Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

P atrick understood that visiting both of their families was necessary before they actually married, but he wasn't looking forward to it. Ash had insisted that Daisy join the two of them on their journey north to see Patrick's brother. He'd thought it seemed ridiculous at first, seeing as how they'd already shared a bed more than once. But perhaps it was for the best. Patrick didn't want the next time he made love to Rosie to be rushed, and he certainly didn't want it to be in a carriage. Without a chaperone, who knew if he'd have been able to stop himself from trying. There was no doubt in Patrick's mind that Rosie wanted sex, she'd just only experienced it under terrible circumstances. That would never happen again. He would show her the pleasures it could bring and teach her to embrace it.

As they approached his brother's estate, Rosie's eyes grew wide as she stared out the window. Patrick tried to imagine what it must be like through her eyes. Rolling lawns and perfectly tended gardens surrounded a massive, sprawling, stone monstrosity. Now that he'd been away for a few years, it seemed absurd that such homes even existed, while so many in the world lived in abject poverty. The whole system sometimes made him uncomfortable in his own skin. They crossed a bridge and started up the main drive to the house.

Rosie's hands trembled as he took them in his. "You're going to be fine. I promise." Patrick could tell she'd been terrified from the moment they'd gotten off the train and she'd seen the gleaming carriage, emblazoned with the Epworth crest. It didn't help that the servants that had accompanied the carriage kept bowing and my lording him. Daisy was either completely exhausted by the train ride, or just unimpressed. She'd climbed into the carriage and promptly fallen asleep.

Patrick wrapped an arm around Rosie's shoulders and pressed a gentle kiss to her temple. "If you'd rather, we can still stop this carriage right now and elope to Gretna Green, to hell with the lot of them." She smiled, then, and giggled softly.

"What if they hate me?' she asked, her eyes wide with worry. "Or what if your brother refuses to allow it and sends me away?"

"Whoa, whoa. None of that will happen." He scooted away from her so that he could face her. "My brother is a pompous arse who doesn't like anyone. You can simply disregard anything he says." He squeezed her hands. "However, his wife, Ariana, is sweet and kind, and she will adore you." Rosie did not look convinced. "What I can promise you,"—he hooked a finger under her chin and encouraged her to look up and meet his gaze—"is that no matter what happens, we will be wed. I love you. I want you to be my wife more than anything. Nothing on this earth will change that. And have I mentioned that my brother is a boor, and I don't give a tinker's damn what he says or thinks?"

Rosie laughed in earnest then, and threw her arms around him. Just in time, too, because the carriage was beginning to slow. A line of servants waited to greet them with bows and curtseys. Patrick's brother, his wife, and their two young boys stood waiting at the front door. As they walked toward them, his brother's eyes flicked to Rosie and back to Patrick, before he raised a judgmental brow. He hadn't told his brother why he was coming, only that he was.

"Edward." He shook his brother's hand, before turning to his wife. "It's lovely to see you, Ariana." He bowed over her hand and bussed her cheek.

"I'd like to introduce you both to Rosie." It was only in that moment that Patrick realized he didn't know her Christian name, but even if he had, Miss whatever just wouldn't have felt right. She would always be just Rosie to him. "My fiancée."

Rosie immediately sank into a curtsey. "My lord. My lady." His brother eyed him over the top of Rosie's head as if she didn't even exist. Every muscle in Patrick's body clenched with fury.

Ariana stepped forward and banished the awkward tension that settled like an unwelcome fog. "Congratulations, Patrick!" she squeezed his shoulder tenderly before turning to Rosie.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Rosie." Ariana beamed at her. Rosie's throat worked as she swallowed and forced her lips to turn up in a smile. His brother still hadn't said a word, and she obviously hadn't missed his rudeness. Patrick's hands clenched into fists at his side. He'd love to slam one of them into his brother's face, but now was not the time.

"And who are these handsome gentlemen?" Rosie asked, crouching down to be eye level with the boys.

Ariana glowed with pride as she moved to introduce them, but before she could speak the older boy, who was just seven, held out his hand. "Lord Harrington," he said, bowing over Rosie's hand."

Patrick glared at his brother. "At least your son knows how to greet people politely." Edward's eyes narrowed at the insult.

"And this one," Ariana said, pretending nothing was wrong, "Can you introduce yourself, as well, Ben?"

The boy couldn't have been more than three, but he followed his brother's lead. "Lord Benjamin Woodum" He held out his hand.

"Woodcombe," Ariana corrected him.

"Woodome," he said, trying again.

Rosie smiled and took his hand. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lord." From the smile on Ariana's face, it was clear that Rosie was already winning her over, just as he knew she would.

