Chapter Fourteen

After a few minutes turned into fifteen, and fifteen into thirty (but who was counting, really?), Rosemary reluctantly pulled herself free of Sterling's embrace and they said their farewells.

"When will we see each other again?" she asked, the wind whipping through her hair as she stepped out onto the front walkway, a wide strip made of limestone framed with rosebushes.

Sterling remained in the door, his tall frame and broad shoulders almost completely obscuring the foyer where he'd made her…what was the word?

Oh.

Her cheeks warmed.

She remembered now.

Even thinking it made her blush and she had no earthly idea how she wasn't going to be reduced to a puddle of red on the floor when her grandmother inevitably asked her how she'd found the department store.

"Fancy a ride through Hyde Park at the end of the week before the Royal Gala?" Sterling asked, referring to a private, prestigious event to be held at Marlborough House, the London residence of Prince Albert and his wife, Princess Alexandra of Denmark.

Held biannually, once in autumn and again at the end of spring right before the ton fled the city for their country houses, it was a charity auction disguised as a formal ball. Over the years, it had benefited hospitals, orphanages, and the like. In an attempt to repair his public reputation, which had suffered due to a number of not-very-discreet affairs, Prince Albert was hosting this particular gala to raise funds and pique interest in what he'd already deemed the Royal College of Music, an educational enterprise designed to award scholarships and promote talented musicians and composers no matter their title or how much money they possessed.

Invitations were not given but instead purchased, and the price was steep. Rosemary had never attended a Royal Gala before, and she hadn't planned to begin with this one. But when she said as much to Sterling, he merely shook his head.

"If I have to go then so do you," he said, as if that settled the matter. "You can expect two invitations to be delivered by end of day tomorrow."

Rosemary double-blinked. It was going to take some time, she decided, to grow accustomed to the idea that from this day forward nearly any door she wished to step through would be open to her courtesy of her husband's wealth and influence.

"Thank you," she replied, for what else was there to say? Her life was changing rapidly, in more ways than one. Her only hope was that it was all for the better…although given the recent onslaught of unwanted attention thrown her direction, she suspected that those changes, whatever they ended up being, were going to take a lot of getting used to.

"And the ride in Hyde Park?" He propped his shoulder against the doorframe; casual elegance with a touch of disreputable rake. "I'll have my driver ready the landau and you can bring your grandmother if she is agreeable."

"My grandmother," Rosemary said doubtfully.

"I have asked her granddaughter to marry me. Seems only fitting I properly introduce myself."

"But didn't you meet her at the house party?" she said, confused.

"A few words, most of which I don't remember."

"Because of…" She mimed tipping a bottle back.

"Being drunk most of the time. Yes, I'm sure that had something to do with it."

"My grandmother can be rather…difficult. Maybe your first meeting as my betrothed should be in a more traditional setting like a parlor or a drawing room." Where you can run away more easily , she added silently.

"Not to worry," Sterling said with every confidence. "Women of all ages adore me. The elderly ones especially. I'll have her eating out of the palm of my hand before we've made the first loop."

Lady Ellinwood did not adore him.

But I'm a duke , Sterling felt like saying, for what was the point of the bloody title if he couldn't use it to get him what he wanted when he wanted it? And at the moment, what he desired most of all was an eighty-two-year-old woman's approval.

Approval that was, thus far, less than forthcoming.

Rosemary had tried to warn him, he acknowledged.

Difficult, she'd said.

Her grandmother could be "difficult".

A horse that didn't want to accept the bit was difficult.

A friend who didn't want to leave the pub after one too many pints was difficult.

Lady Ellinwood wasn't difficult.

She was a damned ice-breathing dragon disguised as an old woman whose thin lips hadn't budged from their line of disapproval since he'd introduced himself. Several inches shorter than her granddaughter, her diminutive size made her no less intimidating. She was a brittle, dried willow branch that was just as likely to strike you across the face as it was to break in half. Another lifetime and she would have made a fine Spanish inquisitor.

"Tell me, Your Grace," Lady Ellinwood began in her dry, crackling voice as their carriage passed beneath a row of English oaks whose leaves were beginning to carry a tint of orange as the seasons blurred together. "Do you consider yourself a religious man?"

