Fran Baker (21 page)

“But I still believe it’s time I was married,” he said, “and that is why I’ve requested a moment with you. Miss Lawrence, the more I have seen of you, the more impressed I’ve been with your dignity of manner and your calm good sense. In short, I am asking you to do me the honor of accepting my hand in marriage.”

Her hand flew to her mouth as she leapt to her feet. “You cannot be serious!”

“I was never more so. Oh, do not be thinking I come to you with false fancies of love. I would not have you thinking me so fickle. Nor would I have you believing that I do not know my own mind. I assure you that I’ve given this matter great deliberation and am certain that we should be able to deal admirably well together. We are of much the same temperament and if I could not offer you any of the deeper feelings, I can and do offer you the home and hand of an honest man.”

“My calm good sense, as you put it, sir, can only lead me to decline.” She shook her head as he began to object. “It is true, we both admire and respect one another and I’m sure we could manage to rub along tolerably well together. But there, you see, I lack the desire to merely deal well with my husband. I want nothing less than a love match, Mr. Baldwin, and it is owing to this sad fault that I remain a spinster. I see you are shocked—you must even now be congratulating yourself on so narrowly escaping the union with one so filled with romantic notions as I.”

“Indeed, you are funning, Miss Lawrence! I think the more of you for your frankness and can only say that if, after reflection, you should change your mind, I am your obedient servant.”

With a bow he had gone from the room and Rose could only sink to the couch and wonder at the magnitude of her folly in ever agreeing to come to Hallbrook at all. Much wiser, she saw in retrospect, to have stayed in Willowley taking Dr. Newlyn’s restorative powders.

After a time, though not yet fully recovered from the shock of Mr. Baldwin’s proposal, she removed to the library where she attempted to compose a duty letter to her mother. She was sitting staring at an empty sheet, nibbling on the end of her pen when Helen ran lightly into the room. Rose looked up with a start as the door opened, but upon seeing her sister, smiled widely and set the pen aside.

Her deep blue velvet riding habit swished as Helen rushed over to exchange a quick hug. “Rose, I’ve had the most famous notion!” she exclaimed happily.

“You have decided to elope to Gretna Green,” Rose teased.

“No, this is much, much better!” Helen dropped gracefully onto the nearest chair and beamed at her sister as she pulled off her tan kid gloves. She was rosy and obviously bursting with some bit of thrilling news. “You shall never guess!”

Rose propped her elbows on the desk of the mahogany secretary and gazed at Helen over her laced fingers.

“You are to come live with us!”

Her hands parted. Rose sat upright. “What?”

“You mustn’t think you would be intruding for I have asked Stratford and he was very, very kind. He thought it an excellent notion—in fact, he insisted upon it!” she explained proudly. When her sister did not respond with the enthusiasm she had expected, her pretty face fell. “What’s wrong, Rose? Is it not what you should like?”

“Of course, dearest, but there is Mama, you know, and the boys—”

“Is that all?” Helen interrupted with relief. “You know Mama is quite content with Nell and the boys will be going off to school soon. And we’ll go home for visits as often as we like, for my lord has said we might. It must be better, surely, to live with
me
than to remain under Nell’s charity!”

“But I cannot wish to impose upon newlyweds,” she protested dully.

“Don’t be a ninny! I shall
need
you, especially if—if there are babies soon. So no more argufying with me! It is as good as settled!” She jumped up and with a quick kiss on Rose’s cap, ran from the room.

Rose sat stunned. She could not make her home with the Viscount and Viscountess Stratford. The daily torment of seeing Stratford, yet never having him—and oh, the temptation!—made such an action clearly unthinkable. She wanted as she had never wanted before to cast away every scruple and fall in with Helen’s scheme. But if she did, how long could she resist her desires? She was weak, too weak. Eventually, she would give in and become Stratford’s mistress. Such a course could only end with them loathing what they had done, despising themselves and one another.

The idea of returning to Willowley to live out the rest of her days in her brother’s home was equally depressing. And even were she to return home, Rose thought, there would be no refuge. Family gatherings would throw them together perilously often. Not that Stratford would ever countenance her return. What had Helen said?
He thought it an excellent notion—in fact, he
insisted
upon it
! No, he would not easily let her retreat to the nebulous comfort of Appleton Cottage.

