The Viscount's Rose (The Farthingale Series Book 5) (4 page)

“The name’s Julian, and I will not allow you to confront this man on your own.” He puffed out his chest and stuck out his chin in a stubbornly protective gesture that melted her heart more than a little.

She cleared her throat. “I have plenty of male relations who can help me out.”

“They’re not trained in such matters. Would you have them hurt?”

Her eyes widened in horror. “Of course not. But—”

He slapped his hands on his thighs and stood. “Then it’s settled. I’ll take care of it. What’s his name?”

She hesitated, for this truly wasn’t his problem.

“His name, Rose, or I shall be forced to send out an army of Bow Street runners to round up everyone remotely connected to the business of pottery and—”

“Very well, I’ll give you his name before you cause a riot in the London streets. Sir Milton Aubrey. But you aren’t to hurt him.” She tried to rise along with him, but her blasted foot would not cooperate and she sank back in her seat with a wince. “Promise me.”

“I’ll do no such thing. He’ll get what he deserves. That explosion might have killed you and he knew it. The man deserves no mercy.”

She was shocked by the iciness in his expression. “I won’t have you in trouble because of me.”

He arched an eyebrow. “I can take care of myself. I—”

The twins bounded in just then, putting an end to their conversation as they hurried toward Lord Emory with welcoming smiles. Lily was carrying a smaller version of the pouch of explosives she had handed to him yesterday. She was holding it delicately as she moved across the room toward them.

“Oh, no,” Rose and Lord Emory muttered at the same time, for Lily looked quite contrite.

Rose winced. “I ought to have thought of this yesterday, but I was distracted by my swollen ankle. She held back some of those explosives, no doubt to experiment with them.”

“Good heavens,” he muttered.

“But Dillie must have prevailed on her to give it back.” She sighed and shook her head. “Lily’s the smartest of us all. I’m sure she’ll save the world someday with one of her brilliant discoveries, but Dillie is the sensible one. She looks out for her twin and is often the only one who can convince Lily that what she is about to do is dangerous and nonsensical.”

Lord Emory appeared to be listening attentively. “I understand. Lily is book smart, but Dillie is… heart smart. That is, she understands people and knows how to gently guide them to do the right thing.”

“Yes, that’s very well said. I’m impressed, my lord. Seems you’re quite perceptive as well as wise.”

He shook his head and laughed. “It doesn’t take a great mind to know that Lily will clear your salon in a trice if your other guests find out what she has in her grasp.”

An appealing thought, Rose decided, for she was not quite recovered from yesterday’s incident. Though she refused to admit it to Lord Emory, she had a throbbing headache as well as a throbbing pain in her twisted ankle. She dearly wished to return upstairs and spend the afternoon in bed with her foot comfortably raised, but couldn’t yet. “Oh, no! I thought Lily was coming toward you, but she’s going to tell Father first. That’s not good.”

They watched as Lily paused to tug on John Farthingale’s arm and drag him toward the private corner where she and Lord Emory were seated. “What’s going on?” her father asked, acknowledging Lord Emory and then tossing a questioning glance at her and Lily.

“Perhaps I can explain,” Lord Emory said, holding out his hand to accept the small pouch from Lily.

At the same time, Rose tried to make light of the matter. “Ha, ha. Funny you should ask, Father.”

“Oh, blast.” He groaned. “What now?”

Lily pointed to the pouch now in Lord Emory’s steady grasp. “Lord Emory has promised to return the… er… um… to the regimental headquarters for me.”

Rose was certain her father gained a new gray hair amid his thick, dark mane. “What’s in the pouch? Lord Emory, may I see it?” He held out his palm and waited for him to hand it over.

Lord Emory sighed. “I suppose you ought to be told.”

He held it out, sparing a mere glance at Rose while her father peered inside. “Merciful heavens,” he said with a groan, his face now red and his expression apoplectic. Rose thought it was a bit of an overreaction. After all, they’d been vexing him for years and he ought to be used to it by now.

He peered into the pouch again as though its contents might miraculously turn into something as unassuming as licorice sticks. Of course, no such miracle occurred. He shook his head and turned to Lord Emory. “You knew about this?”

