18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

While their plan to bring the Judge down a peg had been proceeding well, there was one more aspect of the process to extricate Lady Evelyn that required a delicate touch: how to safely spirit her away from London, outside of the Judge's influence. Rosalind and her sisters had come up with a convincing ruse, and they all had parts to play. They were all gathered about the breakfast table, waiting for the footman to deliver the morning's post. Rosalind kept her eyes on her plate, focusing her attention on cutting up the glazed ham before her.

When the footman presented Lord Harrington with the small tray bearing an assortment of letters, Rosalind felt her stomach do a little flip. She cast a glance across the table to Amelia, who likewise froze. Careful not to stare openly, Rosalind watched from the corner of her eye as her father frowned at a letter written in a shaky hand.

"This one is for you, Rosalind," he said, passing the letter to her. "Though I'll be dashed if I can make out who it's from."

"Oh?" Rosalind said, trying to sound surprised. Without waiting, Rosalind lifted the seal and passed her eyes over the words without really seeing them–she already knew what the letter contained; she had helped Isabella write it. "Oh dear," she said, putting her fingers to her mouth.

"Bad news?" Lord Harrington asked, turning his attention back to his newspaper.

"It's Aunt Beatrice," Rosalind sighed unhappily. "It seems she is anxious for company. You know how lonely she gets these days. She's sending her maid to travel with me."

"Poor Aunt Beatrice," Amelia added, affecting a sympathetic face, "all alone in that huge house in Yorkshire."

Lord Harrington's eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of suspicion passing over his features. "Aunt Beatrice?" he asked.

Rosalind swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. "Father, don't tell me you've forgotten your Aunt Beatrice!" she said with mocking chagrin. "But I don't know if I should go–it's the middle of the season, and there's the Duke's courtship to consider..." She trailed off and sighed again, as if torn between two equal pillars of duty.

"You shouldn't neglect your aunt," he said, looking at her over his newspaper. "She might be inclined to be kind, after all, to one of you when she dies. You or your sisters might need it."

"Very well," Rosalind said with another heavy sigh. "If you really think it's necessary, then of course I will go, Father."

Lord Harrington considered her words for a moment, his gaze searching her face for any hint of deception. Rosalind held her breath, silently praying that he would not see through her carefully crafted facade. At last, he sighed, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he lifted his newspaper again. "Just don't let her keep you too long; there are matters here that require your attention. Besides, an absence might make the Duke all the more eager."

Rosalind curtsied, relief flooding through her veins. "Of course, Father, exactly as you say. I shall be gone only long enough for the Duke to miss me." Beside her, Isabella made a choking sound, as if she had attempted to swallow a laugh and her tea at the same time. Rosalind patted her on the back, all solicitous concern.

With a final nod of acquiescence, Lord Harrington stood and strode from the room, leaving Rosalind alone with her sisters. When the door had swung shut behind him, Rosalind turned a fox-like grin on her sisters. As one, they all burst into relieved, anxious laughter.

"I can't believe that worked," Amelia breathed.

"I can't believe he thinks we have a great Aunt Beatrice," Rosalind said. She gave Isabella a playful nudge with her elbow. "Lucky for us we have a master forger in our midst."

Isabella gave a nervous little laugh. "I had no idea I could make such a convincing spinster."

They all laughed again, sharing this moment of camaraderie. After breakfast, they retired to Rosalind's quarters and helped her to pack her travelling trunk. It was a testament to the trust that her sisters had in her, in their belief in their plan, that not once did they remonstrate with her about the consequences of her getting caught. They had complete faith in her, and belief that what they were doing was right.

After luncheon, a plain carriage pulled up to the house. With a final embrace, Rosalind gathered her things and slipped from the house, her heart pounding in her chest as she set out on her clandestine mission. Rosalind and her trunk were loaded within, where a sullen maid waited. They did not speak to each other beyond a simple nod of greeting. She didn't know how much the maid had been paid off, but her payment apparently did not include conversation.