"Ah…" He looked to Rosemary for assistance. Sitting beside her grandmother, she was as pretty as a spring daffodil in a yellow dress and matching bonnet. By contrast, Lady Ellinwood wore a dark burgundy gown and lace mob cap devoid of ruffles. Seeing them side by side, his cheerful, eternally optimistic fiancée and her glowering grandmother, he was struck by the strength Rosemary must have had to grow and thrive in spite of the dragon-shaped shadow constantly looming over her.

It reminded him of a flower he'd seen once on one of his nights coming home from the pub. Make that early morning, as the sky had been streaked through with shards of red and pink as the sun gradually rose from above the Thames. Weaving a staggering path along the middle of an empty street, he had stopped in his tracks when he came upon a single white daisy.

Daisies weren't an unusual sight in and of themselves. The meadows surrounding Hanover Park were so overwhelmed by the common flower that the farmers considered it a weed. But here, in the midst of crowded shops and townhouses stacked on top of each other and hard-packed dirt and cobblestone as far as the eye could see, any type of plant growing outside of a garden was a rarity.

To this day, Sterling didn't know why he'd bothered to stop at all, let alone crouch down in front of the daisy for a closer look. He was probably still drunk, and not in his sensible mind. But as he'd stared at the delicate white flower courageously sprouting out of a crack in the street where no flower ought to have been able to grow, he just remembered being filled with a sense of awe.

He'd been tempted to pick the flower and bring it to Eloise. But in the end, he had left it alone and bought her a necklace instead. Undoubtedly, the daisy would soon be crushed beneath a boot or a carriage wheel. It was only a matter of time. But he hadn't wanted to be the one responsible for extinguishing a piece of beauty from the world. A piece of beauty that, by all laws of man and nature, never should have existed in the first place.

How fortunate, then, that no one had told the daisy that.

"Your Grace?" Lady Ellinwood pressed, drawing him into the present and reminding him that he'd yet to respond to her question.

"Ah, yes," he said after Rosemary gave a tiny, barely perceptible nod. "Yes, I am religious. Very religious. Practically pious, really."

A bald-faced lie, as he'd barely stepped foot in a church since Sebastian's funeral. But his answer appeared to satisfy Lady Ellinwood, for her perpetual scowl softened ever-so-slightly.

"That is reassuring to hear," she said. "These days, too many young people are turning away from the church. I shall look forward to having you attend Sunday service with us at St. George's in Hanover Square. That is where you will be married, I presume, given that is where Rosemary's parents were wed."

Again, Sterling glanced at Rosemary, who shrugged.

"Indeed," he said. "Naturally, that's what we are planning to do. To clarify, are you looking forward to having me attend just this Sunday's service, or every Sunday thereafter?"

Lady Ellinwood's watery blue eyes bored into his. "As I am sure you are aware, that depends entirely on you, Your Grace, and how many sins you have committed during the course of your weekly endeavors that will require penance and forgiveness."

He smiled weakly. "Every Sunday, then."

Rosemary snorted.

"Sorry," she said when her grandmother pointed that searing gaze in her direction. "Must have swallowed an insect."

The corners of Lady Ellinwood's mouth pinched. "We have not yet discussed the matter of my granddaughter's dowry and inheritance. When she was born, my son had the foresight to set aside a reasonable sum for her future husband. A sum which grew considerably upon his death to include monies, gilts, and property, all of which have been held under my stewardship. Upon marriage to a husband that I, as her guardian, deem fit, they shall be released to him in their entirety. Excluding the house in Mayfair where I currently reside and a reasonable monthly allowance to be fairly determined."

The carriage rocked as it struck a bump in the wide gravel pathway that offered a scenic, circular ride around the interior of Hyde Park, but Lady Ellinwood did not weave or wobble or grab for the leather armrest Sterling had a footman install specifically for the benefit of his fiancée's frail, hollow-boned eighty-two-year-old grandmother.

He doubted an explosion of dynamite would bend that iron spine of hers.

"Please do not concern yourself with Miss Stanhope's dowry," he said gallantly. "I've no need of it, and I can assure you that she will not want for anything as my wife. You may do with the monies and properties and gilts as you please. Take a long holiday, or make a large donation to charity. I'd not take something that was not necessary simply for the sake of tradition. Or if there is a property that Miss Stanhope is preferential to, I'd not deny her of it. But it would be hers, not mine. Truly, a dowry is not necessary."

