Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

R afe lifted his face to the sky, pinched the bridge of his nose, and took a deep breath. After several minutes, he reentered the ballroom discreetly. His gaze immediately sought out Rebecca, who was dancing the quadrille with her fiancé, Viscount Sutcliffe. His sister's face was animated with affection, her tendre for the viscount evident to all. Sutcliffe's expression mirrored Rebecca's adoration, and for a moment, Rafe felt a pang of envy.

Marriages in the ton were hardly love matches, but he was glad his sister liked and admired the viscount. Rafe scanned the room until his eyes landed on Lady Roslyn Baldwin, the young lady their hostess had pointed out earlier. The daughter of a marquess who shared Rafe's political leanings, Lady Roslyn was everything one could expect in a future countess. She possessed a delicate beauty, with soft chestnut hair and eyes the color of warm honey. Her gown, a pale lavender silk, complemented her fair complexion, and her demure grace and elegance were evident in the way she held herself.

Rafe approached her, ignoring the many ladies who lifted their fans to their mouths and started whispering. When he reached her side, he bowed slightly, offering his hand. "Lady Roslyn, I believe the dance you promised earlier is next. May I have the honor?"

She lowered into a curtsy before she smiled and placed her gloved hand in his. "I am delighted, Lord Ashton."

They moved to the dance floor as the second waltz of the evening started. Rafe twirled with her across the expanse of the ballroom. Lady Roslyn was light on her feet, graceful and composed, her movements perfectly attuned to his.

"You are a wonderful dancer, my lord," she said with a smile.

"A skill only made evident because of the gracefulness of my partner," he said with polite civility.

Her cheeks pinkened, and she smiled prettily at him. Over her head, he saw his mother in conversation with Lady Roslyn's mother. The two matrons were beaming and whispering to each other. Rafe kept his expression inscrutable as he danced and conversed with the lady. Their conversation was light, touching on the expected topics of the season's events, mutual acquaintances, and the latest ondits . Lady Roslyn spoke with a charming wit, and her laughter was soft and pleasing to the ear.

Yet, as they danced, Rafe couldn't help but notice he was not curious to know more about her. Lady Roslyn was lovely and well-mannered, the epitome of what he should be seeking in a countess, but as he held her in his arms, he felt no sense of attraction, no quickening of his pulse as he had with Miss Fairbanks.

He ruthlessly closed out thoughts of that minx. When the dance ended, he escorted Lady Roslyn back to her chaperone with polite words of thanks. She curtsied gracefully, and Rafe bowed, acknowledging the propriety of the exchange.

Rafe remained at the ball for another hour, fulfilling his duties as an eligible bachelor of the ton by making small talk with several other young ladies and gentlemen of his set. But his thoughts kept drifting back to the gardens, to the kiss he had shared with Miss Fairbanks, and the way she had made him feel—alive, impulsive, utterly captivated.

Eventually, he found Rebecca and his mother, and together they departed the ball. As their carriage rattled through the darkened streets of London, Rebecca glanced at him, her brow furrowed slightly in concern. "You seemed very reserved when you danced with Lady Roslyn," she remarked. "What did you think of her?"

His mother's gaze sharpened with interest.

Rafe leaned back against the squabs and lifted a brow. "Am I to suffer an interrogation each time I dance with a lady?"

His mother sighed. "I love you, but there are times you are truly insufferable. Do not leave us in suspense, Ashton!"

"I have no particular thoughts," he replied after a moment, his tone carefully neutral.

Rebecca arched a brow, her expression skeptical. "No thoughts at all?"

"She is lovely and well-mannered," Rafe said, though there was little enthusiasm in his tone.

His mother nodded approvingly. "Lady Roslyn made the same impression on me. This is her second season, and she received several offers last year, but none were deemed suitable by her mother. They are clearly looking for a match that is worthy of her station. I would urge you to call upon her tomorrow with flowers and invite her on a phaeton ride in Hyde Park."

Rafe made a noncommittal sound. Lady Roslyn had been perfectly charming, yet she barely stirred his interest. There was no sense in calling upon her. He frowned, recalling the first few times he met Anna, where only mild pleasantries had existed between them. She had been similarly reserved and very graceful, often blushing whenever she met his gaze. Their attachment had grown, and they loved each other. Perhaps he was being hasty in thinking to remove Lady Roslyn from the list.

