Page 39 of When He Was a Duke
“Just—tired, I suppose.” Sebastian forced himself to smile. “Mr. Hale asked me to keep an eye on Lady Rose. Apparently Baron White is not to be trusted.”
Mrs. Carter’s face creased with worry. “Oh, the dear thing. She’s been through so much already, losing her mother so young. And now to have her wedding rushed…and to him.” She clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “Mark my words, there’s something not right about that Baron. The way he looks at the serving girls, and his demands about this and that. A proper gentleman doesn’t need to hurry a lady to the altar.”
“No,” Sebastian agreed quietly. “He doesn’t.”
Mrs. Carter studied his face with sharp eyes, as if she knew exactly how he felt about Lady Rose.
Heat crept up Sebastian’s neck.
Mrs. Carter returned to her work, but a worried crease in her forehead did not lessen.
He went out for the other bucket and placed it next to the others, his mind racing. Two weeks. The detective would have to work quickly. But what if he found nothing? What if Baron White, for all his unpleasantness, had covered his tracks too well?
Still, there was hope in the new constable. Perhaps he was alreadysuspicious of White’s and Wentworth’s business. And he could count on Hale. The detective may find something damning any day now.
A plump kitchen maid swept past with a tray of fresh butter, while another girl shot Sebastian a curious glance before resuming her work peeling potatoes.
Across the room, one of the footmen entered to fill a silver coffee urn and place a stack of steaming rolls onto a platter.
“Goodness me, it’s warm already,” Mrs. Carter said, fanning herself with her apron.
“It certainly is.” Sebastian reached into his pocket for his handkerchief to wipe the back of his damp neck before remembering that he’d given yet another one to Lady Rose. The memory of her tear-stained face made his chest tighten. Two weeks, and then she’d be trapped forever.
“Is there anything else I can do for you?” he asked, needing to escape before his agitation became too obvious.
Mrs. Carter frowned for a split second, then shook her head. “No, thank you. And take a scone for your trouble. You’ve grown too thin.”
“I doubt that. Not with the food you and the ladies send out for us.” Despite his discouraged mood, he would never turn down one of Mrs. Carter’s scones. “Thank you. Your scones are a piece of heaven, Mrs. Carter.” Sebastian took one from the pile and stuck it in his gardener’s belt. A little dirt wouldn’t hurt it.
He nodded to the ladies and then hustled toward the door, eager to be alone with his thoughts. He’d only just stepped outside when he heard one of the maids say, “Easy on the eyes, that one.”
“Shush now and get back to work,” Mrs. Carter said, chuckling.
He didn’t stay to hear anything further. His heart felt heavy. Two weeks to save Rose from a fate worse than death. Hale’s man had to find something to save Rose. Or the constable?
Strangely enough, that felt more important than his own mission.
Chapter Ten
That evening, Rosemoved through the entrance of the grand dining room with the practiced grace expected of a hostess, her gloved fingers resting lightly on her father’s offered arm as the guests took their places. Prudence had dressed her well. She wore a soft ivory silk gown with delicate gold embroidery along the hem and sleeves. The bodice was modestly cut, adorned with pearl detailing, and a matching gold sash that cinched at the waist. Her dark hair was styled in a classic chignon, accented with a few loose curls framing her face. A simple pair of pearl earrings and a matching necklace exuded understated elegance. If only she had a reason to care what she looked like.
As was tradition, Lord Wentworth took his place at the head of the table, while Rose settled at the opposite end, ready to orchestrate the evening. Footmen, dressed in crisp livery, stood by in silent readiness as the guests arranged themselves.
Rose must be sure to thank Mrs. Blythe for tending to every detail. A crisp white damask tablecloth covered the long surface, set with delicate porcelain plates edged in gold, fine crystal goblets for wine and water, and polished silver cutlery. In the center, a floral arrangement of pale roses and greenery ran the length of the table, interspersed with flickering tapers in ornate candelabras.
Rose could not help but think of Sebastian cutting the roses for her table, his long, capable fingers plucking the thorns from the stems andmaking sure to pick only the very best blooms.
Gilded sconces cast a warm glow along the deep mahogany-paneled walls, where portraits of Wentworth ancestors looked down with solemn expressions. A massive chandelier of cut crystal hung above the long dining table, its candlelight reflecting in the polished silver and glassware. Heavy velvet drapes, drawn back to reveal the twilight sky, framed the tall windows. An array of silver serving platters were lined up on the sideboard.
She had inked place cards for each guest earlier with her tidy script. With the assistance of Mrs. Blythe, she’d arranged the table with care, ensuring that the evening’s delicate maneuvering of potential matches was well supported by seating arrangements, proximity, and conversation.
She’d set Arabella and Philip next to each other, with Lydia, Edmund, and Mr. Whitby and Colonel Barrington taking up the rest of that side of the table. Honoria and Baron White were seated on her father’s end of the table, as far from herself as possible. Daphne and Jonathan were in the middle of the side of the table, with Reverend Oakwood. Rose had taken pity on poor Violet and placed her next to her, assuming it would be a relief for Honoria’s cousin to have distance between them. The more Rose observed Violet, the more she felt sorry for her. Like Rose, she was being pressured to marry sooner rather than later. At seventeen, Violet seemed so young and vulnerable, which had wakened Rose’s maternal instincts.
That said, Violet seemed to be coming out of her shell here in the country. She’d confessed to Rose earlier that she would stay forever if she could. The quiet suited her, she’d said. In addition, like Rose, she enjoyed being outside, reading, or strolling among the flowers. In Rose’s opinion, Violet needed a gentle, thoughtful type of man who would spoil her with a life in the country air where she could shine. Tonight, she looked lovely indeed, in a soft lavender gown made from fine muslin, with a delicate silver sash at the waist. Her hair waspinned in a simple twist, accented with a few small pearl hairpins.
Still, she seemed too young for marriage. Rose wished they both could be left alone.
The footmen served with precision, moving soundlessly to refresh wine glasses and replace plates between courses. The first, a white soup with a delicate broth made from almonds, cream, and veal stock, was delicious but somehow tasted bitter in Rose’s mouth. Even the freshly baked rolls tasted dry. It was the company, not the meal, Rose decided.