There could be but one way to remove the danger of her vulnerable love for Stratford—marriage. Rose had ever scoffed at those who denied love as the sole basis for marriage, but she knew her own love match could never be. It did not matter whom she wed, only that she do so quickly.

Through the dull ache of her heart crept the realization that she must accept Daniel Baldwin’s proposal. Though she tried to argue against it, it was a futile battle. Rose saw only the need to place herself beyond the menace of her yearnings.

She sat rubbing her fingertips against her temple, then rose and crossed purposefully to where a finely worked tapestry bell-pull hung invitingly on the wall. Rose reached, hesitated, then grabbed the pull and yanked with a strength that sent the bell in the servants’ hall dancing wildly. She was still standing motionless by the pull when a young footman appeared. In a voice void of emotion she requested him to inform Mr. Baldwin that she desired to see him, if he pleased.

Before the footman returned with the gentleman, she had ample time to compose herself. When Mr. Baldwin bowed over her hand and murmured, “Servant, ma’am,” with a questioning look in his hazel eyes, she was able to meet that look without the least appearance of the great agitation she had been experiencing.

“I trust you’ll not think me flighty, Mr. Baldwin, or given to frequent changes of mind, for in general I assure you, it is not my way,” she said by way of introduction as he seated himself opposite her.

“Do you lead me to hope, Miss Lawrence, that you will accept my suit?”

“I—I wish to know if you still desire to make me your wife.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Then, sir,” she said, taking a deep breath, “I am grateful to accept the honor you are bestowing upon me.”

A solemn, yet pleased, smile spread over his face. “It’s I who am grateful, Miss Lawrence. And though we do not start this match based on the more sentimental feelings considered natural to the married state, I am certain those feelings will not be long in forthcoming. I respect and admire you greatly and shall endeavor to make you a worthy husband.”

“I—I am sure you shall, Mr. Baldwin,” Rose responded, slightly overcome with this sober speech. “Do you wish for us to be . . . married soon?”

“There is little reason to suffer a long engagement,” he replied, stretching his smile into a grim line. “What say you do a double wedding with your sister and Stratford?”

Rose’s face paled, but she assented readily with a nod. The September date having been agreed upon, it only remained for the families to be notified. Miss Lawrence seemed strangely reluctant in this regard, but Mr. Baldwin won out in the decision to announce their betrothal without delay. The interview was concluded soon after and Rose was left to contemplate in solitude the result of her decision to marry a man she did not love in order to avoid living with one she did.

Seeking to escape the turmoil of her thoughts, Rose stepped briskly out from the double glassed doors leading to the terrace which overlooked the Keep’s meticulously groomed grounds. She wandered through an exquisite arbor, trying not to think of anything beyond the fragrant beauty of the blossoming flowers, at last sinking to the ground. As she argued with herself over the step she had impulsively taken, her long fingers plucked blades of grass, playing absently with a handful before discarding it upon the lap of her gown to take up another.

She was thus employed when she caught sight of a commanding figure striding toward her. Stratford was still dressed for riding and as the wind caught at his long coattails, emphasis was given to the slim hips and long legs encased in the doeskin breeches and dark topboots. Her first wild thought was to hide somewhere, but it was obvious he had seen her, so Rose resigned herself to the meeting and came to her feet.

“The last time I saw you wear that frock,” his lordship said in greeting, “it was covered, I believe, with straw. I see you have switched to the more seasonable grass.”

Rose flushed deeply, though whether it was from the embarrassment of discovering her brown dress to be flecked with bits of green, or from the warmth of the teasing note in the viscount’s voice, it could not have been said. “You must think me quite a hoyden, Lord Stratford,” she said as she vigorously brushed the blades from her gown.

“I believe you know what I think of you, Rose,” he rejoined on a husky note.

She looked up from her task, startled to hear him speak so. “What you think of me, my lord, is quite immaterial,” she stated, striving for a neutral tone.

“I do wish, my dear, that you would bring yourself to use my name instead of my title. Try it. Say Colin. I long to know the sound of it upon your lips.”

