Page 24 of Diamond of the Season (Heiress #1)
Chapter
Twenty-Four
A fter the afternoon tea, Rosalind's curiosity got the better of her as she strolled into the gardens to read what Lord Felton had written. She opened the missive and scanned its contents quickly:
My lady fair, grant me but one sweet chance,
To claim your hand for love, not just for a dance.
No whispered gossip, nor the ton’s decree,
Shall ever keep my heart from thee.
Heat bloomed on her cheeks as she stared at the words. Did Lord Felton truly feel that way about her? She certainly enjoyed the company of the gentleman. He was amusing and made her laugh a great deal, yet she had never considered him a poet or a romantic. Her body did not incline toward romanticizing him in the least, although perhaps he did have a hidden side that longed for love and a happy marriage.
Maybe she would be a fool to push him aside in the hopes that Nathaniel would change his mind, come to his senses, and see that the harmony burning between them was real and tangible—something he should not ignore lest he lose it forever. Despite having warned him that she would never let him touch her again, Rosalind knew the words were a lie the moment she uttered them. Of course she would let him touch her again. She still wanted him, even if his actions left her frustrated and annoyed. All he needed to do was to touch her and she would crumble into a ball of wants and needs.
"Lady Rosalind," sounded a voice near the terrace.
Rosalind turned to see Lady Smithe walking toward her with a small, determined smile on her face—a marked change from the usual disappointment she wore when they spoke. Rosalind was certain that the woman was not her friend. In fact, she sometimes wondered why she had agreed to be her companion at all.
Rosalind stopped walking and slipped the note back into her pocket, but before she could ask how her ladyship’s day was progressing, Lady Smithe reached into her pocket without a by-your-leave and stole the note. She waved it accusingly in front of Rosalind's nose. Rosalind attempted to snatch it back but Lady Smithe was too quick and she was unable to.
"Give that back," Rosalind demanded, reaching for it.
But her ladyship was too quick and she opened the note, reading it quickly before looking at Rosalind with disgust. "I did not want to believe it, but the duke was right. Do you know how scandalous it is to accept a secretive note from an admiring gentleman? You cannot accept such gifts."
Rosalind stilled at her words as anger thrummed through her veins. Nathaniel had told Lady Smithe. Was he a snitch now too? "It is nothing, my lady. Please do not make more of the situation than it warrants,” she said, bored with the conversation already.
"The duke certainly thinks it warrants me knowing of it.” Lady Smithe shook her head, contemplating her next words. "Really, child…what are you thinking acting so fast?"
"I'm not a child. We're the same age, Lady Smithe. Do not be so disrespectful and remember your place. You are my companion, not my mama or guardian. Do not overstep your bounds." Rosalind did not mean to snap at her ladyship, but really, did the woman not see the absurdness of her chastisement?
"How dare you talk to me in such a way!" Lady Smithe's eyes welled with tears. "And after all the kindness I have afforded you!"
Had she afforded Rosalind much kindness? Rosalind could only recall a handful of occasions, and those had only been when the duke or someone of value—in her ladyship’s opinion—was present. Still, it was not in Rosalind's nature to be cutting or cross, and she took pity on Lady Smithe.
"I do not wish to quarrel, my lady. I do appreciate all that you are doing for me, but I did not send a note in return to Lord Felton. There is little chance this exchange between us will end in scandal."
"There were several gossiping matrons of the ton at the afternoon tea. Any one of them could have seen and is right now shadowing as many drawing rooms as they can, to speak of what they saw. I would not be surprised if at tonight's ball you are the talk of London."
The horror of such a thought stilled Rosalind's heart, but she rallied herself, unwilling to believe that anything of the sort would occur. She had done nothing wrong.
"All will be well, my lady," she whispered, wishing her tone sounded more confident than it did.
"All will be well, shall it, child?"
Rosalind bit back a retort at Lady Smithe's repeated use of the term child. Clearly, the woman wanted to prickle under Rosalind’s skin.
Lady Smithe lifted the note and read it again, her lips pursing into a puckered frown. "The man clearly wishes to have a rendezvous with you. This letter is practically vulgar." She paused. "The duke must read it posthaste."
"Do not show the duke, I beg you," Rosalind pleaded, reaching for the note again, but Lady Smithe was too quick. She started back toward the house, her determined steps too eager to stem from real concern, and not the outcome she wished to realise. That of Rosalind being chastised like a silly girl and made to look the fool.
Rosalind followed quickly without running like a lunatic. Lady Smithe, hasty on her feet, stumbled into the duke's office without knocking, and Rosalind followed. The duke looked up from the many ledgers spread out before him, a frown between his handsome brows as he took in the two of them.
Lady Smithe, the snake that the woman was turning into, strolled toward the duke's desk as if she were holding some precious ancient artifact instead of a scribbled verse from a gentleman caller.
"Your Grace, indeed, you were right. Lady Rosalind has fallen from grace and is communicating with Lord Felton. Look at this missive—it is quite telling that there is something between the two. I think it may be wise to invite the gentleman over and discuss his intentions."
Rosalind rolled her eyes, having never heard of anything so preposterous. "Oh, do be serious, Lady Smithe. I have not been communicating with him at all."
"Then explain what the duke saw and what I am holding right now in my hand."
"You're holding a note he handed to me that I did not respond to. That is all."
The duke took the outstretched note from Lady Smithe, read it, then screwed it up and threw it toward the fireplace.
"Are you in communication with Lord Felton?" Nathaniel asked.
His question hurt more than Rosalind wished to admit, and she met his gaze, determined not to be made out as some wanton she was not—at least not around the earl. As for the man sitting before her, watching her every nuance, that was another matter altogether.
"Only when we speak at afternoon teas and balls, just like everyone else."
"I do not believe her, Your Grace. You must check her before it is too late and she is ruined, along with her sisters."
"You're not to be alone with Lord Felton going forward, and certainly communication of this kind must end. Do you understand?" His tone sounded more cold and distant then ever she’d heard it before.
Rosalind gaped. Who was this man before her? She did not recognize the emotionless, disapproving gentleman who had once swept her up into his warmth and brought her to life. “I have not been alone with him and do not appreciate the notion that I have been."
A muscle worked in Nathaniel’s jaw, and he glanced at Lady Smithe, who looked on between them with an amused, self-satisfied smirk that twisted her normally pretty visage into something ugly and conniving. Rosalind would no longer be fooled into believing that the lady had any inclination or desire to be her friend.
"His lordship certainly thinks that whatever has been happening between you is proof enough of your feelings for him and his willingness to send you love notes."
Rosalind shook her head. "I will not listen to this any longer." She started for the door, but did not get far before the commanding, hard voice of the duke stopped her in her tracks.
"You have not been dismissed."
Rosalind turned and glared at the duke, disgusted by how he had treated her over something so irrelevant. Before he could say another word, she turned on her heel, ripped the door open, and stormed through it. She ignored the sound of Lady Smithe's shocked gasp and the resounding wails.
“Oh, I’m so terribly sorry, Your Grace. I have let you down with our charge.”
How absurd was that woman, and how infuriating was the duke! Rosalind stormed up the stairs, and just as she reached her room, a hand reached out and clasped her arm, spinning her about. She looked up at the duke, ignoring the spark of desire that ignited within her at his touch. She was angry with him, and she would not bow to his absurd accusations. She would not.
Damn it all to hell. She wouldn’t.