Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

H e watched her slip away, his heart knotted. A surge of guests, mostly young ladies, blocked her from view before he could trace where exactly she'd disappeared to. He stepped away from the floor, eager to get a moment to put his thoughts in order, all while the usual whispers surrounded him wherever he turned.

Preoccupied with Rose's odd behavior, Frederick weaved through the room a little aimlessly. As usual, one matron or another was discussing how another woman did not deserve to be the next Duchess of Burgess. Another few were singing their own daughters' praises. Bright-eyed debutantes, who might or might not share their mothers' ambitions, pressed closer to Frederick at every corner, all but thrusting their dance cards in his face.

It was all too nauseating—the marriage mart.

For a brief moment, Frederick almost wished he could have just married any decent-looking woman off Bond Street and be done with it. He'd tried to be friendly, and he'd learned to be prudent. He'd tried to be sincere, then he'd learned to be wary. He'd tried to approach the entire search for a proper duchess with thought and exactness—and still came up empty.

And now, even Rose refused to speak with him, for some unknown reason—and he was left to approach the lemonade collection at the refreshment table on his own, without anyone questioning him across the sea of glasses about paying for anyone's drapers' bill.

Whispers continued around him, building into a crescendo that Frederick wished he could drown out. Words the likes of 'duchess,' 'arrangement,' 'position,' and 'unfit' swirled as they weaved from one wagging tongue to another. It was all Frederick could do not to cover his ears like a petulant child. The one woman he had ever cared for enough to call a friend was abandoning him. Could he not at least be left in peace as he considered why? Must everything and everyone be so painfully invested in him—making it impossible for him to even sip one drink undisturbed?

The murmurs continued. Frederick tossed back the contents of his lemonade as if it were whiskey. There were days when moderation did not seem to be a particularly helpful trait.

Determined to grab a moment's quiet, he spun around to face the ballroom, eager to chart a path of escape amidst the crowd. Instead, a wall of faces greeted him, their expressions a mixture of curiosity, disgust, and hesitation. What had he managed to do now? Surely, sitting out one dance could not vilify him so quickly. The Rodworths had all but assured him that dukes were quite immune from the ostracizing offered other less fortunate members of the ton whenever they strayed from convention.

The music swelled, drawing half of the onlookers back to the floor. Frederick breathed a momentary sigh of relief. He would make his apologies tomorrow to whichever lady he was overlooking right now. He was hardly in the mood to socialize now. In fact, bereft of even the one person he was always glad to converse with in all of London, he might as well retire to his townhouse, where at least his fireplace and his books awaited.

For all he knew, he might as well give up and search for a bride next year instead.

Trying his best to ignore the weighted stares currently being directed his way, Frederick trailed along the side of the ballroom in place of crossing it. Gossip continued to follow him—pointed whispers that either grew louder or ended abruptly at his approach.

"Hardly a lady," one said.

"Such scandalous connections," another nameless voice uttered.

Frederick ignored them. Whether or not a rumor had anything to do with him was hardly what mattered most right now. All that truly mattered was that Rose, for some inexplicable reason, was unwilling to continue interacting with him, and that he most sorely missed his library tonight. If he was not about to find a bride this Season, there was no excuse for his remaining in Town at all. He might as well have his valet pack his things tonight.

"Your Grace!" A large body of overdecorated silk blocked his way. Frederick looked up—and took a firm step back.

"Mrs. Zachrey," he greeted, making sure to angle away his arm before the woman could grasp it—as she no doubt intended to. He tried not to notice the growing little crowd around their unhappy encounter, sly observation readily turning blatant. "May I help you, madam?"

The brash woman laughed. She flitted her fan in large, determined strokes. "Shall we have a private word, Your Grace?"

Her words sent prickles over his skin. "I do not think I have reason to share confidences with you, ma'am."

"Oh, perhaps not yet." She brayed. In what was no doubt a well-rehearsed maneuver, she reached back and tugged her equally ungraceful daughter forward. "But we could always discuss the particulars afterwards, don't you think?"

Frederick frowned, confused yet consumed with the foreboding feeling that he was on the precipice of some sort of scandal. He'd tried his best to avoid any sort of misunderstanding since the close brush with Miss Desmond at the picnic. What could he possibly have managed to stumble into now?

"We had always thought, Your Grace, that you were looking for a wife , you see," Mrs. Zachrey continued, her eyes practically gleaming with ambition and avarice.