The boys were then bustled away by a servant. Patrick remembered Daisy standing behind them. Her brow was furrowed as she looked boldly at his brother. "This is Daisy," he motioned toward her, "Rosie's companion." Daisy was surprisingly graceful with her curtsey, as if she'd done this before.

Ariana summoned the housekeeper. "Will you please show Daisy to her room? Rosie and I are going to enjoy some tea in the yellow drawing room while the men do some catching up."

"Yes, my lady."

Daisy hurried to keep up as the housekeeper turned and strode through the front door.

Patrick placed a hand on Rosie's lower back, gently encouraging her to go with Ariana. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with uncertainty. He bent down and whispered into her ear, "Ariana is nothing but kind. You'll be fine with her."

"It's you I'm worried about," she whispered back.

Patrick chuckled softly. "I'll be fine. Go." He gave her a little nudge, and with a sigh, she followed Ariana into the house.

Once the ladies were out of earshot, he turned on his brother. "I will not tolerate rudeness when it comes to Rosie, Edward."

Without a word, Edward turned on his heel and walked into the house.

"Of course I'll join you for a glass of brandy," Patrick called and followed him inside. He continued following him all the way into his study.

"Pour two glasses of brandy and then leave us," Edward snapped at the footman who'd crept in behind them.

"Nothing ever changes," Patrick said, noting his brother's behavior.

"Clearly," Edward sneered, and waited for the footman to deliver their drinks and leave before continuing. "You obviously still have a completely carefree life, with no responsibilities."

Patrick barked a laugh. "Says the man who doesn't even pour his own drinks." He rolled his eyes and took a long swallow. It was good brandy, he couldn't find fault there.

"All you ever do, all you've ever done, is complain about your responsibilities, yet you're surrounded by people who see to your every whim." Patrick set his empty glass down on an end table. "You are a spoiled, selfish man, and you treat everyone around you like mud on the bottom of your shoe."

"Me?" he said, incredulously. He slammed his own drink down, splashing its contents over the side of the glass. "You barely set foot back here after Oxford, before shirking your responsibilities and dashing off to London, not a thought for anyone but yourself. Hardly a word from you while you gallivanted about, opening your nightclub, and doing whatever the hell you wanted without a care in the world. Then, more than a decade later, you have the audacity to arrive on my doorstep with some doxie on your arm, and proclaim to be betrothed?"

"I warned you," Patrick growled. He took three quick strides and smashed his fist into his brother's face. Blood burst from his bottom lip and ran down his chin.

"Still the same brute as ever, I see." Edward pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and shook it open before dabbing it against his lip.

"Don't play the victim, Edward. You always gave as good as you got."

"I had to grow out of it, Patrick! But of course you didn't. Just like you didn't have to grow out of anything else."

Something wasn't right.

"Why didn't you block me, or duck out of the way at least? Why did you just stand there and let me punch you?"

Edward shrugged and threw his soiled handkerchief onto the table next to his discarded drink.

"You wanted me to punch you. Didn't you?"

Edward chuckled cynically and shrugged again before slumping onto the sofa behind him. He rubbed his hands over his face and through his hair. "Perhaps I did," he said. He seemed pensive rather than angry.

Patrick wasn't sure how to respond. He'd never seen his brother show even the slightest hint of vulnerability before. After a moment, he sat down on the edge of the sofa and awkwardly placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. Not knowing what to say, he stayed silent.

After a time, Edward finally lifted his face out of his hands and turned his head toward Patrick. "I'm sorry, Patrick. I shouldn't have called her that."

"Did I just receive an apology from the great Marquess Epworth?" Patrick pressed a hand to his chest in feigned shock.

Edward shook his head. "Are you even capable of being serious?"

Patrick tipped his head to the side. "I was pretty serious when I punched you."

"How could I have been so naive? I truly believed you'd one day leave all that nonsense behind and settle down with a lady of your own standing."

"You'll be pleased to know that she will soon be Lady Patrick Woodcombe. Then will she be good enough for you?"

Edward huffed another cynical laugh. "All you do is make jokes, Patrick. Do you really think this is easy?" He gestured at their surroundings. "I was born to be this title, and I will die as this title." He got to his feet and paced across the room. "I don't have the privilege to be able to hare off to London with my friends and abandon everyone else. Every decision I make is for the Marquessate. I wasn't given the opportunity to choose my wife, or to fall in love. I was betrothed before I could even walk."

"If you say something disparaging about Ariana, I will punch you again, Brother."

Finally, the right side of Edward's mouth lifted slightly in an attempt at a smile. "She's the best thing in my life, Patrick. I don't know how I would do this without her."

Edward sat down in a chair, a look of earnestness on his face. "After Father died, I thought you'd eventually return to the flock, as it were. I could have used your support."

Patrick blanched slightly. "Why in God's name would I ever come back here? I only ever had any value if you died, and once Charlie was born, even that evaporated. That was always made clear to me."

