Chapter 4

“...and how delightful it will be to have such varied company! I can hardly wait to dance with so many new people! How truly grand it shall be!” Georgina’s excited voice filled the coach, her tone thrumming with anticipation. Her brown eyes were wide with delight, her red velvet dress warming the spicy chestnut tones of her hair.

“The duke’s house will be very grand, I expect,” Isabel, more practical, interjected. “Will we be suitably dressed, sister?” Her pretty, soft face was pale, her black hair—identical to their father—making it seem paler still. Rosalyn glanced from her sisters towards Sebastian. He chuckled.

“I assure you, dear sister, that your dresses would be suitable for London. And further north, almost certainly.” He grinned, catching Rosalyn’s eye. “They’re more distant from the centre of fashion up here in the Midlands than we are.”

Rosalyn acknowledged his kind words with a smile. He understood, clearly, how nervous she was.

Both of her sisters were simply too excited about the prospect of three weeks at the duke’s country estate. At eighteen, Georgina was full of life and excitement, newly debuted into society. Isabel, two years younger, had debuted the same year since Papa thought it unfair that the two could not enjoy parties together. Rosalyn agreed. Isabel was very quiet and serious, and having her debut with her lively, spirited elder sister would make it more pleasant for her.

"We’re almost there!” Georgina called out. “Look! I think I can see something.” She gestured through the window, pointing at the top of the hill. Sebastian let out a loud exclamation.

“Oh! Look. I think that it is on the hilltop there. There are some turrets to be seen, there, if you look.”

Rosalyn’s stomach was tied in a queasy knot. She looked out of the window and saw turrets there, just visible above the snow-covered trees.

The duke’s home slowly appeared, and her stomach knotted up even more with apprehension. The place was even more grim and imposing than she had imagined. It was three floors high and made of grey stone and had evidently been added to over the centuries; part of it fairly modern, with a facade based on Roman designs. The section behind it was more like a fortress than a manor, though the architecture came from only a hundred years before. It sported several ornamental turrets, built in a time when turrets were revived as a fashionable feature. Trees clustered about the grim, grey building, their bare branches reaching up against the grey sky. The section behind truly was old. It could have been built in the Dark Ages, to judge from its grim appearance. Small windows, barely more than a few inches across, dotted the thick, ancient stone. Rosalyn shivered and drew her pelisse tighter about her.

It looks so foreboding, she thought with a shudder. A grim, dark sort of a place.

Papa alighted first. Rosalyn took their father’s hand, jumping down. Her ankles jarred on the stone of the drive. She winced, feeling the cold even through the soles of her white outdoor boots.

“Looks quite large,” Sebastian commented, his breath a plume of steam in the icy air.

“Mm.” Rosalyn watched her own breath in the cold air, focusing on that for a second before looking up at the imposing, frightening structure, to calm her nerves.

“Ah. That must be his grace,” Sebastian said, the title said with some irony. Rosalyn had to smile. Sebastian had barely exchanged a word with the duke when he visited, and evidently, he had found him as rude and displeasing as Rosalyn herself had. “And his mother, I suppose,” he added, squinting up at the stairs. “And someone else, too.” His voice softened with those words, and Rosalyn gazed up, studying the three on the steps. Her palms were suddenly wet with nervous perspiration, her heart thudding.

The duke stood there, his tall, imposing form drawing her eye immediately. He was wearing a black tailcoat and a matching top-hat, and she could not see the expression on his face—they were still too far away—but his posture was stiff and unbending, radiating cold displeasure. She shivered.

Beside him stood a woman with elegantly styled white hair partly covered with a grey turban headdress—quite the fashion for older married ladies and widows alike. She wore a dark grey dress and her expression, as Rosalyn walked nearer, seemed even colder than the duke’s. Her steel-blue eyes barely even focused on the group as they approached the foot of the stairs. Sebastian halted where he stood beside Rosalyn and she frowned, then saw that his eyes were focusing on the third person on the steps. She followed his gaze and spotted a slim young woman with the same longer face as the duke’s, her pale blonde hair bright against the dark stone behind. She wore a dark grey pelisse, a white gown just visible below. Her eyes were soft blue, and her expression was shy and hesitant when she studied Sebastian. Rosalyn smiled.

While she had never experienced real attraction before, the spark of something she instantly recognised seemed to pass from Sebastian to the young woman. Her grin widened as their group moved forward, and the young woman instinctively stepped closer to her brother, the duke. She went hesitantly up the stairs with her family to the large terrace. She was glad of Sebastian’s protective presence beside her, shielding her from the dowager duchess’ steely blue gaze.