Rose scrambled out of her chair and hopped on her good foot to defend Nicola’s brother. “We all did. Lord Emory was merely trying to help us out by returning it to its proper place. You ought to be very proud of Lily for telling you about it instead of—” She paused to clear her throat, for she was about to admit that she and Dillie had wanted to conceal the truth from him.

Honestly, the less the elders knew about some of their adventures, the better. “She tried for days to gain your attention, but you and Mother were too busy with all our visiting relatives to pay her any notice. So we were quite grateful when Lord Emory stepped forward to take up the slack.”

Her father ran a hand across the nape of his neck. “One daughter has her workshop blown to bits and the other is determined to demolish our new townhouse.” He turned accusingly toward Dillie. “And what are you up to?”

She cast him an innocent look, her big, blue eyes as round as saucers. “Nothing, Father. I’d never—”

“Spare me,” he said with a sigh. “Lily, you’re to remain confined to your bedchamber for the rest of the week. You ought to know better than to bring something so dangerous into the house.”

Lily tipped her head. “That’s my punishment? Not to leave my room for a week?”

Rose struggled to stifle her grin. Lily dreamed of being left alone to read her scientific tomes, so this confinement would be utter joy for her.

She spared Lord Emory a glance.

He winked at her.

Her heart melted a little more at this shared intimacy. Why did he have to be so appealing?

He tucked the pouch safely into one of his pockets and bowed to her and her father. “I had best return it to the headquarters now. Miss Farthingale, will you tell my sister that I’ll be back in an hour or so to escort her home?”

She nodded. “Certainly. Thank you, my lord.”

The salon seemed to dim the moment he departed, and Rose wished she could disappear upstairs as Lily just had. Their father had meant for Lily’s punishment to commence after this round of afternoon visits, but Lily couldn’t wait to start serving her sentence. She’d been working on a research paper for the Royal Society and was eager to finish it in time for the society’s annual competition.

Rose didn’t have the heart to tell Lily that she’d never be accepted into that male bastion. But who was she to cut short her sister’s dreams when she had artistic dreams of her own and understood the difficulties of a woman being accepted into a man’s domain? It hadn’t stopped her from trying, nor should it stop her sister.

However, she wasn’t stupid. This latest incident with the kiln was an unexpectedly dangerous escalation in Sir Aubrey’s threats. She’d admit defeat for the moment, for her attention had to be on her debut season anyway. But she wasn’t going to let go of her dream. Quite the opposite, she would resume pursuit of it as soon as Nicola’s brother had properly trounced the villain.

Her mother approached, distracting her from her thoughts. “Rose, you shouldn’t be standing. Sit down at once, my dear.”

She dutifully complied.

“Your father told me what’s been going on.” She nibbled her lip in concern and drew a cushioned stool beside Rose’s chair, gently settling Rose’s foot to rest on it. “It’s a wonder you weren’t more seriously injured. How do you feel?”

Her head and foot were still throbbing, but she wasn’t going to worry her mother about little aches and pains that would soon pass. “I’m in the pink, truly. You needn’t fret about me.”

“You’re my daughter. You girls are my very heart and breath.” Sophie Farthingale shook her head and sighed in resignation. Rose noticed a few gray hairs on her mother’s dark mane as well and felt bad that she and her sisters must have put them there.

“I’m glad you’re taking it so well. Father was incensed.” She eyed her mother curiously. “Why aren’t you?”

“With you temporarily incapacitated,” she said with a gentle grin, glancing at Rose’s raised ankle, “and Lily confined to her quarters, that puts the odds in my favor, doesn’t it? Only three daughters left to run amok. Since Daisy can always be relied upon to behave, that leaves only Laurel and Dillie. I think I can manage two daughters on the loose.”

No, she couldn’t. But Rose didn’t have the heart to tell her so.

Rose spent the next hour chatting amiably with their callers, several of whom were eligible bachelors who were paying her particular attention. She ought to have been flattered, but they all paled in contrast to Lord Emory, and by the way their eyes lit up as they glanced at the shiny objects decorating the parlor, she knew they were only attracted to her trust fund anyway.

Nicola joined her in the corner, and as most of the guests began to leave, she and Nicola finally had a moment to compare notes. “What do you think of those bachelors, Rose? Any good prospects?”