"That's not true."

"Isn't it?" Patrick picked up his glass and stormed across the room to refill it. "Another?" he asked his brother, holding the bottle aloft. He decided now was probably not the time to make a joke about how he was capable of pouring. Edward shook his head.

"You're my brother, Patrick. Of course you were welcome here."

"Then you should have treated me like a brother. And he"—Patrick waved his glass towards the huge portrait that hung over the fireplace—"should have treated me like a son."

"I know Father was…"

"Absent? Neglectful? Disparaging? Reproachful? Need I continue?"

"I was going to say demanding or difficult." He inhaled deeply and seemed to be mulling something over. "I suppose our experiences with him may have been more different than I had realized."

"He doted on you," Patrick said, sitting back down on the sofa with his drink.

Edward stared out the window. "It may have looked that way to you. From my perspective, I always thought he let you get away with everything. I was jealous of the freedom you had. I always had to be perfect. Even as a child I had to be an earl. I could never be just a boy."

This conversation was unlike any interaction Patrick had ever had with his brother. "Who are you, and what have you done with Edward?"

Edward turned around, blinking with bafflement. "What does that mean?"

"My brother would never be so introspective and vulnerable. He would never apologize. And he would certainly never allow himself to be punched square in the face by his little brother."

Edward roared with laughter. Real laughter. Before today, Patrick would have thought his brother incapable of it. He may have misjudged Edward. Or at the very least, he may have misunderstood the reasons behind his pompous nature.

"Perhaps if your brother had done those things, he would have had the support of his little brother when he needed it, in turn."

For the first time in their adult lives, Edward had allowed Patrick behind his mask, and he was suddenly able to see the familiar demons that lurked there. It had never occurred to him how heavy a burden it must have been for his brother to assume the mantle of marquess upon their father's death.

"I'm sorry, Edward." Patrick crossed the room and placed a hand on his brother's shoulder, once more. "If I had recognized your struggles, I'd like to think I would have been here to help you fight them, rather than running off to London, trying to hide from my own at the bottom of a bottle."

Edward stood and wrapped his arms around him. Patrick froze. It was the first time in their entire lives they'd ever embraced as brothers. But if Edward could manage it, so could Patrick. He returned the hug and pounded his brother on the back.

It was a brief show of affection, but something had shifted between them. "Thank you, Patrick. I don't think I had any idea how much I needed"—he motioned back and forth between them—"all of this."

Patrick nodded. "Perhaps I did too."

Edward smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. "So, tell me about Rosie."

* * *

Patrick had been right about Ariana. She was the epitome of kindness. Still everything that a lady should be, elegant, poised, proper, but there was a softness about her. Rosie was none of those things, and she didn't belong here. Patrick should be marrying someone like Ariana.

"I was so pleased to see you arrive with Patrick. I was afraid he'd never allow himself to find happiness." Arianna sipped her tea. "I knew him more as a boy than as a man, but even then, he was a bit of a tortured soul. He never let anyone within arm's length and had built an entire fortress around his heart. You must be very special, indeed, Rosie."

"But I'm not special." Rosie was careful not to get into too much detail. She didn't want to shock the marchioness, afterall. "Patrick rescued me from a dire situation."

Wisdom seemed to inhabit Ariana, and it showed itself in her smile. "I have no doubt that you rescued him every bit as much."

"I don't know about that." Rosie fidgeted with the cup she held in her lap.

"I do. Such pride radiated from him when he introduced you. And he looked as if he might breathe fire when my husband snubbed you." Rosie had felt exactly as she'd expected to feel in the presence of a marquess. She had felt his disdain.

Before she could sift through it all in her mind, the door opened, and the two men entered. Rosie gasped. Lord Epworth was, in fact, sporting a swollen, bloodied lip. She turned to Ariana expecting to see horror on her face, but her eyebrows were lifted, her expression telling him in no uncertain terms that he'd gotten what he deserved.

Rosie closed her mouth and tried to compose herself, her heart still pounding inside her chest. But the two men didn't seem to be at odds. In fact they were smiling. In spite of that, as Lord Epworth approached her, she felt the color drain from her face, her chest tightening around her lungs as she tried to draw breath.

"I owe you an apology, Rosie. I'm afraid the surprise of my brother's unexpected pronouncement rendered me quite speechless. That's no excuse for my rudeness, however, and I am sorry."

Rosie was nearly made speechless herself, by the apology. "Thank you, Lord Epworth. I'm sure my arrival on your brother's arm was quite a shock."

He held out a hand. "Please, call me Edward." Feeling completely off-balance, she tentatively placed her hand in his. What was the sitting down equivalent of a curtsey? He bowed over the top of their hands. "It is my honor to make your acquaintance, Rosie, and I welcome you into our family."

