Page 40 of Grasp the Thorn
“Pelman will not be ‘having’ Rosa,” Bear said with laboured patience. “By marriage or in any other way.”
Hurley nodded, on and on and on like an automaton. “No need to buy the cow when you get the milk for free,” he agreed, at which point Bear’s forbearance ran out and his fist connected with Hurley’s chin, sending the man’s chair tumbling backwards and landing Hurley flat on his back on the floor.
Hurley’s three friends surged to their feet, and when Bear turned to look at them, they proved their mettle by sidling out the door. Marcel Fournier, the proprietor, appeared from the kitchen, his brows drawn together in a thunderous frown.
“Please accept my apologies, Monsieur,” Lion said hastily. “The unconscious gentleman insulted my friend’s wife.”
“Yes. I am sorry, Monsieur,” Bear agreed. “Allow us to take out the trash.”
Fournier formed his lips into a considering moue. “I cannot allow fisticuffs in my restaurant, gentlemen, but nor can any red-blooded man allow an insult to his wife. Remove the tête de noeud, and we shall say no more about it.”
Bear and Lion carried Hurley outside, where Hurley’s three friends broke, alarmed, from a huddled discussion. Lion appointed himself spokesman again. “You may wish to see your friend home, gentlemen. When he is conscious and sober, tell him that Miss Neatham is now Mrs Gavenor, and my friends and I hold her reputation as dear as our own.”
“Who is Belle Clifford?” Bear asked, as they sat in Lion’s library over one last nightcap. “Rosa’s mother, clearly, and sister to Mrs Neatham, but that scoundrel seemed to think we should know the name.”
“Raithby’s mistress. Not the new Lord Raithby, but the one who has just died. It has been all over the ton these past few weeks. His widow threw Mrs Clifford off the Raithby estates, where she has lived for thirty years.”
“She was Raithby’s mistress for thirty years?” Impressive loyalty in a courtesan.
“According to the new marquess, he told his mother—at the top of his voice and at one of the Duchess of Winshire’s afternoon teas, mark you—that La Clifford had been a faithful mistress for thirty years, which was more than Lady Raithby could claim as a wife. Unlike Raithby to make any kind of a stir in public, but he always got on better with his father’s mistress than his own mother. Even when we were at school.”
“You were at school with the new Marquess of Raithby?”
Lion nodded absently. “I’ve met her, you know. Lady Raithby looks much more the courtesan than Mrs Clifford, who is a dainty wee lady, and must have been very pretty in her day. Beautiful manners, too, and very kind to the schoolboys who came visiting with her lover’s heir.”
Bear took another sip, absorbing all he had learned. So, Rosa’s aunt, really her mother, had not died as Rosa thought, but was still alive, and currently adrift somewhere in the world, having been evicted by her lover’s jealous wife. Lion’s sympathies were clearly with the mistress and not the marchioness. A dainty wee lady. The villagers all said Rosa took after her aunt. Perhaps he should find Rosa’s mother, and make sure she was safe. Safe somewhere far away from her daughter, whose reputation did not need another scandal.
CHAPTER 27
Aunt Belle was not well enough to sit up for long, but insisted upon spending part of each afternoon in the parlour, where she and Rosa exchanged stories and grew to know one another. She was deeply distressed by Rosa’s report of the attacks on her reputation. “My fault. All my fault,” she mourned.
“Mr Pelman’s fault,” Rosa retorted. “I have done nothing to deserve his persecution.”
“I remember him as an infant, and his sister, too. She was a most unpleasant child.” Aunt Belle laughed. “To think, if their father had been sincere in his protestations of marriage, I would have been their stepmother. I had a narrow escape.”
She confirmed much of what Rosa had already heard or deduced. At just fifteen, two years younger than her cousin Amanda and five years younger than her sister, she had imagined herself in love with the baron’s factor, a charming young widower with two children. He assured her he returned her devotion, and that his public courtship of the squire’s daughter was just a show to blind people to his real purpose, since he simply had to see her, and her age made any approach to her uncle impossible.
Belle hugged the secret to herself until the day her uncle announced a ball to celebrate his daughter’s betrothal to Mr Pelman. Shocked, she burst out with what she thought was the truth; that Pelman was marrying her, not Amanda; that they had been meeting in secret; that they loved one another.
Squire Threxton rode for Thorne Hall, where Pelman lived, and was carried home later that day, having suffered an apoplexy. Within days, however, he was well enough to break off the betrothal, and to cast Belle from the house with only the clothes she wore.
“Pelman told him that he had taken what was on offer, which was true enough, but it amounted to a few kisses, and nothing more. My uncle believed the worst, of course. People do. Pelman was waiting for me, but I told him I’d rather starve in a gutter than be his mistress.”
“Good for you,” Rosa said. Another way in which she and Aunt Belle were alike.
“Matthew, Lord Hurley’s nephew, was a captain in the militia and looked very fine in his uniform. I went with him, and if you think your first night with your Bear was a shock, imagine mine! Matthew was kind enough, in his way, but very self-centred.”
They talked no more that day, since Aunt Belle was taken by a fit of coughing that left her tired and pale, and Maud and Rosa put her to bed.
The following afternoon, Aunt Belle did not pick up her story, but instead demanded to be told about Bear’s courtship of Rosa.
“It was not precisely a courtship,” Rosa said. “More a business negotiation.”
Aunt Belle, when she had heard the whole story of the proposal, the betrothal, the wedding night, and the aftermath, said, “He blames himself, silly man, and has retreated to lick his wounds.”
“He blames himself? For what? I disappointed him.”
Aunt Belle laughed. “Rather a lot, poor man. When he comes back, you will forgive him, and welcome him to your bed, and all shall be well, Rosa. Don’t expect him to say that he is sorry. Men tend to give presents rather than apologies, I have found. Even Raithby.”
