Page 107 of The Duke and the Lady in Red
She shook her head. “I was not perfect.”
“To him you were.”
Stepping into Avendale’s embrace, she welcomed his arms closing around her and wondered if a time would ever come when her heart would not ache.
Chapter 22
Over the next few days the ache did lessen as Avendale’s staff took the time to offer her their condolences. Merrick, Sally, and Joseph wept almost as much as she did. They were with her in the parlor when those who had been part of their night at the Twin Dragons had stopped by. Those who had managed the games, played the music, served the food. Then all of Avendale’s family, friends, and acquaintances who had been there that evening. They spoke fondly of their time with Harry, shared parts of the night that Rose hadn’t realized had occurred—card games and laughter. He had been in their lives but a short while and yet it seemed he’d left an indelible mark never to be forgotten.
Rose thought it a lovely legacy.
Harry was laid to rest in a garden cemetery surrounded by beauty. She was not surprised, as Avendale had seen to the arrangements. It seemed where her brother was concerned he was determined not to spare any expense.
When she wept, he comforted her. When she couldn’t sleep, he held her. When she walked the gardens, he provided an arm upon which she could lean. One day rolled over into the next until a fortnight had passed, and she knew it was time that she forced away the melancholy. She had made a pact with Avendale to be with him however he wanted for as long as he wanted. Surely he didn’t want this mourning woman.
She was standing in front of the fountain when she heard the footfalls over the cobblestones. Glancing at Avendale, she smiled. In spite of her sadness, she was always glad to see him, although for some strange reason he was carrying the silver bowl littered with invitations that usually remained in the foyer.
“Enjoying the fountain?” he asked.
“It is odd, but my favorite memories of Harry occurred while he was in your residence. Every aspect of it reminds me of him. You truly went above and beyond to make his final days grand. I’m not certain I’d ever seen him smile so much. I don’t know how to thank you.”
“I don’t want your gratitude,” he said gruffly.
“Yet still you have it.” She nodded toward the bowl. “What are you doing with that? I’ve never seen you give it a glance.”
“While I’ve seen you give it a hundred. Every time we go into the foyer, your gaze darts over to it. And I’ve wondered: Is it the beauty of the bowl that fascinates you or what it holds?”
The beauty of what it contained: to have so many who wanted him in their lives. Did he even grasp how precious that was? “You receive countless invitations, and yet you ignore them all.”
“Perhaps it’s time I stopped.”
She thought she could hear each drop of water pinging into the fountain. Not that she blamed him for having enough of her. She wasn’t keeping to their bargain by giving him what he wanted, because surely he didn’t want the sad creature she’d become.
“You’ll send mothers’ hearts a-fluttering with the hope that you’re searching for a wife.” While her own might cease to beat.
“I’m not searching for a wife but rather something that might bring you some happiness. Have you ever been to a ball, other than the one at the Twin Dragons?”
The lie hung on her tongue but she couldn’t spit it out. “I’ve attended country dances, but I suspect they pale in comparison to a ball hosted by someone in the aristocracy.”
He extended the bowl. “Pluck out an invitation and it’s the one we’ll accept.”
Scoffing, she rolled her eyes at him. “You can’t take me to a ball.”
“Why not?”
“For one thing I’m in mourning.”
“Which Harry would heartily disapprove of. You would know that if you read his book. Have you even started it?”
“I can’t. It’s too soon.”
“Trust me, then. He would be sorely disappointed.” He shook the bowl.
“Avendale, this is wrong on so many levels. I’m your mistress.”
“I don’t think of you as such.”
“Lovers?” she asked pointedly.