Lady Ellinwood's forehead turned into a map of lines and wrinkles as she arched a gray eyebrow. "Who is to say I have deemed you fit to even receive my granddaughter's dowry, Your Grace? Might I note that for a pious man, you are certainly presumptuous."

"Grandmother," Rosemary admonished lightly as Sterling gave considerable thought to launching himself over the side of the landau.

If he jumped now, he would land in a pond. And although he'd never been a strong swimmer, drowning was surely preferable to a slow, agonizing death by dowager.

"What?" Lady Ellinwood demanded. "Am I not to speak my mind because His Grace is of higher rank? You are my granddaughter. My last remaining blood relation and heiress to our family name and fortune. Surely that precedes any formality in regards to title."

"I thought you were pleased that the Duke of Hanover and I are engaged to be married." A flicker of amused exasperation passed over Rosemary's face. "You've certainly hosted enough celebratory luncheons and you've accepted our invitations to the Royal Gala this evening. Invitations, as it so happens, that did not appear out of thin air."

"I am pleased," Lady Ellinwood scowled and, this time, it was Sterling who swallowed an insect.

Bloody hell.

If this was pleased then he never wanted to see her unhappy.

One glare and he'd probably turn to stone on the spot.

"Are you?" Rosemary asked with unmistakable skepticism.

Their heavy carriage, pulled by a fancy pair of matching bays in gleaming black harness, veered slightly to the left when a curricle whizzed past. The couple squished together on the narrow bench seat gaped openly at the passengers in the landau and immediately began to whisper excitedly before the two vehicles had even cleared each other.

Accustomed to the attention that his presence garnered, Sterling automatically raised his hand in acknowledgment. When he refocused his attention on his fiancée, he found her staring at him with a bemused expression on her face.

"What?" he said, wondering if he'd accidentally committed some slight that would give Lady Ellinwood cause to despise him even more than she already did for reasons not yet unveiled.

"Has it always been like that?" Rosemary asked.

"Like what?"

"People looking at you as if you were the Prince of Wales or the white tiger at the Zoological Society in Regent's Park?"

"How do you know they weren't looking at you? " he countered.

"Because no one looks at me."

"They will when you are a duchess."

If not for the presence of Lady Ellinwood, he wouldn't have hesitated to draw Rosemary onto his lap and kiss away the shy, self-deprecating smile that had taken hold of that delightfully plump mouth.

To his surprise, he'd missed her terribly during the last four days they'd been apart.

He never had.

Missed anyone, that is.

At least not anyone living.

If he hadn't needed the additional time to purge his body of its remaining withdrawal symptoms (even now, his hands occasionally shook and a headache came like clockwork every night at half-past six when he would have reached for a bottle), he'd have been standing on her doorstep. Not for any particular reason other than he wanted to be near her. Which was, admittedly, an unexpected side effect of their engagement. This restless, almost feral need to have her. To hold her. To hear the soft catch in her voice when he kissed that little groove between the base of her neck and her shoulder.

But it wasn't just unsated passion that drew him to her.

Plainly put, he enjoyed her company.

Sterling had traveled across Europe. Attended some of the most debaucherously sinful parties known to man. He'd sipped champagne in a hot air balloon and cheered on the great Anatis to victory in the Queen's Box at the Grand National. He'd visited castles. Dined with royalty. Spent a very memorable evening attending a private viewing of the Spanish Belly Dancing Troupe. Yet for all of his exploits and all his adventures, he had never been happier, or more content, than when he was with Rosemary.

To date, they'd had some of the most interesting and obscure conversations of his lifetime. She made him think. More than that, she made him pay attention. He couldn't play the fool when he was with her. The affable, amiable duke who didn't care about anything or anyone. Who was quick with a joke, but whose smile never quite reached his eyes.

No one seemed to notice that.

Not Kincaid or Weston or Sarah.

But Rosemary did.

She possessed an instinctive sense for when he was pretending. For when he was saying all the right words and going through all the right motions, but he wasn't there. Not really. She forced him to be present in the moment. To absorb and acknowledge not only the emotions of those around him, but his own innermost thoughts and feelings.

He couldn't hide when he was with Rosemary.

Not from her…and not from himself, either.

