Page 8 of The Earl’s Gamble (The Lovers’ Arch: Later in Life)

8

Rose

L ady Jilly was… perfect.

Every moment at the dinner table had her feeling lower than the one before. Even months in the workhouse hadn’t left her this low, because she’d known in her heart that she’d done everything in her power to avoid entering it.

Last night with Griff? She hadn’t. Rose had let herself be swept away in the moment, at the idea of him serving her, fulfilling a fantasy she’d held since she first poked her nose in her neighbour’s window as a girl. She’d hesitated for a singular moment last night, and even her hesitation centred around the fact that she’d been in the workhouse.

She hadn’t thought of Lady Jilly at all. The woman sat on the opposite side of the busy table, her dark brown hair swept into a coronet about her head. She laughed as she conversed with Griff, whispering words that only he would hear from her perfect lips, until Rose’s chest ached with sadness.

The rumble of a low voice near her ear made her jump. “Are you all right?”

Rose blinked out of her sombre jealousy, remembering she was at the dinner table surrounded by Griff’s wider family and friends. She looked up at her handsome dinner companion, his impressive height somehow making her feel smaller than she already did.

Griff had seated her next to Major Fraser . She wanted to laugh .

The man was a sodding duke .

“Q—quite well, Your Grace.”

“Call me Michael, truly.” He glanced in the direction she’d been looking, towards Griff and Lady Jilly, before returning to her. Compassion bled into his eyes, but she was glad there was no judgement there. “Collins—Griff—told me you’ve been staying with him over the past couple of months.”

Rose nodded, wondering just how much Griff had revealed of how they met. Would he wash his hands of the conversation if he knew she’d come from the workhouse? “Yes. He served with my brother, Archie.”

His Grace gave her a lopsided smile, the light catching the silver strands at the edge of his midnight black hair. “I remember. Collins and Finch were rarely separated. The entire battalion felt his loss very keenly, and I’m sure they’d all join me in passing on our condolences.”

Of course His Grace—because she couldn’t call a duke by his first name, she wasn’t insane—would have known Archie. Something in her wondered if this was the man who sent the telegram breaking the news of Archie’s death, but Rose quickly decided she didn’t want to know. “It is a comfort that he was so well-regarded.” She smiled, hoping he didn’t see the little twitch at the edge.

There was something in those startlingly silver eyes that said he did. “A comfort, I’m sure, but I know only too well how deeply the loss of a brother can cut.”

For the first time, Rose looked at him not as a duke, but a man .

“What was your brother’s name?” she asked.

“Theo. He was the real duke.” A shadow passed across his expression. “I’m afraid I’m just the substitute.”

Oh. Perhaps that was why he didn’t want her to call him Your Grace …because he didn’t feel like one .

Somehow, dining next to Michael didn’t seem so scary after that. She still felt adrift in a sea of toffs, but at least the one sitting next to her was nice.

Three months ago, she’d been sitting in the workhouse as part of society’s dregs, and yet today she was dining with a duke. The pleated dress she wore draped her slim figure in hues of burnished gold—a present from Griff.

The rest of the table could almost— almost— be forgiven for thinking she was a lady.

Just like he said last night.

For the first time since she’d arrived at Harpenden Manor, they separated after dinner. Griff had already prepared her for this; the men would be taken to the smoking room to discuss manly pursuits, whilst Clarissa would escort the women to the drawing room.

With Lady Jilly’s father in attendance this evening, Rose could guess what he and Griff would be discussing.

Letting herself be swept up in the ocean of ladies following Clarissa and Lady Jilly’s mother—the fearsome Lady Chessell—Rose tried not to think about Griff. Her leg still ached from her overexcitement yesterday, and she winced as the rest of the ladies began to overtake her, jostling her shoulders as if they could tell she was an outsider.

As Rose passed the door to the lift, she paused, eyeing the polished brass handle. I could disappear upstairs for the rest of the night.

“Do you need some help?”

She turned to find herself staring directly into the deep chocolate eyes of Lady Jilly, concern pulling her brows closer together. Would her and Griff’s children look like her or him? Rose swallowed. “I think I just needed to, um…”

When Rose trailed off, Lady Jilly sent her a conspiratorial smirk. “Would you like to sit on this bench over here for a moment? I can come up with some excuse if we’re discovered. Come, come, come, quickly.”

Her leg was hurting. With a nod, Rose limped over to the bench, sighing when she finally took the weight off it. “What kind of excuse?” she asked, wondering why Lady Jilly was being so nice to her.

Because she doesn’t know I was in bed with her fiancé-to-be last night. She doesn’t know how I feel about him. She doesn’t know he wants to serve me.

“I’d say I had cramping.” Lady Jilly lifted her shoulders in an easy shrug, her eyes on the grandfather clock opposite. “People tend to end their questioning after that—although my mother tells me it’s not something said in polite conversation. You’re Miss Finch, aren’t you? My name’s Jilly.” She held out her hand, not bothering to look in Rose’s direction.

“Rose,” she responded, shaking her hand awkwardly. Is that something ladies do now?

Lady Jilly nodded, as though she’d already known that. “Lord Harpenden spoke of you over dinner. He said you’ve been staying here for the last couple of months.”

“I have. He’s been very kind.”

A soft smile. “He seems very fond of you.”

