Lord Dalton, but you? You cannot lure a lady into a garden for nefarious purposes.’
‘I didn’t, I was just—’
‘Nefarious! You must get married.’
‘I am not going to marry Miss Hempel.’
Mrs Crofts took a menacing step forwards. ‘It is one thing for a woman on my street to be up to mischief, but two people will ruin my society’s reputation. And after that messy business with the ballerina, I am afraid I have no choice but to insist you marry, for the reputation of Miss Hempel and the street itself!’
Phineas sucked air through gritted teeth as he tried to assemble his thoughts. He needed to learn what Rosanna knew. He needed to keep her safe from Pennington and get her away from whatever mess Lord Richard had landed himself in. Morethan anything, he needed some quiet. He needed bloody Mrs Crofts and her pastel ladies to stop muttering and Rosanna to stop protesting her innocence beside him.
‘Mrs Crofts!’ he bellowed, and the crowd quietened. ‘You have guessed our surprise. We are indeed engaged. We have just been too busy to make the announcement.’
Rosanna shot him a hard look. ‘We most certainly are not.’
Phineas laughed. He’d not done that for some time, so at least no one would guess it was forced. ‘Darling, there’s no need to be shy. Everyone will hear about it soon enough.’ His voice dropped low, and he pulled her close. ‘Everyone. This cannot go to the papers. I need to find Pennington before he finds you. Marry me, just for show. When I find him, I’ll leave. Your reputation will remain unscathed, and you will be of no interest to him if you aren’t connected to Lord Richard anymore.’ She squirmed in his grasp, but he held firm. ‘Unless you can think of an alternative solution?’
Rosanna peered over the heads of the crowd to the garden beyond. ‘Lord Richard?’ she whispered, soft and yearning. Then, with a bitter pout, she pinched her eyes shut. He waited for her to stomp her foot and rage, but she raised a trembling hand to her bright red cheek instead, pinned a smile to her lips, then nodded. ‘We are ever so happy,’ she gritted out.
‘You are?’ Mrs Crofts asked, crestfallen.
‘We are.’ Rosanna slipped her hand around his elbow. Phineas patted it. The crowd deflated, then scattered.
When they had gone, Rosanna grabbed his coat-sleeve and tugged him to face her. She kept her smile, but her voice scratched through her throat, coarse and heavy with indignation. ‘This will be sorted. I will not stand it. I will not marry you, Babbage. I would rather die than be your wife.’
Phineas found his same forced smile. ‘Interesting choice of words, Hempel. Because that may very well be the crux of it.’
Chapter Six
From the time she could toddle, Rosanna had known the church at the far side of the park close to Honeysuckle Street. Old, solid, and unchanging, its grey cement walls were ornamented with sandstone and wrought iron. With a grey slate roof and a spire topped with a simple cross made of two practical bars, the church buttressed the park with quiet confidence. The world around it changed constantly. Trees grew, lost their leaves, and blossomed in the spring. The first home she had known, a small, rented cottage with a large garden, was knocked down, replaced by the row of five townhouses and the tower of rooms which gradually filled with a swathe of siblings and noise. People moved in, then moved away. Some only came for the season. Throughout all the upheavals, even the demolitions, the church had remained a permanent, unchanging fixture of her young life. Every little Hempel babe had their head dipped and blessed by the minister here. Her parents had married here.
And now, she was getting married here too.
To a man she barely knew. Who had spent the past seven years antagonising her father for no obvious reason. Who hadsomehow secured the best house in the row, even though her parents had paid a deposit. Who looked at her now with no affection, no kindness, not even disdain. Just rationality.
The hectic conversation as he’d directed her back to Number 3 still rung in her ears, a week later.Did you ever see Pennington? Did Lord Richard mention him or borrowing money from him? What is their arrangement? Does he stay at the hotel? Don’t fucking argue, Hempel, this is serious.
