Page 82 of The Lady Glass
His father entered his bedchamber as Granger finished tying Rolland’s cravat. Rolland ground his teeth together, not ready to face him just yet.
“Have you made up your mind, son?”
Rolland didn’t answer, tweaking his cravat in the mirror.
“She’s gone, Rolland.”
Gone.What an empty word that was. “I know.”
“I hate myself for rushing you, but Lord Caspar is pushing to make the announcement tonight.” Father sighed and crossed his arms. “Despite what your mother says, I’m only doing what I think is best for you.”
“You mean for England.” The words came out too harsh, but Rolland couldn’t unsay them now.
“For England, yes, but for you too. It wasn’t just your mother who noticed how happy you were with Lady Glass. It’s a shame she was not who she was pretending to be.” His father sighed. “But this isn’t about Lady Glass. You were broken when you returned to us. Seeing you happy again was good for us all. It could be the same with Miss Shields. She’s a sweet woman who, thankfully, did not inherit her mother’s sharp tongue. In time, she’ll help you smile again too.”
Rolland dropped his hands, his willpower waning. “It’s possible, I suppose.” If his heart had healed once, couldn’t it do so again? And Miss Shields seemed impossible to hate. He’d tried. But his father was wrong about one thing. His feelings for Theresia were not so fleeting.
His father stepped closer. “Should we go forward as planned?”
Was it time to surrender and admit defeat? Rolland’s heart had sunk like a ship in the merciless depths of the ocean. There was no way he could see to resurrect it.
His father set his hand on his injured shoulder, and Rolland resisted the urge to wince. It was healing well, but the pressure was uncomfortable. Only Theresia knew to ask about it, so he couldn’t blame his father. If Rolland was determined to hide everything, he couldn’t blame others for not understanding. Not his shoulder nor the ache in his chest.
“I’ll tell Lord Caspar to make the announcement just after the supper dance. I know it’s hard now,” his father said. “But you won’t regret this.”
Chapter 39
Donning the exquisite ball gownfrom Theresia’s growing collection of beautiful dresses was like stepping back into her role as Lady Glass. She had never worn anything like the gleaming fabric that now hugged her frame. The bodice was made of soft blue velvet, and the skirt was a full blue-satin chemise overlaid with a white gossamer matching the sleeves. Her hair was pinned up with a blue-pearl comb, and at her neck was a white ribbon holding a matching pearl. But her favorite was the dainty dance slippers Mr. Plasil had gifted her. Sewn above her toes on each foot was a delicate glass flower—good-luck charms, he had called them. Besides her father’s vase, never had she received anything she would treasure more.
As she stood outside Ashbury Court, nearly hidden in the tree line, she wished more than anything that she could see Rolland. His eyes would smile more than his mouth, and she would know at a glance that he appreciated her appearance. He’d stroll to her, with the same purpose with which he strode across the decks of his ship, and claim her for his own.
Swallowing, she tucked her daydream aside and pushed through the towering oak and ash trees and the doddering birch, avoiding the footmen and drivers by the line of carriages. She’d had Mr. Plasil let her off at a distance, near the peak hour of the dance, knowing subterfuge was her greatest ally. He’d wait an hour, and if she had not returned by then, he would come for her himself.
But she couldn’t allow that to happen. She didn’t want her newfound godfather and friend getting mixed up in the Frenchman’s plot. Nor could she risk him alerting Rolland to her presence, or even Lady Caspar. Theresia had no desire to face her stepmother’s scorn ever again. She had not the fortitude to survive another encounter, which meant she had to retrieve herprecious crystal vase and return before midnight, all while not getting killed.
If she failed, all was lost, not just for her but for her friends.
Like a crescendo of music, her nerves soared with every step closer to the impressive manor. She hovered in the shadows, watching for the roaming footmen acting as guards. She had done this before, but the pressure not to fail had doubled. When the guards passed each other, they momentarily had their backs to her and created an opening for her to move unseen. Racing forward, she slipped to the side of the house undetected. Her chest heaved. There was no going back now. She couldn’t see the guards’ path well enough to return the way she’d come, but it didn’t matter. She was determined to see this through.
A noise rustled behind her, and she ducked behind a shrub, hunching as low as she could. The voice of a man and a woman carried to her, but she could not identify them. Her heart went into an erratic pulse as they passed by. When they didn’t see her and walked on, she clutched her chest. She couldn’t be this scared yet. Her mission had only begun. After waiting a sufficient amount of time, she stood again and continued along the house until she reached the trellis just beneath Rolland’s window. Sure enough, she noticed the window was parted open.
Bless that man for appreciating fresh air.
Entering there, of all places, would be sheer torture, and being seen would be her greatest risk of all, but she couldn’t count on anything else. Saying a quick prayer that no one else was out for a garden stroll, she removed her long evening gloves and tucked them into the ribbon under her bust. She no longer heard Mrs. Stone’s chiding voice in her head, not even when she brought up the hem her gown and shoved it into her pair of long drawers. She was showing enough of the under fabric to shock even Princess Charlotte, the Prince Regent’s daughter, who claimed to adore the things. At the present, Theresia cared more aboutsaving her beautiful dress than her pride or reputation. Putting her foot into the first crevice of the trellis, she began the difficult ascent.
When she reached the top, beads of sweat had formed along her hairline, and her arms shook dangerously. She pushed the window wider, shimmied along the crevice below it, and threw her upper body inside. She was not half in when one of her slippers fell off her foot and dropped behind her.
Holding back her squeal of frustration, she fell onto the floor. She immediately glanced behind her through the window. A glimmer of moonlight revealed it adjacent to a shrub. But it was dark enough out that perhaps no one would notice it. She squeezed her eyes shut. There was nothing for it now. She would have to retrieve her vase without her slipper. Letting down her gown, she turned in the dark room, immediately filling herself with Rolland’s comforting scent. He wasn’t here, but if she closed her eyes, she could see him standing in front of her in her mind.
He was Helena’s now. What a cruel twist of fate. Theresia had once hoped she and Helena would be close, but Helena was no more than a puppet to Lady Caspar. Now her stepsister had everything Theresia had ever wished for. A loving mother. The home with her father’s last memories. And now Rolland—the man who held Theresia’s heart.
She forced her eyes open and the image of him away. The vase. She was here only for the vase. Leaving Rolland’s bedchamber behind, she slipped into the corridor and moved to the room beside it.
She wanted to be wrong, for Rolland’s sake, but she knew it wasn’t likely. She’d searched everywhere else. The same hum filled her veins as the first time she had been drawn to this bedchamber, only to pulled away by Rolland. With the slow turn of the handle, she held her breath and pushed the door open.
Empty.
She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath. Of course this room’s occupant, of all people, was downstairs experiencing the frivolities. Whether he truly enjoyed the social distractions or it was a cover did not matter to her, so long as he was far away from his bedchamber.
