How to Please a Lady (3 page)

“I'll talk to you once the dancing starts. I have such gossip to tell you about one of our guests.” Georgette, who at three months along showed no signs of her increasing, adored a good tidbit, and Rose could tell she couldn't wait to impart whatever it was she knew.

After nearly an hour, the receiving line dwindled and her mother went off to tell the orchestra to be ready to play the Grand March, a solemn and rather old-fashioned way to begin the ball, but her mother had insisted. Rose walked in on the arm of her intended, feeling everyone's eyes on her.

“You do me proud, my dear,” Weston drawled as he pressed her hand, which rested in the crook of his arm.

“Thank you, Your Grace.” She could feel his cool gaze on her and resisted the temptation to look into his light blue eyes, for she did have a tendency to blush hotly every time she did so.

“If you would do me the honor of dancing the first waltz.”

She dared look up at him, and did indeed feel her cheeks instantly heat. “Of course, Your Grace.”

 

Charlie Avery stood in the shadows and watched her, his heart aching as it always did whenever he looked at Rose. How could that woman in the stunning ball gown with her hair all done up pretty be the same little girl who had rushed headlong into the stables, braids flying behind her? He'd been ten years old, a stable boy and son of the head groom, when he first saw Rose, and even then he'd thought her the most adorable creature on earth. He ought to have been annoyed by her constant questions about the horses, about what he was doing, about why horses couldn't eat pudding.

Too many questions. Too many long hours while she watched him rub down her mare or help a foal into the world. Too many happy memories of them riding about the estate, often in the company of her brothers, who tolerated their little sister's sense of adventure. Years and years of memories. One day, when she was seventeen, he realized little Rose had grown up.

It had been the worst moment of his life.

She'd gone away to finishing school and he hadn't seen her in months. Hadn't really even given her much thought other than a vague sense that he missed her hanging about. Then she'd come home and headed almost immediately to the stables to say hello to Moonrise, her beloved horse. Maybe it was the way the late-day sunlight hit her face, or the blue dress she wore, or the expression of pure happiness on her face, or the way she closed her eyes and breathed in the scents of the stable as if it were the most wonderful smell in the world. But in that moment, he realized she was a woman and that the casual brotherly love he'd had for her was suddenly something much more. Of course he'd fallen in love with her. Who wouldn't?

She looked happy now, dancing with her future husband, no doubt charming the man the way she seemed to charm everyone.
Holy God, she looks beautiful
.

“You know, if she knew how you felt about her, she'd find it embarrassing. Or worse, she'd pity you.”

“Sod off, Harry,” Charlie said good-naturedly.

Harry, one of Hallstead Manor's grooms, took a deep drag of his cigarette before tossing it to the ground and stamping it out with a heavy boot. “Just as well you're leaving,” he said, his tone almost gentle, which made Charlie feel somehow worse. “She the reason? Just wondering. We're all wondering.”

Was
Rose the reason? Maybe falling in love with a woman he could never have was part of the reason he was going to America. But the bigger reason was that he didn't want to end up like his father, old and broken down, living on a tiny pension in a rented cottage. His uncle had gone to America ten years prior, owned his own home, had a good-paying job. If Charlie stayed in England, he'd be working in the stables until he couldn't work anymore. And he'd watch her marry another man, have his babies.

“No,” he said. “I would have gone anyway.”

Harry let him be, gazing in a window at a world so far removed, the dancers might as well have been on the moon.

 

“Gossip please,” Rose said, coming up to Georgette. She was exceedingly warm and taking a break from the dancing.

Georgette was standing next to her best friend, Lady Barrington, a woman whose seemingly dour appearance was in sharp contrast to her good humor and lively personality. Indeed, when Rose had first met Lady Barrington, she hadn't been prepared for the older woman's sense of the absurd.

“This is my gossip so I believe I should be allowed to impart it,” Lady Barrington said. Then she spoke directly to Rose. “Your sister-in-law says you are too innocent to hear this, but I said you're to be married soon enough, and I daresay you won't swoon.”