Frederick swallowed, uncertain whether it was wise or foolish to make a public statement that he was, or at least had been. It had all been bad enough when his goals had been merely implied.

"But if we are discussing other arrangements," Mrs. Zachrey continued, her tone heavy with insinuation, "I dare say my Hyacinth shall be more than adequate. A man must have his curves after all. It is the fashionable thing to have a pretty, doe-eyed debutante for a duchess, understandably—but one hardly wants a hapless, willowy creature in his bed every night."

Frederick recoiled the moment the woman's proposition hit him. Since when had offering one's daughter up as a mistress become polite ballroom conversation? A quick scan of the intrigued faces around them reminded Frederick that it was most distinctly not an appropriate conversation, but one that Mrs. Zachrey seemed intent on pursuing anyway.

"I'm afraid there has been a misunderstanding," Frederick managed to utter through his disgust. "I am not looking for any sort of— companion at the moment."

"Oh, of course, you are nothing if not courteous," Mrs. Zachrey cooed. Her daughter, to Frederick's shock, did not seem at all bothered by her mother's brazen suggestion. Was this what desperation did to young women? It was a disconcerting, and almost nauseating, thought. "We understand that it is not considered good ton to turn from one such alliance to another so quickly, but it is understandable for one such as my Hyacinth."

"I—" The woman was fast rendering Frederick speechless. It was not good ton at all to parade one's daughter as a possible mistress, but Mrs. Zachrey seemed to think timing was the only problem with her offer. "I must reiterate that there must have been some sort of misunderstanding, ma'am. For I have never engaged in such an alliance as you seem to be alluding to, and I have no intention of starting one now."

"Pish posh, you do not need to spare our feelings—or hers. Rose Nottingham is nothing more than an insignificant, penniless spinster. Such courtesy is hardly necessary."

"I beg your pardon!" The name of his one true friend on Mrs. Zachrey's lips sent a shot of dread down Frederick's spine. "I do not think you understand the nature of—there is nothing untoward—Miss Nottingham and I, we?—"

"We all heard her loud and clear, Your Grace." Mrs. Zachrey turned mocking now, as if she suddenly had the upper hand in this outlandish conversation. And perhaps she did. "She can no longer render the services she's promised indeed. Ha! Those Nottingham girls have always been scandalous at their core."

"Rose is nothing of the sort!"

"La, calling her by her Christian name, are we? I fear you cannot hide the true nature of your connection."

"My nieces have gone wild without their father!" An older, more malicious voice cut in. Frederick watched Lady Cordelia Monroe stalk forward, her eyes almost predatory, as the crowd opened for her. The sight had his stomach twisting. No wonder Rose feared her aunt so much! The sneering woman clucked her tongue. "Such a shame about those girls. I used to like them before."

"They are horrid, are they not?" Mrs. Zachrey concurred, as if she had not just been serving up her daughter on a platter mere minutes ago. "Uncouth and self-serving—a shame to their family name."

"Those girls always had a wild streak—underneath all the false prestige of the Shallingsworth name."

"A fall from grace, indeed."

The anger that simmered earlier burst right through Frederick's head and out his mouth. "Miss Rose Nottingham is far more of a lady than any one of your daughters or nieces, and I shall not stand for any slander of her name!"

A hush fell over their entire side of the ballroom. Frederick huffed, accepting the attention for once.

"If I hear another word of insult against the best woman I have ever known," he growled, "then I shall not stop at applying the cut direct to whoever dares utter such a thing."

Whispers bubbled in every direction. Frederick fumed.

"Come now, Your Grace," Lady Cordelia spat, somehow able to make the words designed to honor him sound like an insult, "you cannot truly mean to stake your reputation for my ingrate of a niece. Even you—a man new to the London scene—must know better than that."

"I admit there are many things I do not know," Frederick said, his voice tense with anger, "but the fact that I will not stand for any sort of slander against Rose Nottingham in my presence is one thing that I am absolutely certain of. Anyone who doubts it is welcome to try, but I shall not be swayed."

Then he marched away, buoyed by his indignation, thankful that the crowds parted for him. He had to find Rose—had to explain and to beg for her forgiveness. There was no one else on the face of the earth that he valued half as much. How had he not realized it sooner—just how indispensable to him she was?

