Page 61 of Rose and the Rogue
Adrian sighed inwardly. Here came the judgment. “In terms of titles, no one of consequence. Her father is a barrister, quite well-respected, I’ve come to discover.”
“And what dowry?”
“Very little. I think they never expected her to marry.”
“Why ever not? She cannot be hideous or without charm, or you would not have noticed her.”
“She’s blind.”
“Blind?” his mother echoed. “She cannot see?”
“That’s the general definition of the word, yes.”
“Don’t be pert with me, young man. What was a blind girl doing at Lady Herbert’s party in the first place?”
“Dancing.” Adrian explained the situation, and how Rose’s partner had abandoned her on the floor, leading Adrian to swoop in to finish the dance so no one noticed and the lady wouldn’t be embarrassed by the attempted trick.
“I didn’t realize she was blind until we were actually dancing, and then it became quite obvious that the intention had been to create a scene with her at the center, lost amid all the moving people.”
His mother sniffed in disdain. “Some men should not be allowed among society. But that was well done of you, Adrian, to mitigate the damage.”
“I fear it just caused more trouble. After the dance, I escorted Rose—Miss Blake—out to the garden.” He hastened to give his reasons and explained the kiss, and Rose’s effect on him with her clever responses and unexpected candor. He told about going to meet her and running into her in the park, how he couldn’t remember ever having as much fun with a person since he was young. How her singing enchanted him. How one encounter become more, and how he realized that he needed her in his life. How she was not just pretty, but intelligent—
“Enough!” His mother held up one hand. “Clearly you fell in love with this woman. Do you love her? Not just affection or lust, but love?”
The way her eyes bored into his left no room for dissembling. Adrian nodded. “Yes, I love her. I want to spend the rest of my life with her.”
She nodded back. “Then that’s that. Not the match I’d been expecting perhaps, but what’s done is done. What confuses me is that if you’ve been courting her and there is even a suggestion that it is serious, why you have not already proposed to her?”
“I did. Well, I intended to ask her father for permission. But by the time I was able to ask, he refused my suit.”
The dowager viscountess (a woman who could count her ancestors back to the Conqueror) gasped in disbelief. “He what?”
“Mr. Blake was acquainted with my past, including the various…associations…I’ve had…”
“Just say affairs. Let us speak plainly.”
“My affairs, then. He felt that I could not make Rose happy.”
“He does not believe that you are good enough for her?” she asked, her tone rising as she spoke.
“In short, yes. I tried to argue my case, but, well, he’s the barrister. And the judge, apparently. I left the house after being told that not only would Rose never be allowed to marry me, I was not to see her ever again.”
“This is ludicrous. You are the Viscount Norbury!”
“That’s what I said. He was unmoved.”
“I will move him.” She pushed on the arms of her chair to propel her to her feet. “I am issuing an invitation to the Blake family for tea. They will come, and we will talk, and all will be resolved. You will be engaged before dessert, and this scandal will die the quick death it deserves.”
As plans went, it had the virtue of simplicity. An invitation from the dowager viscountess held the weight of social approval, and to refuse it would be unthinkable. Adrian never expected his mother to throw herself into the problem in such a direct way, but he felt a swell of gratitude that she had, even without meeting Rose herself. It didn’t matter that society valued Rose less because she was blind, or didn’t have the luck to be born into the aristocracy. His mother trusted his judgment. Which, after the many mistakes he’d made in younger years, meant the world to him.
Chapter 21
Rose had not left her room since learning the truth about Adrian. She didn’t want any food, so it was easy to skip meals. She half-heartedly opened one of the few books she owned that were intended to be read by the blind, thanks to the invention of a writing style by a Frenchman named Charles Barbier a few years previously. Unfortunately, not many books were available in night writing or other tactile systems. And Rose had read all of hers many times, so nothing could hold her attention now.
Rose curled under the covers of her bed, praying for sleep yet resigned to wakefulness. What she hadn’t told Poppy, or anyone, was that her mind constantly replayed every conversation with Adrian, every kiss, every touch. She could recall the night he made love to her with perfect clarity, and even now her body warmed at the memory of his hands and his mouth on her skin.
She was still in her night rail even though the clock had chimed noon. She was cradled in the familiar softness, the scent of the laundry soap that Alice used, and the purring of the kitten Ralph, curled up against her, his tiny body radiating warmth.
