Page 49 of A Love to Remember
Oh, God. Rose wanted to weep. Elaine thought she’d told Philip of her condition and he’d rebuked her. And she was supposed to meet Philip tonight to tell him of her condition. Impossible now.
The note was still crushed in her fist. She opened her fingers and stared again at the words. She’d moved to the fire and was about to throw it in the flames, damning it to hell, when something stopped her. Lord Markham might be able to help her. He, or one of the others, might recognize the writing—or find someone who did. She flattened the paper out, refolded it, and stuffed it in her reticule.
All she could think to do now was to put distance between herself and whoever wrote the note. If someone followed her to London, he or she was the likely culprit. Then she could safely tell Philip and the other Libertine Scholars. They had experience at this sort of thing. But she could not risk telling them here. Not with an unknown enemy watching and listening.
Nor would she continue to risk Drake’s life with staff she did not trust and in a house that harbored an enemy. Once she was safe in her own home she would call Lord Markham. The earl was the biggest sheep farmer in Dorset and the most profitable. He was not present here, but it was well known that he helped her with advice on estate business. No one would wonder that he and his wife should attend her. There was no connection there to this house party.
And Philip.
Her dream of a happy life with Philip was not ruined, she reminded herself. It was merely on hold. Drake’s safety had to come first. But she couldn’t face Philip, not tonight. She would send Elaine to the orangery with a message that she had a headache. Tonight she would sleep with her son safely by her side, and before dawn they would slip quietly away.
She glanced at the clock on the mantel. There was now very little time to bathe and dress before dinner.
She bathed and dressed in a whirling daze that sent her head spinning.
It was still spinning when she sat down to dinner. Thank God she’d been seated next to Philip. He would not expect her to make polite conversation after her fright that afternoon. She could sit quietly, watch the other guests, and try to ascertain who would do this to her and why.
Her gaze fell on Viscount Tremain. Conrad had not taken her refusal to marry him well but he was here courting Lucy Hemllison as Rose had suggested. Mr. Hemllison was fawning all over Viscount Tremain, happy with the match, so she doubted Conrad had the motive or stomach to torment her.
She moved her attention down the table, analyzing each guest, until her gaze fell on Lady Philomena.
Now, there was someone with a possible motive to keep Rose and Philip apart. The delusional woman thought Rose was the one stopping Philip from falling at her feet, when it was actually Philip who could not stand the woman. Lady Philomena might have been a poisonous bitch on occasion, but did she have the brains to instigate a plan this devious? Rose doubted it.
Lady Philomena had not looked at Philip at all. In fact, the only person she laughed with, talked with, and showered attention on was Lord Kirkwood—a widower, an elderly widower. So Lady Philomena was setting her sights on an older man who would leave her with position, title, and money? Clever woman. And to Rose’s surprise, it seemed Lord Kirkwood was enjoying the attention. She saw his hand slide over Lady Philomena’s and give it a gentle squeeze.
Well, if it made Lord Kirkwood happy, where was the harm? He had lost his wife many years ago, his only son was grown and led his own life, and she knew how lonely life could be. Lady Philomena was not a bad person, merely desperate, and as poor as a church mouse. Lady Philomena could not do better than Lord Kirkwood. It was frustrating, but Rose had to admit Lady Philomena did not seem to have a motive, either.
As for the others at the table, she did not know any of them well enough to guess their motives. And there would have to be a very strong motive to do something as evil as the attempted murder of a child.
—
Philip sat beside Rose at dinner, but for all the attention she gave him he might as well have been a statue. Yes, they were no longer lovers, but he’d hoped they would always be good friends. Tonight, however, he felt as though a stone wall had risen between them, and he’d begun to dread the prospect of their meeting in the orangery later that night.
Could it be that she had already accepted—or wanted to accept—a proposal from someone else? They had been apart over two months now. Something was worrying her. She’d worried her bottom lip almost raw, and she’d hardly smiled or conversed with him—or anyone—all night.
She had, however, not taken her eyes off Tremain all night. Surely she bloody would not! No. She was not setting her cap at Tremain. She couldn’t be that desperate. But the jealousy eating his insides had turned his dinner to ashes in his mouth.
Philip had spent the afternoon discreetly making inquiries of the staff.
When he asked if anyone had been sent to clean in the attic, everyone had said no. But there was one young maid whose cheeks had flushed crimson and who could not meet his eyes. He was certain she was lying, but nothing he said or did made her change her story.
When he told the others about her, Sebastian suggested she might be in league with one of the guests, so they set up a schedule to keep an eye on her. As she was unlikely to use the main stairs they decided to watch the back stairs leading to the servants’ bedchambers. Philip took that duty for himself. He would get very little sleep, but better that than to have Rose frightened or Drake hurt. He’d come to care very much for the boy.
Tremain might have fooled others into thinking he was serious about the Hemllison heiress, but a spendthrift and gambler would hate to be tied to a father-in-law’s purse strings. The viscount would prefer Rose as a wife. Her jointure was already large. If Drake were to die, she would be wealthy beyond his wildest dreams. Yes, instinct screamed that Tremain was behind Drake’s danger. What he could not yet fathom was why Kirkwood had invited the man. That invitation, to Philip, made Kirkwood a suspect, too.
He wanted answers, and he’d find them and make Rose safe before he left to return to his life of service to the Cumberland title and estates.
When the women rose to leave the men to their port, Philip decided it was time to push Tremain to reveal his true intent. When Mr. Hemllison moved to sit with Kirkwood and Sebastian, he stood and walked down the other end of the long table and took the seat next to Tremain.
“I must say I’m surprised to see you on the guest list, Tremain.”
A smile that could only be described as triumphant spread across Tremain’s lips. “I could say the same. I thought Kirkwood would have called you out for walking away from Her Grace.” His smile faded. “Unless, of course, he invited you to browbeat you into a proposal. It’s not a secret he wants to curb Her Grace’s wanton ways.”
Philip’s fist itched. “Be careful, Tremain. Her Grace’s ways are none of your concern.”
At the reminder of his failure, Tremain’s eyes lit with anger. “Nor yours.” He nodded toward where Mr. Hemllison sat. “I have my eye on a better catch. What’s your excuse for being here?”
He had asked himself that when he first set foot in the house, but Tremain had no right to question his motives. “I’m not sure you’ll like any arrangement with Hemllison. I’ve heard that, upon his daughter’s marriage, he’ll only pay a quarterly allowance to her husband. It seems Mr. Hemllison believes he can get his daughter her title while keeping his future son-in-law on a very tight leash.”