“Do not be absurd, Lord Stratford,” she said, returning her attention to her gown.

“I love you,” he whispered.

Her head whipped up again at that. “Do not say so! Indeed, how can you?”

“I can because . . .” He stopped abruptly, seeing the distress in her eyes. It pained him to know he caused her pain and he labored to keep his voice level as he went on to ask, “Has Helen spoken to you about coming to live with us?”

“Yes, but you must realize that it would be impossible for me to take up residence with you,” she replied.

“I—we—Helen and I both wish for it. Helen fears the running of a large establishment and relies upon having your help. And if you would but only consider the advantages, my dear, I’m persuaded you’d agree that it’s for the best. There would be no more drudgery, no stinting, no old-fashioned woolen gowns. You could have a life of fashion and leisure, such as you deserve.”

“Such an arrangement would be a disaster!”

“I know what you are thinking,” he said quickly. “You are thinking I should importune upon you, but my love, I swear it shall not be so. I shall treat you only as the beloved sister you shall be—”

“Oh, my lord, my lord,” Rose interrupted with a shaky laugh. “You would only remember I was your sister until it suited you to forget it!”

With one step forward, Stratford swept her into his arms. Their heartbeats met in a fierce pounding as his lips pressed warmly against her temple. He strung a trail of heated kisses to the ruffled edge of her cap where he moaned hoarsely into her ear. “Rose, my love, my life—we’ll explain to Helen, tell her of our love—”

He got no further for Rose tensed within his hold, her eyes widening at something beyond his shoulder. The viscount turned his head to see his cousin bearing grimly down upon them. His soft curse was severed by Daniel’s harsh words as he approached.

“You will kindly unhand my fiancée, Stratford,” Daniel bit out.

He did not loose his hold upon Rose, but stared at his cousin as if seeing a headless ghost. “Your fiancée?” he repeated, stunned.

“Miss Lawrence just this very morning honored me with an acceptance.”

His lordship’s hands tightened about her arms, causing her to wince. “Is this true?”

“Yes,” she whispered, refusing to meet his angry eyes.

Stratford released her so abruptly, she staggered and might have fallen had not Daniel reached out to support her. Baldwin pulled her back a step, as if out of further harm, and said furiously, “I realize, of course, it is a habit of yours to make love to other men’s wives, but I trust you will refrain from the custom within the family.”

To Rose’s great surprise, the viscount made no reply to this insult, but asked Daniel coldly, “What prompted you to this?”

“Thank you!” Rose cut in with a choke.

“Rose—Miss Lawrence—do not be a fool. I didn’t mean anything of that sort!” Stratford snapped. His visage was so thunderous that Rose at once subsided, but Daniel seemed ripe for hostilities and inquired icily precisely what my lord had meant.

“What the devil do you think I’d meant?” he returned fiercely. “Be grateful, cousin, that the earl does not tolerate brawling on the estate—whatever the provocation.”

On that threatening note, Stratford pivoted and swiftly left them.

Chapter 15

The announcement of the betrothal of Daniel Baldwin and Rose Lawrence was not without effect. Although the audience receiving the news was small, the reactions were many and ranged from delight to disgust.

Shocked indignation and utter anguish fought to be uppermost on Amy’s face as she stared accusingly at her cousin, Rose. In the emotional upheaval following her interview with Helen, Rose had forgotten Amy, forgotten her promise, forgotten everything except her need to escape her future. Now she realized with sudden dismay the enormity of what had done in stealing Amy’s beau. Anger won out as Miss Thacker flounced from the room in what can only be termed high dudgeon.

Her mother watched her go, but did nothing to restrain her. Elizabeth’s warm pleasure for her niece’s happiness was tempered by a wave of consternation for her daughter, but knowing Amy was young enough to have plenty more opportunities for falling in love, the smile she directed at the happy couple was sincere.

Sitting beside Mrs. Thacker, her mouth open but for once soundless, Lady Minerva was clearly displeased. She had been perfectly willing, and indeed happy, to accept the daughter of her closest friend as the wife for her won, but the niece was another matter altogether. In her view, Daniel could do far better than to waste himself on this virtual nobody who had been sitting on the shelf for
years
!