| |
1817
“Lady Evan Westwood! I am delighted you could make it tonight. I hear you are an excellent musician yourself. No doubt you will be able to give us an expert opinion on the musical selection tonight.”
The woman’s smile was polite, but there was something about her tone that made Rosalind uneasy. “How kind of you to say so, Mrs. Willis, but I hardly think my opinion will have any weight,” she said with a forced smile.
Mrs. Willis continued to smile, though there was now a hint of disdain in her eyes. “My dear, you are too modest. Now, where is that charming husband of yours? I must say hello to him.”
Without waiting for a response, the hostess swept off, presumably to find Rosalind’s charming husband. Breathing out, Rosalind walked to the wall and made a pretence of admiring the painting that hung there while she gathered her wits.
Some days it was difficult to keep a smile on one’s face, especially now that she’d come to London. Everyone wanted to see Lord Evan Westwood’s new wife, who had been a poor relation. There were even those who remembered her mother and father. Those people made dinners and parties even harder to endure.
“Is that her?” Rosalind heard a young voice—no doubt meant to have been whispering—say only a few feet away. “Lord Evan Westwood’s new wife? Well, she is prettier than I expected for a country nobody, I will give her that.”
“You’re too kind, Evelyn,” a second voice said with a slight laugh. “For my part, I cannot see why any son of a marquess would have married such a creature. Anybody can be pretty, but what could she have possibly brought to a marriage? I was told she had no connections, much less a dowry.”
“I suppose one might think it was a love match in that case.”
“An ill-advised match, you mean. A love match is all well and good, but everyone knows a woman’s background will always pull her down. I hear there are even wagers on how long before Lord Evan takes a new mistress.”
Rosalind’s breath caught in her throat. New mistress. Not a mistress. A new mistress. She barely kept from shaking her head. Of course, she’d known West had lived the typical bachelor’s life before they’d met, but she’d never expected someone to talk about it when she was in the same room, let alone when she was so close.
Was this accepted behaviour of fashionable society? To whisper and gossip and look for ways to be hurtful? Is this what her mother would have done?
Hoping her smile didn’t show a hint of her true feelings, Rosalind walked away from the painting without really knowing what the canvas subject had been or where she was going. It had only been a few weeks since she’d attended her first event of the Season, and already she was longing for the safety of her rose garden at Darkhall.
The air was thick with perfume: rose, lavender, and some other unidentified scents. Separately, they might have been enjoyable, or if a few had been together it might have smelled like a spring garden. As it was, the cloying fragrances made it difficult to breathe at times.
Rosalind allowed her gaze to wander the room. A piano and harp were on display at the far end, ready for the young ladies to perform. The rest of the room was filled with chairs and the audience who would sit in them. Another event where she felt utterly alone.
“If only Emily were here,” Rosalind said under her breath as she failed to recognize any of her fellow guests. She wasn’t even sure where her husband had taken himself.
Her cousin had yet to return from her honeymoon journey. Last Rosalind had heard, the newlyweds were in Paris. She thought they intended to return to London for part of the Season, but she couldn’t be sure if they would make it. From everything she had seen, there was nothing about the social whirl that would appeal to Emily.
“Now, why is the most beautiful woman in the room standing alone like this?” her husband’s familiar voice came from behind her, making her heart skip a beat. He stepped beside her, bumping her shoulder with his.
“I was just wondering where you were,” Rosalind said, smiling up at him. The sight of Evan’s own smile was a comfort and a relief. “Did our hostess find you?”
“Were you really, or were you wishing for your cousin’s presence?” Lord Evan Westwood, the youngest brother of the current Marquess of Emberdown, asked as he raised his eyebrow. “Because I could swear you were looking rather wistful and lonely just now.”
To avoid having to answer, Rosalind just shook her head at him. “You didn’t answer my question, Evan. Did Mrs. Willis find you? She seemed eager to speak to you, though she didn’t say why.”
Her husband shook his head. “She did not, and don’t think you can avoid my question so easily, Rosalind.” He slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer. “If you’re not feeling well, we can make our excuses and leave.”
“I’m fine.” Though her husband’s touch made her feel safe and reassured, Rosalind glanced around and hoped no one noticed her husband’s affectionate gesture. It was highly improper in such a public setting. “It would be rude to leave before the music has even begun.”
“Well, then it’s a good thing it appears the first young lady is taking her place,” her husband said, focusing on the front of the room. “ I’m certain no one here can compare to you and your musical talent.”
“Lower your voice.” Another glance showed that no one appeared to be close enough to have overheard her husband’s bragging statement. The last thing she wanted was to have another conversation such as what she’d just had with Mrs. Willis. “I am no more talented than any other young lady who has taken the time to practice.”