“My, this does sound titillating.”

“You've overdone it, Rebecca,” Georgette said, sounding cross. “Now Rose will expect something more interesting.”

Lady Barrington huffed, but otherwise ignored her friend. “Rose, do you see that dashing fellow talking to your brother? Tall. Dark. Exceedingly handsome.”

Rose looked across the room and immediately spotted the man Lady Barrington was talking about. He was the handsomest man she'd ever seen in her life. Strong jaw, perfect hair, clothes tailored to perfection on his tall, lean form. “I see him,” Rose said, trying to keep her voice neutral. She was engaged to be married, after all.

“He's an American,” Lady Barrington said.

As gossip went, that wasn't terribly interesting, but Rose had a feeling there was more.

“Apparently he has high political aspirations. Already he works for the State Department, and for a young man, his rise has been quite mercurial. But he has a problem,” she said mysteriously.

“Oh?” Rose asked, only because she knew she was expected to.

“He's not married. A man with high political aspirations
must
have a wife.”

Rose wrinkled her brow. “Must he?”

“Not always,” Lady Barrington said with a telling emphasis on the word
always
. “But it is certainly prudent when unsavory rumors begin circulating.”

“Such as the one you are about to spread?” Rose asked, raising a brow.

Lady Barrington made a face, and Rose and Georgette laughed. “Don't ruin her fun, Rose. Go on, Rebecca.”

She lowered her voice to just above a whisper. “It's said he's a sodomite.”

Rose leaned forward. “What's a sodomite?”

Lady Barrington gave her a look, and Georgette said, “She's only a child, for goodness sake.”

Georgette's friend waved a dismissive hand. “She's to be married in three months.” She turned to Rose. “It's a man who prefers the company of other men.”

This did nothing to clear things up for Rose. “Don't all men?”

Georgette looked like she was close to laughing aloud. “Not in the bedroom,” she said succinctly.

Rose looked at them in confusion until her face suddenly cleared, and the two older women laughed aloud.

“Truly? But he's so . . .”

“Handsome. Yes.”

“And manly,” Rose said, tilting her head and looking at him. “I'm going over to meet him,” she announced, and as she started walking off, Georgette grabbed her arm.

“Rose, don't say—”

“I won't. Goodness, what kind of a person do you think I am? I'm far more curious about America than I am about what he does in his bedroom at any rate.” Rose had a bit of satisfaction at the stunned expression on the women's faces before making her way over to where her brother stood with the other man.

When Marcus spied her, he smiled and held out one hand, welcoming her. “The lady of honor,” he said grandly. “Do you know, Mr. Cartwright, my sister in just a few short months will outrank me and will continue to do so even after the title becomes mine. Please allow me to introduce you to Lady Rose Dunford, soon to be the Duchess of Weston. Rose, Daniel Cartwright. He's on the staff of the U.S. ambassador, Edwards Pierrepont.”

“Lovely to make your acquaintance and on such a celebration, Lady Rose,” Mr. Cartwright said, taking her hand and making a small bow.

Rose's breath caught, for he was perfectly charming and extraordinarily good-looking, with a strong jaw, straight noble nose, and hazel eyes that were quite remarkable. “The pleasure is mine, I assure you,” Rose said.

“Have you checked on Moonrise today?” Marcus asked.

“I have, but Mother forbade me to discuss horses tonight.” She leaned in close. “Charlie says it won't be for at least another day. Her teats are full, though, so I think it may be tonight or tomorrow.”

Her brother coughed and gave what appeared to be a look of apology to Mr. Cartwright. “Perhaps you should have followed Mother's advice and forgone talk of horses.” He turned to the American. “My sister practically grew up in the stables and I fear is not shy about the subject.”

“Why should I be shy? Certainly Mr. Cartwright understands where foals come from.”

Mr. Cartwright laughed. “Indeed I do.”