Rosalind was glad of this, however, for as the carriage rattled along the cobblestone streets, Rosalind's thoughts were a whirlwind of anticipation and trepidation. The Duke had hired a trustworthy driver to escort her to his manor, with strict instructions to maintain the illusion that she was visiting her Aunt Beatrice, should anyone from her household inquire. The subterfuge was necessary, but it weighed heavily on Rosalind's conscience.

Upon arriving at the Duke's manor, Rosalind was ushered inside. Though she had been there before, the grandeur of the estate was still breathtaking. Alex greeted her with a warm smile, his eyes alight with determination and a hint of something deeper, something that made Rosalind's heart flutter in her chest.

A footman showed her to her rooms for the night, which were very pointedly on the far, far opposite side of the house from the Duke's. Momentary disappointment flickered through Rosalind, but she quickly tamped that down–she hadn't the time to linger on what that meant just now.

It was very nearly time for supper by the time that Lady Evelyn arrived. She had only a small valise with her and a jewel case, which she clutched tightly to her chest. She had been strictly instructed to bring only that which was necessary so as not to arouse the Judge's suspicions.

"Were you seen leaving?" Rosalind asked as Lady Evelyn slipped from a dark blue wool cloak.

Lady Evelyn shook her head. "No–he is out gadding about town, and likely won't be back before noon tomorrow." Her lip curled a little in disgust, her nostrils going pinched. "We should be able to put some distance between us before he notices that I'm gone."

Rosalind nodded. At that moment, Richard stepped out of the doorway to a darkened parlour. Lady Evelyn's breath caught audibly as she caught sight of him. He said nothing, simply staring at Evelyn with a mix of longing, resignation, and a sad sort of happiness. It hadn't occurred to Rosalind that this evening wasn't just about procuring Evelyn's freedom; it was also the last time that she and Richard would be able to see one another.

"Hello, Richard," Evelyn said, her eyes shining.

It took him a minute to respond, his throat working visibly behind his beautifully knotted cravat. "Good evening, Evelyn."

The Duke stepped forward, clearing his throat a little into the heavy silence of the entry hall. "Richard, if you would like to show Evelyn into the dining room?" he said.

Richard, still under love's spell, shifted his eyes slowly to Alex, then nodded gravely. He offered Evelyn his elbow, which she took after depositing her jewel case with a maid. She stared up at him openly, adoringly, and it made Rosalind's heart sigh just to see. She started to follow after them, but the Duke caught her gently by the arm.

"It seems only right that we give them the evening to make their farewells," he said with a one-sided smile. "I hope that you do not mind dining in the parlour with me. I could always have them send a tray up to your room..." he said, his voice trailing off a little hopefully, as if he couldn't wait to be contradicted.

Rosalind couldn't help but smile, and she laid a hand on his. "I would be happy to dine with you in any room," she said lightly. "I appreciate your concern for my reputation, but being found out as having dined alone with you in the parlour is not high on my list of worries at the moment."

Alex grinned, and Rosalind caught a glimpse of how he must have looked as a younger man, free of care and worries. "I've asked Richard to join us when they are done, so that we might go over any final preparations."

They made their way into the candlelit parlour, and when the dishes were unveiled, Rosalind realised just how famished she was. She'd had very little appetite for nerves, but now that things were in motion, her appetite had caught up with her. It also wasn't helped by the fact that the Duke kept a fantastic cook, who had clearly pulled out all the stops. There was glazed fowl with orange slices pinned to it, roast beef with aspic, asparagus baked standing in a decorated crust, potatoes in a fragrant cream sauce, and three different puddings to choose from, plus an assortment of fresh hothouse fruit. There was also a small table in the centre of the room, which had been laid with a white tablecloth.

It was a strange experience at first, dining alone with a man, but Rosalind found that she quite liked it. It gave her the chance to study him, to let conversation flow naturally without worrying over who might be listening. They compared eating habits, gently teasing each other: Alex tended to favour the roast beef, to the exclusion of much else; Rosalind had a terrible sweet tooth, which Alex wasted no time in fondly ribbing her about, given her lecture to him on the morality of sugar the first day they met.

