The Clarendon Rose (16 page)

“Well my dear, you will always be welcome to visit, should the notion strike you.”

She laughed.
 
“And what personal fortune would I use to finance such an expedition, exactly?
 
Besides, that brother of yours would have me believe that India is positively teeming with all manner of diseases to which I, as a vulnerable female, would be uniquely subjected.”

“Good God, the man can’t know you at all if he thinks you in any way prone to the normal female frailties,” Edmund said with a chuckle.

“Thank you so very much!”

“Oh dash it, Tina, you know what I mean.
 
Your robust constitution is practically legendary.
 
You always could ride me into the ground—not to mention outrunning and outclimbing me often as not when we were still young enough to do such things without raising too many eyebrows.”

Her smile faded as she gazed at him fondly.
 
“I’m going to miss you.”

“And I you.
 
But you’ll do well here.
 
I have no doubt of it.
 
And perhaps if you spend enough time in my brother’s company, he’ll come to his senses and realize what a treasure he has in you.”

She rolled her eyes, forcing a levity she did not feel.
 
“I doubt there’s enough time in the world for that to happen,” she said briskly.
 

At some point, she would have to tell Edmund of her plans to accept a position.
 
But not yet.
 
For now, she felt too weary to be bothered, since she strongly suspected an argument would ensue as soon as she declared her intention.
 

He would insist that the Clarendon estate would continue to see to her support and well-being—a notion that did not sit well with her, for she was no longer needed.
 
And, since she only had to think back to those fevered moments in the garden to once again feel the burning memory of Clarendon’s lips against her own, the notion of staying was now insupportable.
 

But we can discuss that later,
she decided.
 
I don’t want to argue with him right now.
 

His expression was oddly sad as he stared down at her for a few moments.
 
“I wish I could assure you that he would, Tina.
 
I was so young when he left—and he’s not the same man he used to be.
 
Though I love that brother of mine, I hardly know him.”

“That makes two of us, then,” she said wryly, then grew serious.
 
“I don’t expect assurances, Edmund.
 
We can never predict or control the direction our feelings will take.
 
If we could, then I would be madly in love with you and preparing to go to India.”

“I know, my dear,” he said, dropping back into the chair he had previously vacated.
 
“But I have a feeling things will work out for the best, this way.”
 
He gave her a reassuring nod as he stretched his legs out in front of him and laced his fingers behind his head.

Tina smiled at the familiar, indolent pose Edmund liked to assume when he was thinking of other things.
 
They sat in silence.

In those moments, she came to a decision.
 
She would let Edmund assume that she was returning to the manor tomorrow.
 
Clarendon, she was certain, would assume that she had decided to stay in London in the wake of their last encounter.
 

Instead, she would have the driver take her to the nearest coaching inn, where she would concoct some plausible reason why she had decided to travel by public transport and imply that Edmund was aware of her actions.
 
That way, the driver would be unlikely to pass on the fact that she had chosen to undertake her journey by mail or stagecoach when under ordinary circumstances, one of the ducal carriages would have been available for her use.

Then, once it was all done and she was properly settled in with Miss Smythe-Perkins, she would write to Edmund with the news.
 
Tina smiled to herself, content with her plan, for she was certain that Edmund would accept her choice to take a position once she had demonstrated that it truly was her preference.

“How much longer do you plan to stay in London, Edmund?”

His shrugged, his expression still distantly speculative.
 
“Another several days at least.
 
After Monty goes, there’ll still be arrangements to be made.”

She nodded.
 
That should give her enough time.
 
With any luck, Edmund would have her letter before he even knew she was missing.
 

“And what about you, Tina?
 
I can move to this townhouse if you plan to stay any length of time and want a buffer from Mother.”

Tina shook her head.
 
“You know how I detest the city.
 
I’ll leave tomorrow morning.”

Clarendon sat in the study, sipping his black coffee as he tried to concentrate on the papers spread across the desk.
 
He wasn’t having much success.

He pushed away from the desk, nabbing his cup as he stood.
 
He came to a stop in front of the window, glaring at the gardens without really seeing them.
 

When he returned from his wild ride the day before, he hadn’t been altogether surprised to learn she had left for London.

So you finally pushed her too far.
 
She was willing to overlook your other transgressions, but even she could not ignore the ridiculous gropings to which you subjected her yesterday.
 

In fact, it wouldn’t at all surprise him if his next communication from his brother were to come in the form of a challenge.
 
Pistols at dawn, perhaps,
he reflected, torn between disgust and humor, for the thought of his even-tempered brother being thusly provoked did seem incongruous.
 
Nonetheless, he dreaded the amount of damage his lack of control had wrought upon his relationship with Edmund.

Add to all this turmoil the fact that another rose had arrived with the morning’s post—this one was peach-colored and the accompanying page proclaimed it “the Shevnam Rose”.
 
And once again, a hint of familiarity to the name itched at the back of his mind without suggesting itself outright.
 

He shook his head in irritation and pushed the thought aside as he turned from the window and resumed his seat at the desk.
 

Yet, even as he bent to the task of reading, the memory of her presence assailed him.
 
Just yesterday, she had been here, sitting near him, wrapping his throbbing head in the husky tones of her compelling voice.
 
If he had reached out, he could have touched her, but at that point, he had still retained enough sense to maintain his distance.