“Your Grace! Good afternoon,” Papa greeted the duke formally. He bowed. “Good afternoon, Your Grace,” he added, turning to the duchess. “My lady,” he addressed the young woman, bowing to her. “I believe we have not had the honour of an introduction.”

“Good afternoon, my lord,” the duke greeted Papa. He nodded to Sebastian. “Mr Rothwell, Miss Rothwell.” He acknowledged Rosalyn with a mere tilt of the head. His eyes met hers for a moment and she looked away, her stomach twisting with some emotion she could not place. Her heart was racing.

The duke turned to her father. “I have not had the honour of meeting your other daughters,” he added. “So, I regrettably cannot greet them by name. May I have the honour of introducing you to my mother, the dowager Duchess of Stallenwood, and to my sister, Lady Harriet?” he gestured to the two women beside him. “I suggest we all come in from the cold,” he added, stepping back so that Rosalyn and her family could proceed into the manor.

Rosalyn walked stiffly, conscious of the gaze of the duke and his mother as she passed by them. Their eyes were cold, assessing. Her heart twisted, her stomach tying itself in knots.

“This is pleasant,” Papa commented, either ignoring the frosty unwelcoming gaze of the duke and his mother, or oblivious to it. “Now, I can make the proper introductions. Your Grace, may I have the honour of introducing my younger daughters? This is Miss Georgina Rothwell, my second-eldest daughter, and Miss Isabel Rothwell, my youngest.”

“Good afternoon,” the duke said coldly. His gaze slid past the two sisters and Rosalyn turned to them to apologise for his rudeness, but they were both looking around, barely aware of him, and she had to smile. They had both curtseyed politely, but the duke could have been eight feet tall and cast in bronze and they would not even have noticed. His home was clearly much more interesting than he was. Georgina was gazing round-eyed up at the high ceiling, while Isabel was studying the columns by the door in a way that made Rosalyn know she was assessing the age of the place.

“The ball will commence at eight of the clock,” the dowager duchess said, the first time she had spoken since they all arrived. “I presume you would wish to settle into your chambers and perhaps take some tea before readying for the ball?”

Her words sounded polite, but there was a forceful coldness behind them, and the message was clear. Go up to your rooms, she was saying. Our other guests will be arriving, and I am otherwise occupied.

Her gaze met the duchess’ for a second, but the older woman barely acknowledged her; her own gaze sliding away in a way that suggested she had no interest in knowing her.

Rosalyn swallowed hard, the dismissal of that glance burning. She looked over to her father and brother, in dire need of their support. Sebastian caught her gaze and smiled. She drew in a breath, the warmth exactly what she needed. He inclined his head to the stairs, indicating that she should go first. Georgina and Isabel joined her, and they all proceeded up the stairs together.

“How grand,” Georgina whispered as they moved along the hallway. The butler had joined them at the foot of the stairs, and he led them along an upstairs corridor and to the right, their footsteps loud on the stone floor. “I half thought that it would be a fortress inside, but it is rather fine.” Her tone was admiring as her dark eyes moved over the long hallway.

“It is very old,” Isabel pointed out quietly as they moved towards a wooden door. “The columns on the inside of the door could be as old as the fifteenth century.”

“That old?” Rosalyn blinked, her throat tightening with nerves. The duke and dowager duchess were frightening enough without the notion that their family had ruled the area for four hundred years.

“I think so,” Isabel replied and went on to describe what made her decide that the columns were from four hundred years before. Rosalyn would usually have been interested, but she was barely listening, every sense aware of the duke. He was in the hallway—she could hear his voice echoing in the corridor. She strained to hear what he was saying. He was talking to Sebastian.

“...and you and your family will occupy the West Suite. If you would like, we could visit the stables tomorrow. I am currently involved with preparations, and I am certain you would wish to rest awhile.” His voice was cool, detached. It had a middle-range pitch, cold and wintry and more accustomed to giving orders than to dinnertime conversation. Rosalyn shivered. She had never met such a cold, pitiless individual.

“Thank you. I would find that most agreeable.” Sebastian’s answer was tight and clipped. Rosalyn smiled, cheered by the fact that her brother clearly disliked the duke, possibly even more than she did.

“Ah! Daughters. Shall we go in?” Papa walked briskly over to join them. “Georgina and Isabel? I understand that you will be sharing the lilac room next door. Sebastian, Rosalyn and I will be sharing the West Suite. I trust that is agreeable to you?” He smiled a little uncertainly at the two younger women, but Georgina let out a small squeak of delight.