She sighed. “None of them were in the least appealing to me. What about you? I noticed several following you about the room. Lord Bennington Simmons appeared quite attentive to you.”

Nicola shrugged and pursed her lips in distaste. “His friends call him Bunny. How can I take such a man seriously? Ugh! Bunny?”

“He’s quite decent looking and heir to an earldom.”

“Rose, you of all people should not be lecturing me on this topic. You know that my views on marriage are similar to yours. I’ll only marry for love. You had better hold to your principles as well.”

“Of course I will. All Farthingales marry for love and I’m not about to break with that proud family tradition. What did you think of the other eligible gentlemen?”

Nicola’s shoulders slumped. “Some of them were so refined and elegant that I felt like a rustic despite the years of lessons in preparation for my debut.” She patted her auburn locks as though worried her fashionable curls were coming undone. “They had prettier hair than mine. Can you imagine? No, I will not consider a man who spends more time looking at himself in the mirror than I do when fixing my own hair. The rest of those bachelors were so unbearably arrogant I wanted to poke them in their imperial, aquiline noses.”

That’s why she liked Nicola—there was no artifice about her. She was honest and direct, and they always had a good time together. “The right gentleman will come along for you, Nicola. You’re far too pretty and clever to be overlooked. He’s out there somewhere. We just have to find him.”

“That’s the problem. I don’t think I’m going to find him among the balls, assemblies, and musicales going on in London, but Julian insists on my partaking in these affairs and he’s been such a wonderful brother to me I hate to disappoint him.” Her sober expression suddenly turned quite impish. “So, have you fallen in love with him yet?”

“With your brother?” Rose rolled her eyes. “No, and I won’t be doing so anytime soon.”

Her friend looked crushed. “Why not?”

“Nicola, he’s sophisticated, intelligent, and handsome as sin. Yes, he’s handsome. I readily admit it,” she said, feeling the heat of a blush steal into her cheeks. “But he’s a viscount and I’m the daughter of a merchant. He can aim far higher in search of a wife. Even if he weren’t inclined to do so, what do I have to offer him? I know so little of the world, unlike his elegant countess.”

Nicola frowned. “But that’s just it. On the surface Julian may appear to be elegant and sophisticated, but on the inside he’s a family man who loves staying close to home and hearth. Until recently, he hated these
ton
affairs. He never liked going about in society and thought those
mushrumps
who drank too much or lost heavily at the gaming hells were not the sort of men he’d ever consider friends. But he’s changed for the worse ever since meeting the horrid Countess Deschanel.”

Rose patted her friend’s hand to calm her as she was becoming noticeably distressed. “Nicola, my father has an expression that he often quotes. He says that people don’t change. If your brother is a kind and caring man—”

“He is.”

Rose nodded. “Then that’s who he is at heart, and the wicked countess won’t succeed in leading him astray.”

Nicola’s lips began to quiver and her eyes watered. “I wish I could believe you, but you haven’t seen him when he’s around her. He’s like another man, a complete stranger to me.”

Rose reached out and hugged her dear friend, wishing there was something she could do to ease her desperation. “That’s why you’re so eager to make a match between him and me. I understand your motives, but it won’t work. You can’t force him to love me. He’ll either feel it or he won’t. If his feelings for the countess are sincere, then there’s nothing we can do about it.”

Nicola wiped away the stray tear now rolling down her cheek. “I wish my parents were alive. They’d know how to keep Julian in line, but he’s the viscount now and there’s no one to offer him proper guidance.”

“Not even your uncle?” she said, referring to the Earl of Darnley. Nicola’s brother was next in line to the title since the present earl and countess had no children. Nicola was staying with them during her season, for she couldn’t very well reside with her bachelor brother. Earl Darnley and his countess were lovely people and Rose liked them very much. She’d been invited to their home several times since Nicola arrived in town and looked forward to more visits during the season.

“You know my uncle would like nothing better than to hide out in his library all day, but my aunt won’t let him. He was an outrageous scoundrel in his younger days, but he’s a scholarly sort now and not one to impose his will on Julian. Oh, what’s the use? My siblings and I will just have to accept the fact that we’re about to lose our beloved brother to that witch.”