“I'm just glad Charlie's here for the foaling. 'Twould have been a pity had he already left,” Marcus said distractedly. He was looking across the ballroom floor where his wife stood with a small group of young people.

Rose's stomach took a sharp and unexpected tumble. “What do you mean? Charlie would never miss the birth of a foal and certainly not Moonrise's.”

“Didn't you know?” her brother asked. “Oh, I can see you didn't. At any rate, Charlie's off to America in a fortnight. Has some relative there with a nice position for him.”

“He has a nice position here,” Rose said, her voice small. She couldn't imagine their stables without him. He'd been the first person Rose had seen when she'd followed her brothers to the stable that long ago day. She still remembered how he'd looked, a strapping young boy with an easy smile, a curly mop of blond hair, and gentle hands, who hadn't minded a bit when she followed him about. It seemed completely incomprehensible that their stable would no longer have him there, and even more incomprehensible that when he left, she would never see him again, never be able to ask him questions or watch him rub down their cattle.

“He's quite set on going,” Marcus said. “And I say good for him.”

“Of course, we all want Charlie to be happy,” Rose said, but she felt almost as if she'd learned her dearest friend was going away forever, not a servant.

“Who is this Charlie?” Mr. Cartwright asked.

“Our head groom. He's on to bigger and better things, I suppose,” her brother said, as if losing Charlie wasn't devastating . . . to the stables and horses, of course. It was ridiculous that she should feel so sad; after all, she wouldn't even be living here in a short few months. Charlie was part of her childhood and she supposed saying good-bye to that idyllic time would be difficult. Tonight, though, she refused to become morose and dwell on sad things. She refused to allow anything to ruin her evening. Looking around, she felt a large sense of satisfaction seeing her smiling guests. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves immensely; it appeared all her mother's hard work was paying off in spades. Then she spied Lady Priscilla Whitmore, standing quite alone and looking less than happy.

“Marcus, do please ask Lady Priscilla to dance. I will not allow anyone to stand in a corner for this most important evening. She looks like a regular wallflower and I'm certain Eleanor won't mind.”

“Eleanor
always
has a grand time and Lady Priscilla
is
a regular wallflower.”

Rose flashed him a smile. “Not tonight.”

Marcus laughed, then bowed, leaving her to chat with Mr. Cartwright. She adored his accent and had never had an actual conversation with an American. A school friend had married an American, but Rose had never had the opportunity to meet her husband before she departed for the States.

“I hear you are interested in politics, Mr. Cartwright,” she said, thinking to begin the conversation with a topic he was certain to enjoy.

“Are you interested in politics, Lady Rose?” he asked with a small smile.

“Not at all. I was being polite.”

Mr. Cartwright laughed aloud. “Thank you for your honesty.”

“Actually, I'm much more fascinated with America. Where do you live?”

“New York City. Have you ever been?”

Rose shook her head. “No, but I hope to someday. I have a school friend who lived in New York for a time. She was a bit older than I, but we corresponded quite regularly after her wedding. She married a banker. Alas, I have lost touch with her. She lived on Fifth Avenue.”

Mr. Cartwright jerked his head back as if shocked. “Not Caroline St. Pierre.”

“Why yes. Don't say you know her.”

“Know her! She was my neighbor for two years. They're in Philadelphia now. She was eight hundred eight and I am eight hundred twelve. A new couple lives there now. She's the granddaughter of the Duke of Glastonbury. Perhaps you know her; she's not that much older than you are.”

Rose smiled. “Now you are surely jesting with me. I met her just this last season. Her Grace was quite enthusiastic about bringing Lady Genevieve out and she was the talk of London for a time.” A sudden blush stained Rose's cheeks when she remembered more about Glastonbury's granddaughter. “She seemed like a lovely girl, but she did cause a bit of a scandal now that I recall. There was a story in an American newspaper. It caused quite a stir here.”

“I must have missed it, and I'm not one to read society pages at any rate,” Mr. Cartwright said, with the smallest hint of censure in his voice. “The Campbells are good neighbors and seem pleasant enough.”