It hadn’t been until he was confronted with her angry repudiation of his concern—and until a responding anger rose in his own chest—that his veneer of control had dissolved.
 
And what had his arguments accomplished?
 
Instead of convincing her that the threats she faced in India were genuine and dangerous, he had driven her towards them.

Of course, even now, he had to question his motives for advancing such notions.
 
He hadn’t really stopped to examine them yesterday—self-reflection still didn’t come altogether naturally to him.
 

Today, of course, the reason behind such outlandish suggestions was obvious.
 
He had only to think of how resoundingly empty the manor felt without her to know that his arguments had nothing to do with preventing her from going to India and everything to do with keeping her here with him.

Better to face the facts: she was gone.
 
He had lost her before he even had her and his growing infatuation over these last few days had only served to provide him with an even more excruciating sense of what he had missed out on by staying away for so long.
 

He finished his cup of coffee and closed his eyes a moment, allowing himself to remember her face, animated by a smile.
 
Those tilted eyes glowing with amusement, the full, mobile lips parted to reveal perfect white teeth.
 
He thought of the silky texture of her voluptuously freckled skin under his questing lips and the firm roundness of her full breast in his hand.
 
Then, opening his eyes and taking a deep breath, he deliberately pushed aside all such thoughts and bent his head to work.
 

Might as well do something productive while waiting for the axe to fall.

It wasn’t until the next day that it finally fell—or so he thought.
 
For it was in the early afternoon that two letters arrived.
 
The first was presented to him without preamble.
 
He frowned at the familiar, slanted handwriting.
 
It so resembled Tina’s that his mouth grew dry as he thought at first it might be a note from her.
 
But, a closer examination revealed that the scrawled words bore all the small peculiarities of Edmund’s script.
 
He was about to break open the seal, when the butler pointedly cleared his throat.

Clarendon glanced at the man, his eyebrows rising.
 
“Getting a bit of a cough, Soames?”

“Indeed, Your Grace.
 
I also thought it might interest you to know Lord Edmund actually sent two letters.”

“Oh?”

“The second is addressed to Miss Merriweather.
 
Given that we understood her to be in London, there has been some confusion as to where to redirect the note, Your Grace.”

The duke had already risen from his chair, a scowl darkening his countenance.
 

“The devil you say,” he muttered, ripping open his own letter to find a sanguine missive from his brother detailing the various arrangements being made for Edmund’s upcoming departure.
 
Almost incidental was the brief acknowledgement that while Clarendon must surely already know of the broken engagement between Edmund and Miss Merriweather, the duke was to be assured that it was an amiable separation on both sides—though of course, Miss Merriweather had been the initiator, as was only proper.

Clarendon shook his head and reread the passage, at first unable to understand the implications of his brother’s casual comments.
 
Then, half crushing the letter in his agitation, he directed his glare at Soames.
 
“Where’s the other letter?
 
The one to Miss Merriweather?”

When the butler produced the epistle, the duke all but snatched it, before slipping it into the inner pocket of his jacket.
 

“Have my horse prepared.”
 
He was already on his way out of the room.
 
He rushed into the main hall, then paused, realizing that he had enough of a ride ahead that he would be best advised to change.
 
Uttering an impatient growl, he took the stairs two at a time, shouting for his valet to join him in his rooms immediately.

Ten minutes later, he vaulted down the stairs and came to an abrupt stop at the sight of a slender young woman waiting in the entrance hall.
 
In no mood for callers, he found himself glaring at her, his mind elsewhere.
 

She, in turn, was regarding him with wide, expectant eyes.
 
“And who the devil are you?” he snapped, without thinking.

She seemed to shrink into herself.
 
“M-miss Fielding,” the girl gasped out, her eyes even wider than before.

Clarendon frowned at her, a distant recollection filtering into his mind of a Sir Roland Fielding living somewhere in the area.
 
This chit must be one of his.
 

“I-I underst-stand that Miss Merriweather is n-not in at the moment,” the girl managed, watching him with the expression of a frightened bunny.

He let out a growl at the reminder, half forgetting the girl was even there.
 
“Damn right she’s not in.
 
She broke off her engagement to my brother and bloody well disappeared.”
 
Then, recollecting himself, he tried to pull together a few shreds of composure.
 
“Is there any message you’d like me to pass on once we do find her?”

The girl shook her head, the beginnings of a frown creasing her forehead.

Just then, Mrs. Keithly emerged, carrying a folded length of checked fabric.

“Here you are, Miss Fielding,” she said as she walked towards them.
 
“Miss Merriweather asked me to set it aside for you.
 
I hope it’s as you wanted.”

Miss Fielding turned to Mrs. Keithly with every appearance of relief.
 
“Thank you.
 
It’s perfect.”

Clarendon watched the exchange with mounting impatience, then gave an abrupt half-bow.
 
“Excuse me.”
 
He had already turned away when Miss Fielding’s uncertain voice stopped him,

“Y-your G-grace,” she wavered and he swung back towards her, not bothering to conceal his irritation at the delay.
 
She looked a little shocked at her own temerity, but after a moment she seemed to draw together her composure.
 
“Per-perhaps she’s found a position.”

He shook his head, not understanding what the girl was on about.
 
“Perhaps who has found what position, Miss Fielding?”

She swallowed.
 
“Perhaps Miss Merriweather has found a position.
 
Just after the duke passed on, she asked me if I knew anyone who was looking for a governess or a paid companion—“