Page 74 of Never a Duke
Lindhurst’s gaze ricocheted between Rosalind and the earl. Upon which pugilist would he have bet had some ofthe fellowsbeen on hand?
“I greeted Mr. Wentworth civilly,” Rosalind said, “as you expect me to greet every caller.” Every caller, every nabob, mushroom, cit, and widowed viscount, to say nothing of the tabbies, gossips, and matchmakers. “Lindhurst and I were discussing his plans for the day.”
“Thought I’d take old Roz for an ice,” Lindhurst said. “See and be seen, chat up the lovelies, take the air.”
Old Roz.Old Roz.Lindy wanted to make a display of taking pity on his antidote of a sister. The rotten, sad truth was, his motives, while doubtless originating in a desire to polish his bachelor halo before the fair Clotilda, might also include a pinch of genuine pity for Rosalind.
“I’m not in the mood for an ice, Lindy, but thank you for the thought.”
Papa strode out of his study to glower at Rosalind. He had a way of inhaling through his nose that Rosalind usually dreaded, but today—perhaps because she’d been reminded of her very great age, perhaps because she and Ned had been reduced to whispered exchanges in the corridor—she found Papa’s posturing annoying.
“If Lindhurst is kind enough to haul you about on his social rounds,” Papa said, “you will fetch your bonnet and be grateful. As it is, I have reason to fear you encouraged Wentworth’s marital aspirations, while you disdain the advances of more suitable parties.”
“Ned Wentworth is more than suitable. He is respected, well connected, well-to-do, and in every way that matters, a gentleman. Why you’d think otherwise, Papa, I do not know.”
“And that is the heart of the matter,” Papa retorted, loudly enough to have been heard in the kitchen. “You donotknow, Rosalind. You presume, you flounce about like a willful child, ignorant of the disaster you court. Wentworth is not suitable, he never will be, and there’s an end to it.”
Rosalind heard the voices of her every nanny, governess, and deportment instructor clamoring for her to apologize for her misguided words and promise to mend her ways. And what, precisely, had years of apologizing and mended ways earned her?
A father convinced he could sniff her into submission. A brother who tossed the prospect of an ice at her as if she were in truth the child her father accused her of being. Papa and Lindy stood in contrast to Ned, who wanted to hear her opinions, who considered her formidable, and who looked forward to watching her argue a duke into submission.
“I do not care for an ice,” Rosalind said, “though I have cordially thanked Lindy for his consideration. You bungled that interview with Ned Wentworth, Papa. You gave offense to the dear connection of a ducal house, a man with more benevolent influence over London’s commercial ventures than you could ever hope to have through your machinations in the Lords. I do esteem Mr. Wentworth. Anybody with half an iota of common sense would esteem him.”
“He’s a bastard, upstart, presuming—oh, never mind. Go to your room, Rosalind, and don’t come down to dinner. Contemplate the splendors of your Aunt Ida’s dower house, because you will soon find yourself there if you don’t learn some decorum. And be warned: Viscount Dinkle has spoken of you quite favorably. If he were so misguided as to offer for you, I’d let him take you off my hands.”
“I would not marry Lord Dinkle if he were the last bachelor in Mayfair.” The words were out of Rosalind’s mouth before the chorus in her head could rail against them.
Lindy winced.
Papa tried his sniffery again, and even drew his hand back as if preparing to deliver a slap.
Rosalind stared at him, letting him see every scintilla of contempt his high-handedness inspired.
“I tell you this,” Papa said, lowering his hand, “for your own good, Rosalind. Continue with your willful departure from proper deportment, refuse my guidance regarding the company you keep, and I will see Ned Wentworth’s name dragged through the foulest sewers. The Wentworths will realize the error of their association with him, and you will see what a fool you’ve been.”
Papa made a grand exit, shutting the office door behind him with a bang.
Lindy turned a frown on Rosalind. “What the hell has got into you, Roz? If I’m to court Clotilda, and believe me, that project is well under way, then you can’t be provoking Papa like this.”
“I provokedPapa? Lord Dinkle is three times my age, four times my girth, and he’s already buried three wives.”
“Old Dinky needs sons, Roz. Don’t be petty. Best run along to your room. I’ll make sure the kitchen sends you a tray before nightfall.” His tone said Rosalind did not deserve that much consideration.
“It might surprise you to know, Lindy, that I can operate my own bell pull.”
“But you cannot govern your temper. I must agree with Papa: Learn to behave, and stop throwing yourself at unsuitable parties, or I will second the motion to return you back to the shires.”
Rosalind curtsied to his bedamned lordship. “I wish you and Miss Cadwallader every joy, Lindhurst. If you’ll excuse me, I have some letters to write.”
She left at a decorous pace, though another instant in the company of her father or brother, and her ungovernable temper might get the better of her in truth. Before she sat down to write her letters, Rosalind took a moment in the solitude of her bedroom to consider what had just transpired.
Ned had attempted to gain Papa’s approval of a courtship, and Papa had been ridiculous. Ned had made a tactical retreat, the course of a prudent man. If Ned had any sense, he’d send Rosalind a polite note tomorrow turning tactical retreat into a complete abandonment of the field.
Ned had a lot of sense, but he had even more honor. Rosalind’s whole future was entrusted to his honor.
She, by contrast, had pointed out to Papa the inconsistency of his behavior. She was no great beauty, and her settlements were merely respectable. Papa played his little games in the Lords, though he was certainly not among the most powerful peers.
Rosalind’s marital prospects had thus never been more than good. Ned Wentworth was everything Papa should have leaped at in a suitor: wealthy, well placed, with some influence of his own. Ned was a vast improvement over Lord Dinky and his ilk.
