Page 13 of A Love to Remember
She lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug. “Quite possibly. He has to marry sometime. Heirs are a requirement for an earl.”
Rose had the pleasure of seeing her response was not what the woman had been hoping for.
Lady Philomena’s eyes narrowed. “So, you really don’t wish to remarry.”
Rose’s light laugh cost her dearly. “What do I need a husband for? A man, yes, one must have a lover, but a husband?” She let the implied question hang in the air.
Lady Philomena lost her catlike smile. She thrust her head forward, teeth bared and eyes flashing. “It’s so easy for you, isn’t it?” she said. “You’re still Duchess of Roxborough. You’re young. You’re rich. But one day you’ll have nothing, and then where will you be?”
Alone.Rose would be alone. She was honest enough to admit she did not wish to end up alone. But she also did not wish to find herself with another husband she could not stand. She already knew howthatwould be. It was far worse than being alone.
The strains of a waltz—the first waltz of the evening—sounded from the orchestra.
“Well, well.” The delight in Lady Philomena’s voice burned like acid. “It appears your lover has found his future bride.”
Startled, Rose followed the direction of Lady Philomena’s pointing fan. And all her dreams came tumbling down.
On the other side of the ballroom stood Philip, about to lead a young woman onto the floor. Lady Abigail Somebody-or-other, Rose thought numbly, the nineteen-year-old beauty reputed to be the leading debutante of the Season.
“I told you so.” The victory in Lady Philomena’s voice broke through Rose’s pain. “He’s never danced the waltz with any of theton’s leading debutantes before. He’s made his choice—and it isn’t you.” With that poisoned barb, she turned and rustled away, leaving Rose standing by herself. Like a statue. Mesmerized by the pair as they glided past, the girl gazing adoringly up into Philip’s smiling face.
Rose recognized the look. It was how she used to stare at him years ago when she was younger and still innocent. She was no longer innocent. Life and her silly pursuit offreedomhad seen to that. How could she blame Philip for wanting to possess something so lovely, so untouched, so beautiful?
Philip made a comment and the girl laughed, light and happy. Rose’s heart squeezed hard in her chest, squeezed so hard she thought she’d not be able to take another breath—
An arm slipped through hers. “Smile,” Portia said. “Others are watching.” And she gave a little giggle as though Rose had said something funny.
Obediently, Rose smiled and followed her best friend’s lead, walking and chatting as though she hadn’t a care. As though her heart hadn’t been ripped out of her chest. As though her world were not falling apart.
Finally, they reached a quiet spot out of the way of dancers and watchers. Portia drew her down to the seat beside her, and Rose went willingly before her legs folded under her.
“Why?” she whispered.
“I’m sure it’s only because Mother is here,” Portia said comfortingly. “She has been ringing a fine peal over him for months about getting married and filling his nursery.”
Portia’s light reply made her feel worse. If Philip wanted to appease his mother, that was one thing. If he wanted to make a public statement that he did not considerhera viable option for his countess, that was quite another. Pain lanced through her at that thought. She couldn’t just sit there.
She shoved to her feet, not sure how she got her legs to move. If Portia hadn’t joined her and quickly slipped an arm around her waist—all the time chatting inconsequentially about fustian nonsense, Rose felt she might have crumpled to the floor in a puddle of tears.
But Portia refused to allow Rose to wilt. She was the Duchess of Roxborough. People might believe that something was amiss, but unless Rose lost control they would not be certain.
So they walked around the whole ballroom, ignoring the speculative glances of the men and the horrified glee of many of the women. Only when the dance had ended did Portia relent and shepherd her over to where Lady Serena and Lady Marisa sat talking together.
“How lovely to see you, Rose,” Serena said, and kissed her cheek. “I do hope you’re free for dinner on Wednesday night. Just a small gathering.”
“That would be lovely,” she replied automatically, wondering at the same time if Philip would be there with Lady Abigail. If so, she would send a regretful refusal.
Would she lose the friendship of these women now that her affair with Philip was over? How awful to lose everything in one day. But it would be awkward—to say the least—to have one’s ex-lover in the same room as one’s future wife.
Her head began to pound and the noise around her sounded odd—like breaking waves—and far too loud. Home. She wanted to go home.
She thought rather badly of him. That Philip should so publicly signal the end of their affair in this manner instead of letting it die away slowly or at least preparing her. She could have put on a brave face with a private and mutual ending to their affair, but to be unprepared, to have to face the end of her love affair this way…in front of theton…
That was the issue. It had never been a love affair for Philip—merely an affair.
She could feel tears welling.
“I’m so sorry, ladies, I have a terrible headache. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll ask a servant to call for my carriage.”