“You are far too modest. One of these days, Society will see you perform and realize what a treasure you are.” Evan removed his arm from around her waist and held it out to her. “Shall we take our seats?”
Rosalind allowed him to lead her to the chairs. She breathed out a sigh of relief at being at the end of the aisle. The lady beside her was speaking quietly to her companion, removing the need for polite conversation. Trying to shake off her nerves, Rosalind focused on the pianoforte and prepared to enjoy herself.
****
HALFWAY THROUGH THE musical program, there was a pause for refreshments. Along with most of the men who had sat through the sonatas and arias, Evan offered to bring his wife a drink and then hurried off to do so. Keeping a polite smile on her face, Rosalind allowed her gaze to move across the room.
In the chair beside her, the brown-haired woman shifted slightly. Their eyes met. “The musicians are certainly ambitious tonight,” the other woman said, her tone uncertain. “Are you enjoying the program?”
“Indeed,” Rosalind agreed, thinking of the Italian aria that had been sung by a young lady who honestly didn’t have the correct range for most of the notes. “I applaud their courage to perform in front of everyone, though I do believe a few of them have been overly confident in their abilities.”
“I try not to hold out high expectations for musical soirees, but I always find myself surprised by the pieces chosen by the ladies. They are eager to impress.”
Rosalind tilted her head, intrigued by the honest statement. “Are you a musician as well?”
“Me? Oh, no!” the lady said with a laugh. “I enjoy music, but I am no expert. I did not mean to intimate I am an expert on the matter.”
Understanding, Rosalind smiled at her companion. “Then, the musical talent displayed has been worse than I imagined if a casual observer can notice the deficiencies.”
“I take it you are a musician yourself?”
“Only for myself and my husband. Forgive me for not introducing myself. I am Lady Evan Westwood.” Surely it was the correct step. No one Rosalind knew was nearby to make the introduction for them.
The other woman did not appear offended or surprised. “And I am Mrs. Landon,” she said with a smile. “How have we not met before this?”
“This is my first London Season,” Rosalind said hastily. “And before my marriage, I spent many years in the country.”
Mrs. Landon’s brown eyes lit up. “Oh, how I envy you! I grew up in London, and I dearly love the country.” She gave a soft laugh. “My husband claims he has to drag me to London every year, even though he loves his estate as much as I do.”
The love for her husband shone in her eyes. “I confess, I did spend my early years in London,” Rosalind said, unsure why she felt she should tell her personal history to this stranger. “It was only when I was twelve that I went to the country to live with my cousin and uncle. I thought I would be happy to return to the city, but I find I’ve become something of a country mouse since I left. I do not fit into polite society.”
“That is not such a bad thing. Polite society is not as polite as they claim to be,” Mrs. Landon said, nodding in understanding. “In fact, some can be cruel.”
“If I’d behaved as some society ladies have or had conversations on certain subjects, my mother would have sent me to my room and never let me out.”
“And my governess would have made me write a hundred lines of how I ought to improve myself,” Mrs. Landon agreed with a laugh.
Out of the corner of her eye, Rosalind saw the approach of an older matron. “Mrs. Landon, how kind of you to make Lady Evan feel welcome tonight!” the woman exclaimed as she drew near. “I am unsurprised that you two have found each other.”
There was an odd note of amusement in the woman’s tone. Rosalind searched her memory, trying to determine whether she’d met her before. The face was familiar, but not the voice. Someone she’d seen at another event but hadn’t met? Why was it so remarkable for her to be speaking to Mrs. Landon?
“Lady Leith, I was not expecting to see you tonight,” Mrs. Landon said, her tone becoming cool. Or was that Rosalind’s imagination? “Is Sir Horace and dear Celia here as well?”
“My son chose to remain at Clarendon with his wife this year.” Lady Leith’s manner became one of suppressed fury, and she drew herself even straighter. “How kind of you to remember them.”
“Ah, yes. Now I remember. Sir Horace and dear Lady Leith are expecting a new addition to the family, are they not,” Mrs. Landon said with a smile. “You must be pleased to have a new grandchild to dote on.”
The dowager’s lips curved into an insincere smile. “Of course. What a remarkable memory you have, Mrs. Landon.” She turned her gaze on Rosalind, who had been watching the conversation with some confusion. “So, you are Lord Evan Westwood’s wife. The daughter of Mr. John Emerson, if memory serves me correctly.”
No one had been bold enough to mention Rosalind’s father to her face. “You are correct,” she said, struggling to keep her voice from trembling. “Were you acquainted with my parents then?”