He loved her. The realization flooded him with an unnamable warmth. Falling in love in a matter of months was not something he had ever expected to do, and yet the reality of it had managed to enter his life so naturally that he hadn't even had the chance to notice its arrival. He loved Rose, and he could not explain when he'd started to love her any more than he could pinpoint when the sun had begun to shine or when he himself had begun to breathe. He simply did.

More hushed whispers trailed behind him, no doubt wondering what sort of ungodly activity he planned to thrust upon the next unsuspecting lady he encountered, but Frederick had more important things to do.

He searched far and wide, high and low. He searched through the crowds and scoured the corners. But when Frederick didn't manage to find Rose in the ballroom, he at least managed to locate her mother.

"Lady Shallingsworth." Frederick rushed forward at the sight of the lady's ashen face after a good half hour's search. No doubt, the rumors must have reached her already. The usually stately dowager viscountess looked ready to faint at the slightest agitation. Frederick caught her hands in support. "Are you quite well?"

The lady's lower lip trembled. She shook her head slightly. "It is horrid. I—what they say?—"

Frederick frowned. "It is."

"So it is true?" Her eyes rounded in horror. "But Rose would never?—"

"Your daughter is the very paragon of kindness, selflessness, and chastity. Any baseless lies that other jealous women are spouting are just that—lies."

Lady Shallingsworth seemed to wilt in relief. "Of course. Of course. And yet the rumors?—"

Frederick felt her pain through the glove of her fingers. "Right. They are wrong—but many are eager to believe them to be true."

The woman he hoped to one day call mother sniffed. "Oh, Your Grace, perhaps only you can help us now."

"I intend to." Frederick guided her to a nearby seat, the curious crowds parting gently for them. Lady Shallingsworth sank into the cushions. "May I inquire about Miss Nottingham's whereabouts?"

"I assume you mean Rose." The woman's voice trembled. Frederick nodded, trying hard to be patient—and to ignore the blatant scrutiny. "I do not think I have spent much time with her at all tonight."

The half wail, half whimper that escaped the shaking mother did little to aid Frederick's cause. How did one comfort a mother who believed her daughter on the brink of ruination?

"I shall see to her well-being myself," Frederick assured, hoping that the generic term would be enough to avoid further feeding of the rumors. "It is only that I have scoured the ballroom, and I haven't as much as caught a glimpse of her since?—"

He faltered at deciding how to describe the improprieties people had somehow dared to say to his face.

"Oh Rose." Lady Shallingsworth trembled, clutching her fan enough to bend the thing. It had looked worn enough without all the wringing. "Rose—my darling Rose. I always thought her capable of caring for herself."

"Lady Shallingsworth, if you can help me?—"

"I never gave her much thought, you know?" To Frederick's horror, Lady Shallingsworth began to cry. "Heather was my first, and I was desperate to marry her off. Violet was, of course, such a triumph. But then my husband passed, so unexpectedly—and darling Rose took up the reins of the family without a word of complaint. And here I thought she was doing quite well for herself?—"

Frederick struggled to extend his sympathies. He had to admit there was some benefit to the woman's overdue realization that she had long been overlooking her most selfless, attentive daughter. But right when one was in the middle of having to salvage said daughter from potential ruin was hardly the most convenient time for familial epiphanies.

"Lady Shallingsworth," Frederick tried to interrupt as civilly as he could. "May I please know if you happen to know Miss Rose's whereabouts?"

Hushed whispers swelled around them. Frederick frowned, determined to ignore the busybodies. He leaned close, hoping to keep whatever information Lady Shallingsworth had between them alone.

"If I did, I do not know whether you are the person I must tell," replied the viscountess. A subtle strength returned to her gaze. "Much as I fear scandal, the well-being of my daughter?—"

"I have nothing but the purest intentions towards Miss Rose."

"Of friendship, you mean—of dancing together once each ball and leaving it at that?"

So, she had noticed. Frederick swallowed. He was ready to pledge himself if he had to—but he would much rather speak to Rose herself first.

He answered, hoping he sounded as sincere as he felt, "My intentions are of as much as she would allow me to be."

Lady Shallingsworth paused in scrutiny, a far cry from the weeping woman she had been a mere moment ago. Then she nodded. "She claimed to need the retiring room—but I know she prefers the West Terrace."

"Thank you." Frederick bowed, grateful to have a proper response at last. "I promise all shall be well."

It boded well for him that at least Rose's mother seemed to believe him. Now he just had to slip out unnoticed to convince Rose herself.