Page 17 of The Lady’s Guide to Deception and Desire
“Fiddlesticks! When he has such wealth and status? Age is of no importance. Besides which, he is hardly in his dotage,” her mother chided. “The places you’ll go, once you’re a duchess! You’ll be welcomed by all the great houses: the Devonshires at Chatsworth, and the Marlboroughs at Blenheim. I’ve a fancy to see the castles of Belvoir and Alnwick. All the doors will be open. Don’t tell me it doesn’t matter to you!” Mrs. Burnell’s grip upon her daughter’s shoulders tightened.
Wincing, Rosamund shrugged her away. “I wonder that you don’t try for him yourself, Mother.”
“Don’t be facetious, Rosamund! The duke will be seeking a wife able to bear him children. For that, he needs someone in the first flush of youth.” Leaning towards the mirror, she licked her finger and pressed at a curl near her temple. “Besides which, although I have parted ways with your father, I remain tied to him legally. It will remain that way unless he deigns to divorce me.”
Mrs. Burnell sighed. “You are a lucky, lucky girl. Brains and beauty, and enough of the first to know not to show them! Now, time to smile, and do what must be done.”
As they made their way down, Rosamund’s thoughts turned to Mr. Studborne. They hadn’t seen him yet, but he’d appear for dinner, wouldn’t he? The invitation had been his, on behalf of his uncle.
Rosamund had no logical reason to care either way. Nevertheless, she found that she did.
Chapter 7
Fearful of missing the gong,Rosamund and her mother came down in good time and were directed to the drawing room, where a servant dressed in smartly brocaded uniform waited with aperitifs.
"Thank you, young man." Mrs. Burnell lifted the glass of dark liquid with dainty fingers, raising her pinkie to the side.
Her eyes twinkled as she turned to Rosamund. "There're called footmen, apparently. Don't you just love the livery? I wonder how many the duke employs? I've read that the Queen has twenty-three, or is it forty-three?" She sipped at the drink, grimaced and wrinkled her nose, then seemed to decide it was quite pleasant after all, tipping back the glass in one swig.
"Please don't ask." Rosamund hissed. "And the drink smells awful strong. Best stick to just the one."
Tall and slender, Mr. Studborne was by the fire, looking elegant in evening wear. Quite different from the last time he’d stood before Rosamund, with his trouser legs rolled up, the sand pushed between his bare toes.
“Mrs. Burnell, a pleasure to meet you. And Miss Burnell—lovely to see you again.” Stepping forward, his soft eyes were full of apology. “I hope you can forgive me not being here to welcome you. My uncle sent me to Weymouth on an errand and I only returned an hour ago.”
Mr. Studborne made the usual enquiries into their comfort and Rosamund found herself grateful for his warm attentions.
Within a few minutes the door opened again, and a finely dressed woman appeared: a woman undeniably attractive, though perhaps a good fifteen years older than Rosamund.
Mr. Studborne made the introductions. “Mrs. Burnell, Miss Burnell, may I present Madame Florian—a guest of my uncle.”
Her glossy, dark hair was swept up loosely, showing off a swan-like neck. Her gown, though simply cut in green silk, was adorned through the bodice with black beading and the wide yoke did an admirable job of displaying the creamy skin of herdécolleté.
“Ah, so nice to have other ladies in the house.” Madame Florian’s emerald eyes flashed like the matching droplets dangling from her ears.
Rosamund was aware of her mother bristling.
No one had mentioned additional guests but, of course, it was only natural. If they should be invited for a short stay, why not others too.
“Madame Florian shares my uncle’s interest in spiritualism,” explained Mr. Studborne.
Mrs. Burnell frowned. “I’m not sure I approve of that line of thinking. As Christian souls, we believe in the hereafter, but I prefer to imagine those passed over being at peace. It seems rather discourteous of us to be bothering them with séances and such.”
“I’m of the same mind.” Mr. Studborne nodded. “But my uncle persists in his desire to communicate with my aunt.” He gave an almost imperceptible sigh. “It’s approaching two years since her death, but his devotion was such that she remains much in his thoughts.”
Rosamund noticed that the far wall displayed another portrait of the fair duchess--this time with her skirts spread around her, seated beneath trees with a pastoral scene behind.
“Mon cher”—Madame Florian raised her fingertips to the young man’s cheek in an altogether overly familiar manner—“It comforts him. Sometimes, this is enough, yes?”
Mr. Studborne answered tightly. “For that reason alone, I keep my opinions to myself. But, my hope is that he’ll move on from this fascination, to engage more fully with the living. I rely on you, Madame, to support me when the time comes, in putting away the past.”
“But of course. I am sure that Violetta herself would also approve. I feel the presence of her lingering spirit but perhaps she waits only to see her beloved duke find happiness again in the arms of another.” The French woman lowered her eyes demurely.
So that’s the lay of the land!thought Rosamund.You want him for yourself.
The look upon her mother’s face told Rosamund that she’d deduced the same.
“Have you been here long, Madame?” Mrs. Burnell cast an appraising eye over her daughter’s rival.