“I know of them and that was sufficient. Let us hope you have not inherited your father’s unfortunate tendencies.”
Rosalind froze, her breath catching in her throat. How dare she say such a thing? It had been nine years since her father had... What did this woman have to gain from mentioning something so far in the past? Did she simply delight in scandal?
“Here come our husbands now,” Mrs. Landon said cheerfully. “I’m sure Lord Evan will be delighted to see you again, Dowager, and offer his opinion on this matter.”
The older woman’s eyes flicked around. “Another time, perhaps. I should return to my seat. Good evening.”
“That’s what I thought,” Mrs. Landon said in a low voice as the dowager walked away. “Hoggish old woman.”
Shocked to hear her new friend use such slang, Rosalind let out a laugh. It helped calm her racing heart. The last thing she wanted was for Evan to see she had been upset. “She is remarkably forthright,” she managed to say. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of an introduction. I’m sure I would have remembered it.”
“These past two years she has made it her sole focus to be disagreeable to all the debutantes and newcomers into society,” Mrs. Landon said, shaking her head. “I don’t think she is fond of anyone save for her son. I’ve never even heard her speak of her grandchildren.”
“Was that the Dowager Lady Leith, Rosalind?” Evan asked as he held a glass of amber liquid out to her. “I didn’t know you two had met.”
“We hadn’t, until now,” Rosalind said as she took the glass. She sipped the liquid without really tasting it. “To be honest, I don’t think I can call it an introduction. She thought it necessary to comment that Mrs. Landon and I were having a conversation.”
Though she had tried to choose her words with care, they were enough to catch her husband’s attention. Evan’s eyes narrowed. “She did, did she? Did she say why it was so extraordinary?”
“Gerard, I must introduce you to my new friend,” Mrs. Landon said, speaking up before Rosalind could think of a diplomatic way to answer her husband. “My lady, this is my husband, Mr. Gerard Landon. Gerard, Lady Evan Westwood.”
Mr. Landon gave a bow and smiled warmly at Rosalind. “Delighted to meet you, my lady. Lord Evan and I were just becoming reacquainted ourselves. It has been several years since we were at school together.”
As the man introduced his wife to Evan, Rosalind took the time to compose herself. She knew Lady Leith’s words ought not to bother her, but they’d had a threatening note she found unnerving. How long before everyone was whispering about her father’s ignominy as well as her poor background?
With relief, she realized the program was about to recommence. “Let us hope they saved the best for last,” Mrs. Landon whispered.
“I dearly hope so,” Rosalind felt bold enough to say in answer. She settled into her chair, forcing Lady Leith’s words away. Evan’s hand clasped hers, offering further reassurance.
****
“IT WAS A SURPRISE TO see Landon after all this time,” Evan said in the carriage. It was well past midnight as they journeyed from the Willis home. “We’ve not spoken together in several years, but he’s a trump. I’m sure his wife will be a good friend for you.”
“I believe she will be,” Rosalind said with a sigh. There were not many Evan called ‘a trump,’ a good sort of friend. She leaned against her husband’s shoulder. “We share the same taste in music. Perhaps we can invite them to join us at the theatre sometime soon?”
Evan wrapped his arm around her. “What an excellent suggestion. Now, will you tell me what the dowager said that upset you so much?”
“It was nothing.” As she spoke, Rosalind couldn’t hold back a sigh. “I must learn not to be so sensitive.”
“You looked as though you’d seen a ghost. I would hardly call that nothing. Tell me. If she was disrespectful or cruel, I want to know.”
“And do what? She’s just a harmless woman with little to occupy her time. I will not honour her with my attention.”
Shaking his head, Evan hugged her close for a moment. “You are too forgiving sometimes, Rose. Tell me what she said. If she was cruel, I will have a word with her.”
“I doubt that would accomplish anything, but since you insist.” Rosalind then explained what Lady Leith had said, leaving out how threatened she felt by the woman’s words. “We knew there would be some sticklers who would remember my father’s disgrace. I suppose we should count ourselves fortunate we have come this far without a similar incident. ”
“True. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you from the dowager’s sharp tongue.” Evan pressed a kiss to the side of her head. “She is acquainted with my mother, and I know how disagreeable she can be.
“Mrs. Landon took it all in stride and annoyed her in return.”
Her husband made a noncommittal noise. “Perhaps, now that you’ve had an unpleasant encounter, you can relax. You’ve faced the beast and won the day in spite of the dowager’s unkindness.”
Somehow, Rosalind was not convinced that was true just yet. However, she put the matter from her mind as her husband captured her lips with his.