Page 89 of A Match Made in London
Chapter 27
Rosalind was carefully packing the dresses Grace had given her over the last weeks into a borrowed trunk when the butler came to her door.
“Mr. Hugh Carlisle is here, miss.”
She had not seen him since the night at Vauxhall. When she had forgotten everything but Tristan and what he made her feel. She gripped the edge of the trunk hard. What was he doing here? But of course, he must have been informed that Grace was returning to Scotland and had come to say his farewells. He was related to her by marriage, after all.
But why was Danielson coming to her? He knew as well as she that Grace was out and would be for the better part of the afternoon, buying up all of Bond Street before leaving London. She gave the butler a distracted smile, gently lifting a tissue-wrapped gown and placing it with care into the trunk. “Please inform him that Lady Belham is not in but will return this evening.”
“He is not here for Lady Belham, miss. He expressly voiced a wish to speak to you.”
“Oh.” Rosalind blinked several times before rising from the floor and following after the butler. At that moment she wanted nothing more than to hide herself away in her room and prepare for the long journey on the morrow. But she supposed she and Mr. Carlisle had become something of friends over the past several weeks. It would be lovely to say goodbye to him, to talk once more of Guinevere with someone who had known her.
He was standing at the window of the drawing room when she entered. He must have been deep in thought, for he did not hear her until she was directly behind him.
“Mr. Carlisle,” Rosalind said, “what a pleasant surprise to have you visit.”
He turned, reaching out and taking her hand, gifting her with his easy smile. But there was something off in his eyes, something somber and troubled.
“I heard you and Grace are to leave tomorrow for Scotland. I could not let you go without coming to visit first.”
“I am very glad you did.” She indicated a small circle of chairs close by. “Shall we have a seat?”
They moved to the chairs. While Mr. Carlisle was usually quite cheerfully chatty, today he was almost morose. He could not possibly be so upset as to their leaving that his spirits would be affected to such a degree. Yet what other reason could there be? Unless…
“Is your father well?” Rosalind asked in concern. “He has not worsened, I hope.”
Her voice startled him from his thoughts. “What? Oh, no, he’s quite hale and hearty now, thank you for asking.”
“And you? You are well?”
“As fit as ever.”
Rosalind frowned, for the man had transferred his gaze to the embroidered design on the cushion of the chair and was following it aimlessly with his finger. Yes, something was definitely amiss.
“Have you seen Miss Weeton lately, Mr. Carlisle?”
“Miss Weeton?” He frowned, as if he did not know who she was talking about, before his brow cleared. “Ah, no. Not since Vauxhall I’m afraid.”
Rosalind was shocked at the admission. “That was nearly a week ago now.”
“Yes. Yes, it was.”
“But Lord Kingston will have the upper hand,” she blurted.
He stared at her, no doubt taken aback by her outburst. “Kingston? I seriously doubt it. Or perhaps you have not heard.”
She shook her head. “What do you mean?”
“Kingston has set his sights elsewhere. Though it was not without reluctance.”
She gaped at him. “How do you know all this?”
“I was there at White’s the day Sir Tristan warned Kingston away from Miss Weeton. It seems the earl was not behaving honorably with the young lady.”
Rosalind knew this fact quite well. She thought back on the last time she had seen the man, wrapped in some unknown woman’s arms. His cocky assurance that he was doing nothing wrong.
But had Tristan learned of it? And how had he done so, for Grace was certainly in no shape that night to have been aware of what was going on.