What was happening right now? This was good, right? Was this good? What had Patrick done to him? She needed to say something instead of just sitting there like an addlepated twit. "Thank you, L… Edward." She tried her best to smile. Somehow, she was more intimidated by his cordiality than she had been his acrimony. Perhaps because that had been expected. His kindness had not.

Ariana pulled her husband away, saving her from having to say anything else. They strolled to the far side of the large drawing room, and Patrick sat beside her. "Are you alright?" she asked, placing her cup and saucer on the nearby table and running her hand over the side of his face.

"Of course I am." He took her hands in his. "I'm better than alright, actually."

"Did you threaten him?" she whispered.

He chuckled softly. "Threats don't leave marks, Rosie."

She gaped at him. He had hit him. "Did you force him to apologize and say those things?"

Patrick shook his head. "I didn't have to." He shrugged. "I may have knocked some sense into him, but mostly I think I probably misjudged him. Although, I'm not sorry I punched him. He deserved that, regardless."

"Has he really given his blessing?" Rosie was afraid to get her hopes up. How could that even be possible? But Patrick nodded.

"He even offered to host the wedding here and throw his full, not insubstantial, influence behind the match, in order to give our reputations a leg up in society."

Rosie blinked several times. She wasn't certain how to feel about any of that. It was incredibly kind, but also not what she wanted.

"Don't worry," Patrick squeezed her hands. "I thanked him, but then I told him that, at least for now, our home is in Raven Row."

How was it possible for him to know her so well? She must be the luckiest woman alive. Before she could even think to stop herself, she pressed her lips firmly against his. He kissed her back, briefly, but with a soft groan, pulled away. "As happy as it would make me to kiss you all night long…" he tipped his head. Rosie's cheeks grew warm.

"We have an audience."

"Quite." He nodded. "And we wouldn't want to shock them."

"Since you know your way around this place,"—she leaned in close to his ear—"perhaps you could find your way to my room tonight."

A hum reverberated from him. "You are making it really hard to keep my word."

"Your word?" She sat back so she could see his face. "Your word to whom?"

"Ash." They said in unison.

"But you're my betrothed, Patrick."

"I know," he said with a sympathetic smile, "but even so, right now, you're under Ash's protection, and I gave him my word."

She rolled her eyes. "You men and your honor."

He leaned in close to the side of her face that was out of view for Edward and Ariana. "I promise I'll make it up to you on our wedding night." The tip of his tongue seared the edge of her ear as it slid all the way from the bottom to the top. Desire pooled in her belly and her nipples instantly hardened behind her corset. The bounder.

Mischief and desire sparkled in his eyes when he pulled away. "I think perhaps Rosie and I should turn in." He stood and faced his brother. "It's been a long day of travel, and we have another tomorrow."

"Do you really need to leave so soon?" Ariana asked.

"You're welcome to stay as long as you'd like."

"I find I'm impatient to wed the love of my life." He wrapped his arm around Rosie's shoulder. It was surprising to hear Patrick say something so open about his feelings, especially to his brother.

"We will see you both again soon, then." Ariana smiled broadly. Did that mean they would be attending the wedding? Ariana took hold of one of Patrick's hands. "I'm happy for you, Patrick."

He bussed her cheek. "Thank you, Ariana."

Rosie had hoped Patrick was going to show her to her room and give her a proper goodnight kiss but wasn't really surprised when he asked Ariana to take her. He took his vows very seriously, which she should be grateful for, considering the vows he would soon be making to her.

The room Ariana left her in was enormous, and Rosie had never seen such opulence. Thick, lush carpets covered the floor, luxurious blue silk curtained the windows and lighter blue silk was tied at the posts of the bed. Rosie made her way through a door into a smaller, adjoining room, where Daisy was staying for the night.

"Finally!" she said exasperatedly. "I've been in here forever waiting for you." She ushered Rosie to a chair and dropped into the other one nearby.

"Did they fight?" Daisy sat on the edge of the chair tapping her fingers together excitedly.

Rosie laughed. "No, they didn't fight."

Her shoulders drooped in disappointment. "Patrick didn't punch him? I thought for sure Patrick was going to punch him. I've never seen him look so angry before."

"Oh, well, yes, he did punch him, actually."

Daisy clapped her hands together. "He deserved it after the way he treated you! I wanted to punch him myself, honestly, but I was afraid he'd have me arrested."

Rosie giggled.

Daisy scooted even closer to the edge of her seat. "What happened? Did he fall down? Was there blood?"

"I'm sure you'll be disappointed, but I don't know the details. I wasn't witness to the actual punch. Edward did have a swollen lip, and it had undoubtedly bled."

Daisy cocked her head to one side. "Did you just call him Edward? No wonder you were down there for so long. I'm going to need the full story."