Page 72 of Never a Duke
The earl ceased his little game after about three minutes and passed a merely curious glance over Ned. “Wentworth—if that is your name?”
“That is my name. Thank you for seeing me.” Ned could not bring himself to append the deferentialmy lordto his greeting.
“I am a busy man, Wentworth. State the nature of your business as succinctly as possible. My solicitor will soon be here, and his time is precious as well.”
This was precisely how the bank handled a presuming debtor, though bank managers exhibited a great deal more courtesy. Ned ambled over to the portrait hanging above the sideboard. The frame wanted dusting, and the artist’s name was unknown to him.
“Lady Rosalind initially consulted me in the hope that I might assist her to find her missing lady’s maids,” Ned began. “My association with her ladyship has developed in more cheerful directions, and I esteem her greatly. My sentiments are, I believe, reciprocated. I have means, standing, and connections, and I am here to ask for your permission to pay her—”
Woodruff laughed, a well-bred cascade of mirth. “Has she led you a dance, Wentworth? Allowed you to develop ridiculous expectations? Not well done of her, but a woman must be permitted her diversions. Get out, and I will do you the courtesy of forgetting you ever presumed to call.” Woodruff waved a hand toward the door, the lace at his wrist flapping over his knuckles.
“Lady Rosalind has not led me any dances,” Ned replied. “She is too fine a person for such stratagems, and I have reason to hope she returns my regard.”
“Do you?” Woodruff picked up a letter and slit the seal with a silver letter opener. “Do you really? Then you are as foolish as you are lowborn. I know who you really are, sir, and you no more deserve the Wentworth name than Quinton Wentworth deserves the Walden title. You’re a gutter rat who scrapped and cheated his way from the sewer into a post he does not merit. You are the last man I’d allow to court Lady Rosalind. Leave now and I won’t summon the footmen to toss you into the street.”
Ned had expected to grovel, had expected lectures, and grudging, conditional permission. He had not anticipated this sneering dismissal.
“You cannot use Lady Rosalind as collateral for your debts for much longer without somebody expecting payment when due. I have means, Woodruff. Considerable means, and you are in need of same.”
The façade of the genteel aristocrat cracked, revealing a rage that made no sense.
“How dare you?” Woodruff spat, getting to his feet. “How dare you set foot under my roof, casting aspersion on this house as you seek my daughter’s hand. If you don’t leave now, I will see you ruined, Wentworth, and I will send Rosalind back to Derbyshire. She should know better than to encourage the suit of an upstart bastard pickpocket with airs so far above his station as to suggest mental unsoundness.”
Ned could not be ruined, because he moved in society only to placate Jane’s need to parade him about. To be spared the waltzing and small talk would be a mercy.
But the thought of Rosalind enduring more banishment…“You cannot send Rosalind away again. You sent her away when she was but a grieving child. You sent her away time and again to receive an education she did not need. You sent her away when she could barely speak clearly on her own behalf. All she wanted was to take her place as a member of this family, and instead you left her to be bullied, teased, and baited—”
Like a badger cornered by dogs, like a bear chained to the wall while the pack attacked for the entertainment of a jeering crowd. No wonder Rosalind abhorred blood sport.
Woodruff tugged the bell pull. “This interview is at an end, and if you so much as glance in Rosalind’s direction, I will see you derided from one end of Mayfair to the other. You come near my daughter again, and I will summon the watch and tell them you are responsible for those maids going missing.”
Ned stalked across the room and had the slight gratification of seeing Woodruff take a step back.
“Rosalind deserves better than this family, and if it comes to ruination, mind your own house, Woodruff, because you have tried my patience to the utmost.”
“Out,” Woodruff said, pointing to the door with a shaking finger. “Out, now.”
Ned stepped back, bowed, and withdrew, furious—and relieved. He hadn’t taken a swing at the old scoundrel, that was something.
“Ned?” Rosalind stood in the doorway of the parlor across the corridor. “I take it Papa was difficult?”
She was so composed, and so hopeful. Ned linked his hands behind his back lest he take her in his arms.
“He threatened to ruin me if I presume to peek at your hems, and he will not like finding us in conversation. I bid you good day.”
“You’ll run off? Just like that?”
She would doubtless allow him to run off, just like that, and endure the abandonment without complaint. Rosalind was nothing if not stoic.
“He threatened to send you away, Rosalind, and that was after I pointed out that a match between you and me could benefit Woodruff financially.” Pointed that out by flinging it in the earl’s face. Doubtless the worst possible strategy.
“Are you giving up?” Rosalind asked, staring past Ned’s shoulder.
“Do you want me to give up?”
Lord Lindhurst chose then to poke his head out of a room two doors down. “I say, Roz, I’m in the mood for an ice. Tell Wentworth to run along, and I’ll take you with me to Gunter’s.”
“I’ll see myself out,” Ned said, lest Woodruff summon the watch. “Don’t provoke your father, Rosalind. Something has him in a desperate frame of mind, and his bad mood must not be allowed to create further difficulties for you.”
