Page 48 of Wicked Rivals
“The men have just left, even Rafe, though he wanted to take the coach with us because of his injured arm. Ashton insisted he ride.”
The older woman’s words bought Rosalind up short.
“Mr. Lennox hurt his arm?” She had not yet made the acquaintance of Ashton’s younger brother.
“Yes, he fell and badly injured his shoulder. We had to have Dr. Finchley come and see to him. It was bloody, far more so than I would have expected from a fall. I would have fainted had I been allowed to see it, but Rafe wouldn’t let anyone but the doctor in. Stubborn boy.”
Rosalind thought over how a man might injure himself in a fall. It was possible, she supposed, if he’d landed on a broken branch or a sharp stone. But still, she thought back to those eyes from the night she was robbed. His hesitation when she’d called him Lord Lennox. What if it was an entirely different wound he suffered…such as a gunshot?
Could Rafe be the highwayman who’d robbed her?
“I’m afraid I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting your brother before,” Rosalind said. “What is he like?”
Joanna leaned close to Rosalind as Ashton’s mother walked ahead to see if the coach was ready. “Rafe is…well, he’s quite the opposite of Ashton. Rafe never looks before he leaps. I daresay he is never without a mistress, and he loves gambling. He always says life is about taking risks.”
“That does sound like the opposite of Ashton, except perhaps for the mistress part.”
“That’s brothers for you. Do you have brothers, Rosalind?”
Rosalind couldn’t help but smile as she and Joanna climbed into the carriage. “I have three.”
“Three? Lord, I can barely tolerate having two. What are yours like? Surely they are better behaved than mine.”
“Brothers?” Regina caught up on the conversation.
Normally Rosalind would not have divulged so much of her past to strangers, but she rather liked and trusted Ashton’s mother and sister.
“Brock is my eldest brother. Then there’s Brodie and Aiden. They’re all older than me. And lovable, though more than a wee bit stubborn. I am not quite sure any of them qualify as gentlemen.”
Regina chuckled. “Scotsmen are something entirely different. They will drive you mad, but they have many irresistibly charming qualities.” Regina laughed outright when she glanced at Rosalind. “I mean that as a compliment. We have a few Scots in our family.”
“Ashton did mention that. He even knew a bit of Gaelic.”
“Yes, that boy loves languages. He excelled at his schooling, and he and his friends are all fluent in half a dozen of them.”
Joanna giggled. “One night they were talking about something and didn’t want me to overhear, so they spoke German for the next half hour. I was more impressed than upset by the end of their discussion.”
Envy filled Rosalind. She wanted to learn more languages but hadn’t had the time. After her husband passed, she’d become caught up in the running of her businesses and had little time to study.
“Do you know many languages, Joanna?”
“No. I’m afraid I don’t have the head for it. I am far better at mathematics, like Ashton.”
“Did you study much?”
Joanna nodded. “Ashton made sure both Thomasina and I were as well educated as any man.”
“Thomasina?” That was a new name to her.
Regina brimmed with pride. “My eldest. She’s married and living in London with her husband and two children.”
The rest of the coach ride was filled with stories from Rosalind and Joanna about Ashton’s childhood. Apparently he hadn’t always been a cool, calculating man. He’d once been a veritable scamp.
Rosalind assumed both ladies were doing their best to show Ashton in a favorable light since they believed she and Ashton were courting, but the stories were told with smiles and genuine warmth. Once he’d been a sweet, trouble-seeking boy with frogs in his pockets and a talent for pranks. She couldn’t help but wonder what had happened along the way to change him.
“Ah, here we are,” Regina announced as the coach rolled to a stop before a grand house lit by moonlight. Lamps illuminated the windows, and the large oak front door was open as grooms took charge of coach horses and a butler came out to collect their shawls. The sound of music and laughter inside lifted Rosalind’s spirits. She had been to so few balls in the last few years.
A footman offered her a hand down, and she lifted her skirts before placing her palm in his. This was her first country ball, a private one, but since she had received a formal invitation from the Mertons, she felt comfortable in attending. Even she knew that one could not attend a private country ball unless invited.
