Page 4 of A Deal with the Duke of Ice

“Idon’t want tripe again. It’s awful.”

Rosaline couldn’t think of anything to say in defense of tripe.

“Well, it’s all we have, so you’d better eat it or else.”

With this timeless parting shot, Rosaline went on her way. The Baroness, her mother, was lying down upstairs – one of her megrims – and Rosaline would have to finish her mother’s mending.

The cook had steadfastly refused to help out with any extra chores, and Rosaline really couldn’t blame her. The woman was hired to cook and paid a little less than her peers. Insisting she take on extra duties was a good way to lose a perfectly good cook, and then they’d be stuck eating Rosaline and Margaret’s cooking for goodness only knew how long.

She was followed along the hall by the pat-pat-pat of little feet. Rosaline knew who it was without turning around. It was Susanna, the youngest of the Wyre brood, and the hater of tripe. She was around six years old, with the same brown eyes and chestnut hair that all of the Wyre children had, and a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

“Why can’t we have beef, Rosie?” Susanna inquired, following her older sister into the morning-room.

“Because we can’t afford beef, Susanna.” Rosaline said, sitting down in her usual chair and picking up the mending.

“But why not?”

She was getting tired of fending off questions from her siblings, especially when the truth had to be so carefully concealed.

What could happen if she leaned forward and smiled sweetly at Susanna, and said, “Well, we have no money because Papa gambled it all away, and he still uses what little income we have to place wagers on horses and pugilists, and then still expects to be given the last of the tea and the best part of the meat we eat. That is why none of us will have any dowries or any chance of marrying a good man, and why your brother, Edmund, will not be going to Eton”?

Rosaline sighed, shaking away her fantasies of exposing her father’s selfishness.

“The tripe will be nicer this time. Cook promised to put some salt on it. Lots of salt.”

Susanna pushed out her lower lip. “It makes me feel sick.”

“It makes all of us feel sick, little one.” Rosaline muttered.

Her little sister was clearly getting bored of this line of conversation – which was clearly not going to end in a roast beef dinner – so she skipped away to rejoin her siblings in the nursery, leaving Rosaline alone.

“Finally.” Rosaline murmured to herself. She loved her family, of course, but there was no denying that so much could be done when they wereelsewhere.

Then there was a tap on the door and the butler – the elderly and grim-faced Loudwater – appeared.

“You have a guest, Madam. Miss Cordelia Atwood.”

“Cordelia? Oh, goodness. Show her in, please.” Rosaline started to frantically hide her mending, pulling out a book in hopes of seeming more casual. “I hope she doesn’t want to stay for dinner. I simply can’t give Delia any tripe.”

The Atwoods had been one of the first families to draw back after Baron Wyre’s disgrace. It wasn’t a scandal, exactly, but people started to realize that the Wyres were losing their money. Invitations stopped coming, callers stopped leaving cards, and there were fewer greetings when they walked down the street.

They weren’t cut, not in the strictest sense of the word, but people didn’t seem to notice them quite so much anymore. It was probably just as well that they didn’t have the money to send Rosaline out into Society this Season, because she would have received a lukewarm and unenthusiastic welcome.

Rosaline had grimly commented that while breeding was talked about a lot, money was the lifeblood of the nobility, and without it one’s social life died. She was scolded for being vulgar, but she knew she wasn’t wrong.

Cordelia and Rosaline had naturally spent less time together, but Cordelia more than made up for it with her letters. She wrote notes almost every single day, funny anecdotes that made Rosaline laugh, and every snippet of gossip she thought might interest her friend. She described dances and balls so vividly that Rosaline sometimes felt that she had been there, too. They arranged to meet up for walks and picnics wherever they could, although the Baroness, Lady Isabella, tried to make Rosaline give up Cordelia as a friend.

She certainly wouldn’t be happy to hear that Cordelia – the daughter of their traitorous friends – was in her home.

“Ican’t stay long.” Cordelia said, bustling into the morning-room, not bothering with the usual pleasantries. She sat down without waiting to be asked. She looked radiant, as always. Rosaline had often envied Cordelia’s long fair hair, shining spun gold. Cordelia was tall and full-figured, whereas Rosaline was short and too thin. Cordelia was beautiful in the most fashionable of ways, and she had a vivacious and outgoing personality to match.

And, of course, she had wealthy parents who could afford to dress in the most outstanding gowns, cut in the latest fashions, along with lace gloves and a ravishing bonnet. What were those on the brim – cherries? Silk flowers?

“And good day to you too, Cordelia.” Rosaline said archly. “I haven’t seen you for an age.”

“It feels like forever, Rosie,forever. I have so much to tell you. Firstly, Mama and Papa are furious that this is my second Season. They said I’d better find a husband, and quickly, or else.”

Rosaline frowned. “Or else, what?”

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