Rose shrunk slightly under the weight of her own shame, unable to read the woman’s expression. The power dynamic between them left her achingly vulnerable. “I won’t come between your engagement, if that’s what you’re worried about. My stay here is only tempor—”

As a click came from the grandfather clock opposite, Lady Jilly shushed her, holding up a finger for silence. By the looks of it, she hadn’t listened to a word Rose said, letting out an excited little squeak as the clock strode headlong into the deep, resonant chimes .

Ever so slightly confused, Rose watched Lady Jilly’s reaction, realising she was utterly spellbound… by a clock. The woman had her hand over her heart, as though she was being serenaded by the person she loved most in all the world.

“Those were the Westminster Quarters,” Lady Jilly announced when it was over. “Because it’s the sound Big Ben makes. But they were actually from Cambridge.”

“That’s interesting,” Rose said faintly. Sort of. Hang on, was that why Lady Jilly came over here in the first place? Because it was opposite the bleeding clock.

The woman’s lips twitched. “My father doesn’t think so. He says he dreads the passing of every hour because of all the clocks in the house.”

Rose could see how that could become irritating. “How many clocks do you own?”

“Eighty-six. Not including wristwatches and timepieces.”

Her eyes rounded in astonishment.

Lady Jilly nodded. “That’s the face he makes every time I bring a new one home.”

“Are they all grandfather clocks?”

“No, some of them are dial clocks, carriage clocks, and wall clocks. I do have a few barometers and barographs, but those just aren’t as interesting, are they?”

Opening her mouth, Rose stopped at the sight of a crowd of upper-class men making their way up to the drawing room, drinks in hand. Their jovial voices travelled up to the high ceilings above, until they merged into one.

The sight pierced her like a knife—because it struck her just how at home Griff looked with them.

These were his people, and she was very much an interloper .

“Jilly,” one of the older men said, blinking in surprise. Lord Chessell, Lady Jilly’s. “Shouldn’t you be in the drawing room with Mama?”

Lady Jilly’s eyes jumped back towards Rose. The rest of the men carried on down the corridor—leaving only Griff and Lord Chessell behind. “I was, Papa, but Miss Finch was just helping me with something.”

“Why? Are you sitti—?” Concern morphed into defeated understanding when her father saw the grandfather clock on the other side of the corridor. “Oh. Nine o’clock, is it, dear?”

“Yes, Papa.” Lady Jilly grinned. “I think it’s a Knibb.”

Griff blinked. “You have a good eye.”

“Our Jilly’s a dab hand with clocks, aren’t you?” Lord Chessell held his hand out to his daughter. “Come. Mama will worry.”

Griff gave the two of them a polite smile. “You go on. My mother will make you comfortable. I just need to assist one of my guests.”

Guilt thrummed beneath her skin like the beating of a drum, dreading what Griff might say. Had he already asked Lady Jilly’s father for her hand in marriage? Was that the kind of after-dinner talk men might engage in?

“Is your leg still paining you?” he murmured, taking Lady Jilly’s place on the bench next to her.

She didn’t need his pity. “Briefly. Lady Jilly told me to sit down here but to be honest I think she just used me as an excuse to look at the clock more than anything.”

He gave a huff of amusement. “Yes, she says she’s a horologist.” When Rose gave him a bewildered look, he continued with a shrug. “Apparently that’s another name for a clockmaker. I didn’t know either.”

“She told me she has eighty-six clocks.” Rose bit her lip, trying to make light of her heart being torn apart. “So at least you’ll never be late anywhere.”

“I’m not marrying her, Rose. ”

Her head snapped to the side. “Why?” she croaked.

“Because I don’t want to, for Christ’s sake.” Griff weaved his hands through his hair. “I told my mother I’d marry her purely because something better hadn’t come along—and then you walked into my life . My lady.”

An eruption of feelings swelled in her chest, travelling up to constrict her throat. The back of her eyes began to burn, until her sight wavered. “You don’t mean that,” she choked, closing her eyes and half wishing he’d simply rejected her.

“After last night?” Griff knelt in front of her, until she could no longer look away. The sheer servility of his pose was blaring, setting off a chain reaction of arousal beneath her navel. “In what world do you think I’m not serious, my lady ? Do you know I rarely used to eat breakfast? And since you arrived, I haven’t missed a single one—because I want to start every day with you. I count down the minutes to our appointments in the orangery, because I get to see you . Do you think I’d forgive Lady Jilly for trying to maim me in the lift? Because I can assure you the answer is no. Do you think last night was a one-off, Rose? I have been trying to hold back my feelings for weeks . It was only a matter of time before something happened…because it’s always been you .”

Everything in her wanted to give in, but she knew she couldn’t. “And between me and Lady Jilly,” she whispered, steeling herself for rejection, “which one of us can give you children?”

Griff frowned. “What?”

“I was married for a decade, Griff.” A tear slid down her cheek, until it crashed onto the marble floor below. “Cecil and I had no children.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t have children, Rose.”

“Perhaps. But ten years down the line,” she said softly, “when I’ve taken away your only chance of fathering an heir, will you feel the same? Will your mother feel the same? ”

A muscle twitched in his brow. The look in his eyes was almost frantic—as though he was desperately trying to avoid coming to the same conclusion she had. “Rose…” Griff trailed off, devastation etched into the lines on his face.

There it was.

A part of her had hoped he’d stay with her through thick and thin. For better, for worse.

“My lord?” Walker cleared his throat with an apologetic bow, lingering a short distance away. “I do apologise, but Her Ladyship is asking for you.”

“Go and be with your guests, Griff.” By some miracle, she managed to keep her voice steady. “I believe you have a question to ask one of them.”