Page 60 of His Grace, the Duke
In fact, nothing about this situation was perfect. Rosalie had sailed right into perilous waters. Perhaps it was just her imagination, but she felt Burke wasn’t the only one with his eyes on her. Each time she glanced around at the crowd of concertgoers, she made eye contact with someone. More than once a lady turned to her neighbor, raising her feathered fan, and whispered some remark that had them both looking her way. It was torture. She fought the urge to squirm in her seat.
And James was being no help at all, keeping himself as far from her as possible. In fact, she wasn’t even sure if he was stillin the concert hall. This apparently was his way of disproving any rumors swirling about them.
She took a steadying breath, grateful that Renley at least was at her side. He filled the space next to her, looking so dashing in his officer’s uniform. The navy blue of his coat brought out the blue in his eyes, and the white contrasted with his tanned face. She dared to glance up, offering him a smile. He returned it, shifting his arm so that it might brush ever so gently against hers. The contact made her sigh. It was the best they could manage for now.
After an hour of music, the quartet took a break, and the concertgoers were treated to punch in the ornate entry hall. It was a beautiful space, with a wall of mirrors on one side that cast dancing candlelight all around. Peals of laughter and overlapping voices created a hazy hum that was punctuated by the clinking of glasses.
She took Renley’s arm as he escorted her towards the punch table.
When he was sure no one could hear them, he leaned in. “How are you managing?”
“They scorn me with such delight,” she replied, noting how several sets of eyes watched them together.
He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Just give it a week. It will soon blow over.”
“Not soon enough,” she murmured.
“Renley?” An older gentleman in a navy uniform approached. “Good God, Iknewit was you. Tom Renley back in England? How the devil are you, sir?”
Renley let out a barking laugh. “West Price, you old sea dog! You’ve gone greyer than the cliffs of Dover!” He stepped away from her to shake the sailor’s hand. The men were soonlost in a conversation full of nautical terms and sweeping hand gestures.
Without Renley on her arm, Rosalie felt naked, but she resolved to get them both a glass of punch. It didn’t escape her notice how each time she took a step, the crowd seemed to move away, unwilling to acknowledge her presence. How was it possible to feel so alone in such a crowded room?
“Miss Harrow... what a surprise to see you here,” came a sweet voice to her left.
She turned to see Marianne Young standing along the wall of mirrors. The lady was as beautiful as ever, with her dark curls and icy blue eyes. She was flanked to either side by a pair of equally impressive ladies adorned in their jewels, with plumes of feathers in their powdered curls.
Rosalie worked quickly to put a society-approved smile on her face and dipped into a curtsy. Rank is rank, after all. “Good evening, Mrs. Young. I trust you are well?”
“Perfectly well,” she replied. “Oh, but I hopeyouhave recovered, dear.”
Rosalie held her smile on her face. “Recovered?”
“Yes, from your frightful ordeal. Thetonhas been quite ravenous over it.” Marianne glanced to either side to simper at her friends. “Rushed to London in the dead of night in the arms of the Viscount Finchley. Was it medical, dear? A death in the family, perhaps? For I can’t imagine it was as scandalous as the gossip columns claim.”
Rosalie’s breath caught in her throat. “Gossip columns?”
“Oh dear, you didn’t know?” Marianne laughed, patting her shoulder like a child. “It’s all over the papers, Miss Harrow. There was that column inThe Morning Chronicle,” she said to her friend.
“I read it inLady Whisper,” her friend replied with a haughty sniff.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re featured inThe Timesitself by the end of the week,” Marianne added. “You sure know how to make an entrance into high society. I only fear that your entrance might also mark your exit.”
Rosalie was going to be sick. Whispers and rumors were one thing... but her trip to London had been printed in the papers?Multiplepapers? Frustration coiled in her gut. Frustration at herself, which was wholly deserved. But she was frustrated with James too. He had to know. Every morning she watched him at the breakfast table unfurl and read his stack of papers. He knew and said nothing, she was sure of it.
Did Renley know too? Did Burke? Had they all been keeping it from her for days?
“The truth is hardly worth noting,” she said, doing her best to hold her head high.
“No one cares about truth in this town,” Marianne replied with a flick of her fan. “All we want is a good story.”
“Either way, I shall leave thetruestory with you,” Rosalie countered. “The viscount had urgent business in town to prepare for His Grace’s wedding. They mean to marry within the month. Surely you must have heard?”
“Oh yes... we know. The soon-to-be Piety Corbin, Duchess of Norland,” Marianne replied. “Oh, how the climbers will climb,” she added under her breath, taking a sip of her bubbly pink punch.
The other ladies snorted with derision.
“Speaking of social climbers, I hear I am to congratulateyouon your official position at Corbin House,” Marianne went on. “You are the new governess now, yes? Oh, wait... that makesno sense, for there are no children in the house.” She looked to her friends in mock confusion. “I must be misremembering what Tom told me. Tell us Miss Harrow, whatisyour role there?”