He sighed. Courtship had always been damn complicated. Rafe's thoughts drifted as his mother and sister continued their conversation about bridal trousseaus and wedding preparations. His mind, however, was elsewhere—specifically on Miss Julia Fairbanks. How had a woman like her, with all her fiery spirit and boldness, managed to unsettle him so completely? The question gnawed at him, refusing to be ignored.

Should he explore this connection he felt with her? Amusement sparked through him when he recalled the last line on his mother's list.

Absolutely no one from the Fairbanks family . It would be a travesty !

As the carriage rolled to a stop in front of their townhouse, Rafe felt a sense of disquiet that he could not shake. It was an unfamiliar feeling, and he didn't like it. Once inside, Rebecca and his mother bid him goodnight and retired to their chambers, leaving Rafe to his thoughts. He made his way to the library, where a fire blazed in the hearth, casting a warm glow over the room. The familiar scent of leather and parchment greeted him, and a glance at the clock on the mantle revealed it was almost three in the morning.

With a sigh, Rafe poured himself a glass of whisky and sat in the armchair by the fire. He took several swallows, the burn of the alcohol doing little to ease the tension coiled within him. Setting his glass down, he reached for the small stack of letters placed on the walnut table beside him. There were three in total, all from his daughters, Emma and Grace, written in the careful, slanted script of young girls.

As he unfolded the first letter, a small smile tugged at his lips, and a fierce wave of love washed over him.

Dearest Papa,

We miss you so very much and hope your important work is not keeping you away from us for too long. Emma says she hopes you will bring us a present when you return, and I must admit, I would love one too—perhaps some sweets or a new book. We have been good girls, doing our best to heed Mrs. Tilby's lessons, though we do wish she would let us have them outside sometimes. She says young ladies should not cavort in the grass, but it looks so lovely and inviting!

Grace is trying her best to enjoy the riding lessons, but she finds the side saddle terribly irritating. I must agree with her. Why must we sit in such a silly way? But we promise to keep practicing so we can show you how well we have done when you return.

We cannot wait for you to come back home, Papa.

With all our love,

Emma and Grace

Rafe chuckled softly, picturing their earnest faces as they wrote the letter. It had only been three weeks since he traveled from his country estate in Hertfordshire to town, but it felt like much longer. He missed them fiercely. Reaching for the next letter, he opened it, his heart squeezing as he read.

Dearest Papa,

Grace and I received a letter from Grandmama, and she told us the exciting news that you will be coming home with a new mama for us. We were so thrilled we could not sleep! Do you think she will love us, Papa? Please tell her that we just celebrated our seventh birthday and that we are very pleasant and well-mannered. Mrs. Tilby says those are qualities that mamas enjoy in their daughters. Oh, Papa, I feel like there are butterflies in my heart and belly. Emma feels the same.

We love and miss you very much.

Grace and Emma

Rafe quickly read the third letter, which outlined the candies they anticipated, before setting them aside. He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes as he absorbed the weight of their words. His mother had been deliberately cunning, telling the girls of his intentions. Had she no fear of disappointing them, of breaking their hearts? What if he did not find a wife this season? He raked his fingers through his hair, icy anger snapping through him. This was precisely why his mother had preempted him, writing to the girls to ensure that he followed through on his intentions this time.

But it was not necessary. His mother should have known his character better. Once he committed to a plan, he always saw it through. There was no need to manipulate him into action. Yet, deep down, Rafe understood that her interference came from a place of love and concern. She had been urging him to remarry for more than three years now, but he had ignored her pleas, content to focus on his daughters and his duties.

It wasn't until he saw the longing in Emma and Grace's eyes whenever they interacted with Mrs. Tilby, their governess, that he realized he could no longer ignore the void in their lives. They needed a mother, and he could no longer deprive them of that.

Rafe folded the letters carefully and placed them in his top drawer. He finished his whisky in one long swallow. Rising from the armchair, he made his way upstairs to his bedchamber, his footsteps echoing in the silent house. Once inside his room, he did not bother to call for his valet. Instead, he removed his clothes himself, the cool air brushing against his skin.

Finally, he lay down on the bed, his body sinking into the soft mattress. The weight of the day pressed down on him, but sleep did not come easily. Rafe was a man of duty. He had made a promise to himself and to his daughters and was determined to do what was necessary to make his family whole again—find a suitable wife, a woman who could be a mother to his daughters.

He would not allow Julia Fairbanks to enter his dreams and disrupt the carefully laid plans he had set for himself. It was time for him to excise this desire Miss Fairbanks provoked within him. With a final, resolute breath, he banished her from his thoughts.