Page 3 of A Wild English Rose
No. No.No.
The look her father shot in her direction was full of warning. She could just imagine what he was thinking. If she put a foot wrong, she would quickly find herself looking for a position as a governess.
She sucked in a deep breath and dropped into a deep curtsey. “Lord Horsham.”
Thomas Rosemount handed his mother a glass of wine and came to stand by her side. His parents were in London for three weeks, and he felt obliged to squire his mother out to a few social events before he returned to the family estate in Northamptonshire. His father was in town purely for the horse sales at Tattersalls and was not one for balls or parties.
“Enjoying yourself?” he asked.
She took the glass but did not turn to look at him. His looked to where his mother’s gaze was fixed. Across the other side of the room, a middle-aged couple were greeting an older gentleman. Alongside them was a young woman, who dipped into a curtsey as she was presented to the older man.
“Not particularly. I cannot abide such things,” Thomas’s mother replied.
“What do you mean?”
She waved a finger in the direction of the gathering. “Lord and Lady Norris trying to marry their daughter off to that old codger. The Marquis of Horsham has been in the market for a wife all summer, and it looks like he has finally found one. Poor girl.”
The young woman rose from her curtsey and accepted Lord Horsham’s hand. Any thought that his mother may have been mistaken in her assessment of the situation was swept aside as the marquis leaned forward and placed a kiss on the young woman’s cheek.
Lady Rosemount shuddered. “He cannot be a day younger than seventy.”
Something clicked into place in Thomas’s brain. “Did you say Lord and Lady Norris?”
“Yes, the poor dear is their youngest daughter, Cecily. They shipped her off to her grandmother in Ireland when she was seventeen. Now it looks as if they are intending to be shot of her completely. Why do you ask?”
“No reason.”
Watching as the encounter played out before them, Thomas had a sudden inkling as to why Lady Cecily Norris had given the champagne more than a little nudge at the party two nights earlier. A spirited young woman such as her would be condemned to a cold and lonely life with the marquis. The Marquis of Horsham had a particular reputation with women that was not spoken of in mixed company.
You poor girl.
Chapter Four
Cecily made her apologies as soon as she was able, mentioning a minor headache and the need for her to take a moment in the ladies’ retiring room.
As soon as she had crossed the floor of the ballroom, she made a beeline outside. She raced down the terrace steps and into the garden. Her hands were fisted in tight balls as she struggled to keep from screaming.
You fool, when will you ever learn not to believe them?
Yet again her parents had betrayed her trust. Not only did they have no intention of letting her choose her life partner, they were going to make sure she was miserable. She was going to be punished once again for having the temerity to be born.
To her relief, the house grounds were sparsely populated, the host of the gathering having had the misfortune to schedule the party on the same night as the debut of a new opera at Drury Lane.
But no sooner had Cecily sat down on a bench in a private corner of the garden and made ready to have a thoroughly good cry, when the sight of a black evening suit filled her field ofvision. The stranger took a seat next to her. She turned her head away, praying, whoever he was, that he would go away.
A gloved hand reached out and settled lightly on her forearm. “I saw you just now with Lord Horsham. My mother tells me that you may shortly be married to him; is that true?” he asked.
She nodded. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Until that moment, she had hoped that her parents may have had some thought to her future happiness but having now met the man they intended as her husband, she knew they did not. A loving parent would never sacrifice their daughter to such a life.
“Unless a miracle occurs, then yes,” she replied.
“I’m sorry, Lady Cecily. I cannot begin to even think how unhappy you must feel right now. It at least explains why you threw yourself into the arms of deep inebriation the other night.”
The stranger’s words were like a hard slap to the face. Using her evening shawl, she wiped her tears away and turned to him. “I beg your pardon. Who the devil are you?”
In the torch-lit garden, her gaze locked on a pair of dark brown eyes. Eyes which immediately drew her in.
“Ah, so you don’t remember me taking you home on Tuesday? I expect then that you don’t recall me tripping over you while you were on your knees casting up your accounts in the garden beds. You were very drunk,” he replied.