But he damned well wished he could hide from Lady Ellinwood.

"My granddaughter raises a valid point, Your Grace." Lady Ellinwood ran her fingers along the top of her cane. Made of whalebone, the handle was worn smooth from years of daily use. "I have raised Rosemary since she was a young girl, and am more aware than most of her shortcomings. The most significant being her inability to ingratiate herself into High Society despite my best efforts to set her up for success."

"What are you saying, Lady Ellinwood?" he asked in a tone pitched dangerously low. By all outward appearances, he was calm and relaxed. His legs crossed at the knee, his spine casually slouched to follow the curvature of the seat, his arms draped out to the side. But on the inside, he was a coiled wolf, ready to launch itself at whoever dared speak ill of his fiancée. Regardless of whether they were an eighty-two-year-old grandmother or not.

He'd tolerated the slights that Lady Ellinwood had directed at him. Mostly because he deserved far worse. But he wasn't about to sit idly by while she used that vicious viper's tongue on the woman that he loved.

The woman that he loved.

Did he love Rosemary?

In a word, yes.

He did.

"I am merely raising attention to what others are already discussing behind closed doors." Lady Ellinwood lifted her chin and, although she was at least a foot and a half shorter, still somehow managed to stare down her nose at him. "Given your wealth and title, you had the pick of any eligible lady in this country and all those surrounding it. My granddaughter is fair to look upon, I'll grant her that. Fairer yet if she'd stop helping herself to a second plate at dinner."

Rosemary blushed.

A low, rumbling growl rose from the depths of Sterling's throat.

Lady Ellinwood didn't seem to notice.

Or if she did, she failed to care.

"But Rosemary hardly has the qualities of a duchess," the elderly woman continued. "Which begs the question, Your Grace, why you have chosen her to be yours. What do you see in my granddaughter that others do not?"

"What do I see?" His furious gaze shot to Rosemary, who was staring intently at her lap. Not giving a tinker's cuss what Lady Ellinwood thought, he reached across the carriage and covered her hand with his.

Startled, she glanced up and their eyes met; fierce, stormy slate diving into hurt, misty blue.

"I see a woman who is well read and highly intelligent," he began. "I see a woman who is kind to everyone, regardless of whether they are a prince or a pauper, a lady's maid or a lady. I see a woman who is loving to all creatures great and small. A woman who has known loss, but hasn't let it harden her. Who has been ignored and overlooked, but hasn't let it dull her spirit or her optimism." He drew a breath. "But most of all, I see a woman who was brave enough to extend a branch to a man that was drowning. And who was strong enough to pull him to shore."

His gaze cut to Lady Ellinwood. Bolts of lightning flashed in his eyes. " That's what I see. Have you any other inane questions, or can we conclude this farce? Your granddaughter and I will be married, with or without your approval. I am not going to beg for it, and neither is she. So you can come to the wedding with a bloody smile on your face or you cannot come at all. It doesn't make a damned bit of difference to me."

"I've no further questions." Instead of being embarrassed, or at the very least chastised, Rosemary's grandmother almost appeared… pleased . As if Sterling had said precisely what she'd wanted to hear. "Thank you, Your Grace."

"For what?" he bit out.

"For seeing all of the unique qualities in my granddaughter that I do. Rosemary would not fare well in a marriage where she was expected to put aside her eccentricities and behave in a manner befitting of a traditional duchess. I am pleased to know that with you, she won't have to. You've brought me a great deal of comfort. For that, I thank you."

Rosemary's jaw dropped.

Of a similarly flummoxed state, the best response from Sterling was a hesitant, "You're…welcome?"

Lady Ellinwood delivered a brisk nod. "Now that that matter is settled, please direct your driver to return us home with all haste." Her cheeks drew inwards as she pursed her thin lips. "We've much to prepare for before the Royal Gala. And do advise your driver to take more care with the corners. His handling of a carriage of this size is really quite atrocious. My husband could do a better job at the reins, and he has been dead for nearly thirty years."

Sterling twisted behind him to tap his driver (who was incredibly skilled at his profession) on the shoulder. "You heard Lady Ellinwood, Bentley. Back to Mayfair." He lowered his voice. "An extra ten pounds if you drive like the bloody wheels are on fire."

Bentley tipped his felt bowler. "As you wish, Your Grace."