“Yes, Papa! That is perfect. But we shall see you often, will we not, Rosy?” she asked Rosalyn with a frown.

“All the time,” Rosalyn assured them. She felt a little sorrowful—she would have liked to share a room with her sisters, but at the same time, having a bedroom to herself would be welcome. Her mood was so heavy, and it felt good to have a space to allow her sorrow to show. She was doing her best to conceal it from her sisters, so as not to spoil their Christmas.

“Hurray!” Georgina declared loudly. She saw the duke frown and covered her mouth hastily with her hand. “Come on. Let’s go in. Will our luggage be brought up, Papa?” she asked their father. “I need to hang my ballgown up so that it does not crease.”

“I am sure that it will be brought up any moment,” their father assured them. Rosalyn glanced at the duke, who nodded frostily at Papa in reply to his assurance. “Thank you, Your Grace,” Papa added to the duke. “We will go in and make ready to join you for tea.”

Rosalyn could not help but be pleased by the way the duke’s eyes narrowed a little in offence, as though he had not expected to be so politely but obviously dismissed. She was smiling as she went ahead of Sebastian and Papa into the suite.

“Not bad,” Sebastian replied, looking around the space. They were standing in a small parlour, from which exited three doors.

“I will take that room,” Rosalyn suggested, indicating the door on the left. It was closest to her sisters’ room, and was, she guessed, not too warm either, since it appeared to face east. It would receive morning sun, but none in the afternoon. She worried for Papa’s fingers—his joints ached in cold weather, swollen and knotted from years of riding. He would be better suited to a warmer room.

Papa objected, then shrugged, seeing her resolute face.

Rosalyn chuckled, then went into her room and shut the door. She let out a long sigh. The relief of being alone for a moment after a week of almost non-stop coach travel was overwhelming. She sat down on the bed and shut her eyes, head sinking back into the sumptuous pillows. The room was smaller than the one she had at home, but much more richly decorated, the walls covered in flocked-silk wallpaper with a pattern of roses, the bedlinen dark green and satiny. A French window looked out onto the grounds below. She stood and gazed out. The landscape was wintry, the ground black and bare between the leafless trees. She shivered.

“It is as cold as they are,” she said aloud. The duke and his mother were a frightening prospect—both icy, both seeming unyielding and pitiless.

A knock at the door startled her.

“Sister?” Georgina called; her voice soft because of the thick wood of the door. “It’s us! Can you let us in?” She sounded breathless and excited.

“Of course,” Rosalyn said, feeling her weariness lift a little. She went to the door and her sisters burst in, all giggles and laughter, dispelling the weariness at once.

“You must see our chamber! It’s beautiful! Lilac silk bedclothes and flocked silk wallpaper and a lovely mantelpiece,” Georgina said excitedly.

“You have a lovely chamber, too,” Isabel commented gently. She looked around, her big dark eyes taking it all in.

“The duke! He is...he is handsome, is he not?” Georgina asked shyly.

“He seemed quiet,” Isabel commented.

Rosalyn let out a sigh. Her sisters were evidently as unsure of him as she was, but she was touched by their efforts not to comment anything negative. She paused, not sure how to tell her sisters that she was tired and all she wished was to rest until the ball. She was saved from reply by a knock on the outer door.

“My lady? Your luggage is here,” a woman’s voice called through the wood.

“Please, bring it in,” Rosalyn replied, going to open the door.

“Oh! What if ours comes too?” Georgina declared breathlessly. “We must go to our chamber! I need to hang up my dress so that the creases smooth out.”

“Of course,” Rosalyn said, relieved.

“We will see you later,” Isabel told Rosalyn as they went to the door.

“Yes! We’re going to come to your room to dress!” Georgina called out cheerily. “Just like at home! This is so exciting...”

Rosalyn had to smile as the two younger women hurried out of her room. Once they had gone, the footmen brought in the big box containing her luggage. When they, too, had departed, Rosalyn went to the box and opened it. On the top, packed so that she could access it on the first day of her arrival, was her blue evening gown. She took it out and hung it on the wardrobe door. The velvet skirts had creased slightly, Georgina was right, but in a few hours, she was sure it would be ready. She gazed at it, a slight tremor of apprehension in her stomach.

“I shall think nothing of it,” she told herself calmly. Inside, she was aflutter with a mix of emotions, but she had to tell herself that she was indifferent to it all. She had to be indifferent to the guests, to the duchess and especially the duke. She was not indifferent, not at all—she was angry, offended and aware of him, acutely so. But indifference was the only way she was going to be able to attend the ball and remain sane. So, indifferent she would be. At least for the next few hours.