Page 25 of The Lady’s Guide to Deception and Desire
“Underground?” Rosamund recoiled at the idea.
To be in the dark, surrounded by dank stone! Such places were always damp, where the sun’s warmth never penetrated. To attempt sleeping in such a place would be uncomfortable in the extreme.
It may have been the point, she supposed. A sort of penance.
As the duke drew her back towards the open air, Rosamund was all too willing to follow.
Chapter 10
“Thank goodness!”Breathless, Rosamund’s mother struggled to push herself against the pillows. There was a touch of pink to each cheek and her eyes held a frantic look.
“Ma, what’s the matter?” Hurrying to the bedside, Rosamund touched her mother’s forehead and was relieved to find it wasn’t overly hot.
“I was worried about you.” Mrs. Burnell clutched at her daughter’s hand. “Madame Florian came to see me. So kind. She begged me not to pay attention to what the spirit of Vasco told us at the séance. Apparently, he has a mischievous streak and isn’t to be relied upon. Madame insisted that the Tarot cards are more trustworthy.”
“Is that so.” Rosamund couldn’t help answering coldly. She’d rather Madame Florian stayed well away. The woman was a troublemaker—and here was her mother, all upset again.
The bottle of laudanum was still upon the night stand. Rosamund picked it up, squinting through the brown glass. “Did you take some more, Ma?”
“I did. Madame Florian measured out the drops for me, into some hot water with honey.” Her mother sighed, dropping her head back against the pillows.
“I don’t want you taking any more.” Opening the drawer, Rosamund pushed the bottle to the back, out of sight. “Not unless I give it to you myself.”
“If you insist chickadee, but I don’t see any harm. It’s just to calm the nerves.” She gave a great yawn.
“There’s nothing to be anxious about. I want you to put the séance from your mind. You’re in no danger, and neither am I.”
Her mother’s eyes fluttered. “It was the Tarot, you see. Madame Florian said they don’t lie—and such cards! There was a tower struck by lightning, and some with swords. Madame explained it all, though I can’t remember everything.”
She pressed her fingers to her temples. “The strain, dearest; it’s too much for me. The cards were talking about separation—which is true, isn’t it, because our little Ethan has been taken away. And then there was some other talk about betrayal and lurking danger.”
Rosamund fought a surge of anger. “They’re just cards. A carnival trick to persuade people to part with money. But here I am safe, and you too—tucked in bed.” Rosamund spoke as brightly as she could.
“You will take care, won’t you darling?” Her mother’s voice was suddenly much smaller. “I had a fear, you see, that you might miss your footing and fall. When you’re young, you think nothing can hurt you—but it’s not always true…”
“I’ll be careful.” Rosamund drew the covers higher, smoothing them around her mother's shoulders, as she’d used to for Ethan.
Madame Florian had clearly decidedto stay out of her way, for Rosamund saw no sign of her at luncheon. The duke joined her in the dining room for a light repast of cold meats and salads, and was all hospitality, as before.
However, he excused himself as soon as the meal was done, and Rosamund was left to her own devices for the rest of the afternoon.
Rosamund thought of Mr. Studborne, down on Osmington beach. It had begun raining and a wind had picked up, tossing branches and sending leaves skittering across the lawns.
“He’d hoped to ‘beat the weather’, Pom Pom, but he’s probably stuck in it right now, getting soaked to the skin—unless he’s taken shelter in the cave.”
That made Rosamund think of how he’d been, showing her the ammonite.
Not that it meant anything.
He wasn’t the sort, was he, for romantic entanglements.
Theirs had been a fleeting moment, and she doubted he’d given it a second thought. After all, where was he now? Not here, showing any desire to get to know her. Instead, he was following his usual pursuits, as if she didn’t exist at all.
Meanwhile, she’d placed the ammonite on the mantle, as if it were some sort of treasure, between two rather pretty Dresden china figurines.
Reclining upon the bed, with Pom Pom pushed as close to her as could be, Rosamund buried herself in rereading her copy ofWuthering Heights.
Not for the first time, she pondered on the savage nature of Heathcliff. She could understand Cathy being attracted to the more sedate charms of Edgar Linton. However enticing the idea of a lover for whom one’s soul burned, in the real world, one had to be sensible. She would settle for a man who treated her with affection, and whose temper was steady.