When they had finished, a bevy of servants appeared to clear away the remains of their dinner. They sat together in companionable silence, the fire crackling gently in the hearth. Rosalind, reclining a little on the silver and green striped settee, glanced at the clock above the mantle. It was fast approaching midnight, and there had been no sign of Richard or Evelyn yet.

"I wonder what's keeping them?" she mused aloud.

"You can't rush love," Alex said with a shrug, but then seemed to abruptly notice what he had said. He stared at Rosalind, his eyes boldly studying her face and form. She felt her cheeks grow warm, but smiled coyly at him.

The night wore on, and their conversation waned with the hours. Rosalind shivered a little, rubbing her arms, and scooted closer to the fire.

"I'm sorry, this room has always had a terrible draught at night," he said apologetically. "I should have chosen a different one. Let me ring for a servant to fetch you a shawl," he said, reaching for the bell.

Rosalind waved him off, stifling a yawn behind the back of her hand. "Don't bother them, not this late. I'll just sit closer to the fire."

Alex, clearly having noticed the yawn, gently said, "You can retire–it would be best if you were well-rested tomorrow."

Rosalind shook her head stubbornly. "No, we needed to speak with Evelyn to ensure that everything was prepared for tomorrow."

He stared down at her, shifting from one foot to the other for a moment. "At least let me sit next to you, that I might block some of this awful draught from one side."

With a nod and another muffled yawn, Rosalind waved him over. "You might go over our route with me, so that I might know which way we are going," she said as he settled onto the settee beside her.

The Duke acquiesced, spreading a small map on the low table before them. With one finger, he traced their route, north out of London, then onto the toll road. Rosalind's eyelids grew heavy, the strain of the day taking its toll. She fought against the exhaustion, determined to press on, but her body betrayed her. Slowly, her head dipped, coming to rest on Alex's shoulder, the warmth of his presence lulling her into a peaceful slumber.

As the first light of dawn began to creep through the windows, Alex gently roused Rosalind from her slumber. She stirred, her eyes fluttering open, a soft smile gracing her lips as she met his gaze. The house was silent, and Rosalind could not remember a time when she had felt more content and secure.

With sleep-kissed eyes, she gazed up at him, not bothering to hide her adoration, her gratitude for his generous nature. He stared right back at her, and he deftly slid an arm about her waist, pulling her flush against him. Her breath stuttered as he reached up with one thumb and touched her cheek, sliding it down to her chin and cradling it between his warm fingers.

Rosalind's heart raced as Alex drew her closer, their foreheads touching, their breaths mingling in the scant space between them. The air crackled with tension, the weight of unspoken feelings hanging in the balance, and then, in a moment of pure, unadulterated bliss, their lips met.

The kiss was gentle at first, a tentative exploration of newfound emotions, and Rosalind appreciated that he understood that she was a novice at this sort of thing. She quickly found herself hungering for more, for him, so as the seconds ticked by, it deepened, becoming a searing, passionate embrace that left them both breathless and trembling.

When they finally parted, Rosalind's cheeks were flushed, her eyes shining with a mixture of wonder and desire. Alex, too, looked slightly dazed, as though he could scarcely believe the turn of events. She wanted nothing more than for time to stop, for the morning to be delayed so that she might stay there in that parlour and linger in the blazing sweetness between them. There was no stopping the relentless progress of the hours, however, and already, the sounds of the first servants stirring were echoing through the house.

Reluctantly, Rosalind pulled away, standing on legs that were shockingly wobbly. Alex saw this and grinned at her. Rosalind took that grin with her as she attempted to sneak her way to her room with whatever dignity she could intact. She knew that she would be sorely missing a good night's sleep in a few hours, especially with the promise of a long journey. She couldn't bring herself, though, to admit that it had been a bad trade–it hadn't been a bad trade at all, by her estimation.