Page 45 of Never a Duke
Beneath the arching rose arbor was a bench of wrought iron painted white. Rosalind took a seat, wanting the privacy, however forbidden.
Mr. Wentworth remained on his feet, which Rosalind took for a prelude to a polite, entirely rational explanation of why they must admit defeat.
“The situation grows complicated,” he said. “I have kicked over certain rocks, in certain low and unsavory locations. A scheme is definitely afoot, and whoever is behind it has the power to intimidate one of the most hard-hearted, ruthless, conniving people I know. My challenge is to be yet still more intimidating, which is difficult when I don’t know who my enemy is.”
“Sit with me?” Rosalind asked.
He glanced around the deserted garden, then flipped out the tails of his morning coat and settled beside her. The bench was small, and he took up rather a lot of it.
“The matter is now officially dangerous, my lady. If the abbesses and madams are afraid, then an earl’s daughter has every reason to keep her distance.”
“If the abbesses and madams are afraid, can you imagine how Calliope Henderson must feel? How Francine Arbuckle must feel?”
The dog woofed from some yards away, then came trotting up the path to sit at Ned’s feet.
“Yes, actually,” Mr. Wentworth said, “I can imagine exactly how they feel. Miss Arbuckle was off to fetch a pair of slippers one moment, and then her world came to an end. As far as she knows, nobody cares one whit about what has befallen her.”
Rosalind slipped her hand into Mr. Wentworth’s. “I would care very much if you disappeared.”
“That’s not what I…You ought not to say such things.” And yet, he made no move to turn loose of her hand.
“Why not? My mother was there one day, and a week later, she was gone. I was not permitted into her sickroom, and I never had a chance to tell her I loved her. When I was younger, I believed that if she’d known how much I would miss her and how much I needed her, she would not have left me.”
Rosalind leaned against Mr. Wentworth, missing her dear mama all over again.
“Do you have a likeness of her?” he asked.
“My father has a miniature of her beside his bed. The servants looked the other way, and I sneaked into his room often enough to make a copy.” While Ned Wentworth had nothing of his family, not a sketch, not a Bible, nothing.
“I keep at my embroidery for that reason,” he said. “I would sit beside my mother when I was a small boy, and watch her make flowers with thread and linen while she sang the old lullabies and ballads. She showed me all the stitches and told me that when I could thread my own needle, I could have my own hoop. I poked more holes in my fingers than I did in the cloth at first.”
“But you persisted, and now your stitchery is beautiful.” And how Rosalind’s heart ached for that small boy, fascinated with his mother’s needlework.
“To become a tailor takes years, but I had the knack of embroidery fairly quickly. I want you to promise me something, Rosalind.”
Notmy lady, but Rosalind. She hugged that bit of familiarity to her heart. “I’m listening.”
“Promise me that at no point will you take on the particulars of this investigation yourself. Somebody powerful, nasty, and determined has devised this scheme, and you are a pretty young woman.”
My nose is too big. My hair is too dark. My opinions are too much in evidence and those are very unattractive qualities indeed.“I am not a companion or a lady’s maid. I am safe.”
Mr. Wentworth brought her gloved hand up, to rest his cheek against her knuckles. “I thought I was safe, Miss Arbuckle thought she was safe, as did Miss Henderson and Miss Campbell. If they can be snatched off the street, so can you, and I would never forgive myself if any harm befell you. Promise me you will be careful.”
“You must promise me something too, Ned Wentworth. May I call you Ned?” Shockingly familiar of her, but she so wanted him to continue calling her Rosalind rather thanmy lady.
“My given name is Edward, and I will cheerfully answer to Ned. I’m not all that fond of Neddy, truth be told.”
“If you refrain from calling me Roz, I will exercise a reciprocal courtesy and refrain from calling you Neddy. Promise me you will be careful. Not simply cautious as you are by nature, but inordinately careful. I would never forgive myself if any harm befell you.”
He kissed her gloved fingers, and some of the bleakness left his eyes. “You are a marvel, Rosalind Kinwood. A blazing, beautiful marvel.”
Had she leaned forward four inches, she could have kissed him for those words, but the dog chose that moment to spring to his feet, tail wagging, and warn them of approaching footsteps.
***
Ned hadn’t brought Rosalind to the rose arbor on purpose, but the garden had only so many benches, and benches tended to be located in the shade, and her ladyship was, as Ned had noticed on countless occasions, ever so kissable.
Fate, in the form of two females whom he ignored at his peril, preserved him from taking that liberty.
