Page 152 of His Grace, the Duke
“Oh, tosh,” Blanche cried. “How can you not be excited, Miss Harrow? Lord James—excuse me—His Grace,” she twittered, “is now the most exciting, the most handsome, the most eligible peer in the land!”
Rosalie stilled, heart beating wildly. “Eligible?”
“Of course, silly,” Mariah laughed, suddenly appearing at her other side. “When he was just a viscount, he was eligible enough, but now that the title is really his, every unmarried lady in thetonwill be throwing themselves at him left, right, and center.”
“Andwehave the advantage,” Blanche said, her voice suddenly conspiratorial. “For we already share such intimacy with him.” She paused, giving Rosalie’s arm a little pat. “Well,perhaps not you, Miss Harrow. He’s never really shown you much interest.”
Rosalie sucked in a breath. The thought of another woman sharing intimacy with James was enough to make her want to scream, cry, tear apart this house stone by stone.
“Blanche, don’t be cruel,” said Mariah. “He danced with her at Michaelmas, remember?”
“Well, he’ll not be dancing with her tonight,” Blanche replied. “Not if the rabid ladies of thetonhave anything to say about it.”
This was all too much. Rosalie needed to see him. Needed to talk to him. Had this changed things for him? Had she ruined everything?
“Good morning, Miss Harrow,” came a quiet voice behind her.
She spun around, sighing with relief to see the wide eyes and soft smile of Lady Madeline Blaire. “Madeline,” she said, reaching out for her.
The ladies embraced, Madeline taking a step back and pulling Rosalie with her.
The other young ladies darted away, too excited to go and inspect the new dance floor.
“You looked like you needed rescuing,” Madeline murmured, letting Rosalie go.
“Thank you,” she replied, blinking back tears. “I—heavens, I know I’m just being silly.”
“Much is changing.” Madeline gave her a knowing look. “Has he made you any promises already?”
Rosalie’s eyes darted up as she stilled, searching Madeline’s face. She was such a sweet thing, so young and innocent, with her wide doe eyes and freckled cheeks. And yet, Rosalie got to know her over the weeks they spent at Alcott. She saw thequiet strength in her, the cleverness, the resolve. Madeline was smart enough to see what the others apparently did not.
Slowly, Rosalie nodded.
Madeline pat her arm reassuringly. “He will hold to them. He is too proud to falter once his path is chosen. If he made you a promise, he will keep it.”
“It’s complicated,” Rosalie whispered. “He would risk too much for my sake. Even if he wanted to keep his promise, dare I let him?”
Madeline considered for a moment. “I think... if you expect him to respect your choices, you must respect his in turn. If he chooses you, accept it. If this changes things too much for him, then you can move on.”
Rosalie closed her eyes, willing her heart not to break. Nothing could be known until she talked to James. Until they all spoke together. Her senses hummed as she felt eyes on her and she turned. There, at the far end of the hall, stood James. Apparently, he’d been taken upstairs and changed out of his wedding attire. He now wore fashionable evening clothes, the sash of his new title draped across his chest.
Swallowing her fears, she took a step forward. As she did, Burke and Tom came into view, standing to either side of James. They put their heads together, speaking low, before the other two turned, watching as she crossed the room towards them. James looked stoic, Burke resolved... but then Tom smiled.
Breathing a sigh of relief, she moved faster, desperate to be by their sides, to hear James say this changed nothing. He still wanted her, wanted all of them. Together.
A face in the crowd caught her eye, and Rosalie felt all her senses hiss with alarm. She glanced from her men back to the intruder, following their path with her eyes. Possessive angerflooded her chest as she veered off course, weaving through the growing throng of excited guests.
“You should not be here,” she declared, turning her back on her men to block Marianne’s path.
“Out of my way,” Marianne hissed. “This does not concern you anymore,whore.”
The woman looked mad. She wore her finest clothes—a perfectly tailored morning dress and pelisse, a fashionable bonnet trimmed with bright ribbons, feathers, and bows—but her eyes were red-rimmed and glassy. Her hair looked unkempt, and she quivered with a nervous energy that set Rosalie’s teeth on edge. She’d had dreams of this madwoman, but the reality was somehow so much worse.
Rosalie raised her hands, alarm ringing loud as church bells in her ears. “Your quarrel is with me. Marianne,please, leave Tom out of it.”
The lady snarled. “You don’t understand! No one ever understands. Tom ismine.” She panted, chest heaving as she narrowed her eyes with resolve. “And if I can’t have him, no one can.”
Rosalie gasped, doom flooding her very bones. The room suddenly seemed to spin, the crowd a swirl of smiling faces. Colors and music and laughing couples. But Rosalie saw nothing except the large pistol Marianne raised in her shaky hand. She felt nothing but the arm the lady shoved against her chest, tipping her off balance. She heard nothing but the shot, ringing in her ears. And she smelled the smoke of the powder, stinging her nostrils.
