Page 11 of Marry in Secret
“But you chosenoneof them.”
“No.” Aunt Dottie bit into her cream cake with a blissful expression.
Aunt Agatha rolled her eyes. “And look at you now, a pathetic old spinster!”
“That’s a horrid thing to say!” Lily put a comforting arm around Aunt Dottie’s waist.
Aunt Dottie chuckled. “Oh, don’t mind Aggie, my love. She always gets crabby when her plans go awry. I’m perfectly happy with my life. I have no regrets, and I don’t feel the least bit pathetic. Delicious cakes, Emm, dear. My compliments to your cook.” She reached for another.
“There’s nothing pathetic about being a spinster,” George said. “That’s what I plan to be—a happy spinster, unencumbered by a bossy husband. Mistress of my own fate. And with complete control over my own money.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Georgiana!” Aunt Agatha snapped. “It is your duty—”
Emm set her teacup down with a clatter. “Rose, my dear, I’m sure you’ll wish to change out of that dress. Come, let us go upstairs.” She rose, a little awkwardly because of her bulk, and held out her hand. “No, Lily,” she added, as Lily moved to accompany them. “Stay here with George, please, and entertain your aunts.”
Rose felt an unworthy surge of relief. It was cowardly, she knew, but she wasn’t yet ready to face Lily. Not alone. So much to explain, and no idea how to begin.
And that was just Lily. What about Thomas? What was she going to say to him?
Emm led her to the stairs. “Dear Dottie. You realize she’s drawing your Aunt Agatha’s fire deliberately?”
Rose smiled. George was too. “I know. Aunt Dottie is a darling.”
Emm kissed her cheek. “She loves you, as do we all—even Aunt Agatha, though she’d never admit to such vulgar emotion. Now run along upstairs, wash your face—have a bath if you like—and change out of that dress. Come down when you’re ready.”
Rose gave her sister-in-law a rueful look. “And what if I’m never ready? Oh, Emm, what am I going to do?”
Emm hugged her gently. “I can’t tell you that, my dear. You must look into your own heart, and decide for yourself what is right. Whatever you want, your brother and I will support you.”
“But what if I don’t know?” And oh, wasn’t that a disloyal thing to say?
“Just take it one day at a time. There’s no reason to rush into any decision—Mr. Beresford has been gone for four years, after all. A few more days or even weeks won’t make any difference, will it?”
“I suppose not.” Rose hooked her train over her arm and walked slowly up the stairs.
Emm must have rung for her maid, Milly, for she appeared a few moments later. With discreet sympathy, Milly refrained from asking questions as she helped Rose out of her wedding outfit.
As the heavy silk brocade was lifted over Rose’s head, she felt a wave of... was it relief? She stared at the exquisite dress laid carefully across the end of her bed and felt not the slightest of regrets. Had she not wanted to marry the duke after all? Had she deluded herself?
Of course, she didn’t know about Thomas then.
“I think I’ll have a bath,” she told Milly. She’d had a bath this morning, but somehow it felt right to bathe again. She sighed at her own foolishness. Did she think she could wash away the events of the day and start over? But a bath still felt right.
Rose sat at her dressing table pulling flowers and pins from her hair while the maid bustled about organizing things. She felt strangely distant from that woman in thelooking glass. Who was she now? No longer Lady Rose Rutherford. No longer the bride of the Duke of Everingham.
The bride, undone.
In a small wooden box in the corner of the dressing table lay a plain gold locket on a fine gold chain. Her wedding ring was inside it, along with a lock of Thomas’s hair.
She picked it up, let the locket dangle and spin on its chain for a long moment, then held it in her palm.
For the last four years it had hung between her breasts, hidden below her neckline of her clothes. She only ever took it off to bathe.
This morning—was it really only a few hours ago? It felt an age away—she’d wondered whether she should remove it for the wedding. Was it wrong to wear one man’s ring while marrying another—even when the first man was dead?
The duke had stressed that love wasn’t part of their arrangement, but even so, she’d decided it wouldn’t be right to wear it. She’d taken the locket off, kissed it—kissing Thomas good-bye for ever—and put it away.
Mrs. Beresford—well, actually she was still Lady Rose, only Beresford now instead of Rutherford. A married woman again. Not that she’d ever felt like a married woman. She’d gone from schoolgirl, to secretly married schoolgirl, then back to schoolgirl again.
