Chapter Eight

 

Each passing day since the discovery of the letters left Rose in uncertainty. She had no doubts that the Rachel mentioned in the letters was her mother, but had she interpreted correctly the journal entry? Had Lord Lambert lusted after her mother? If so, how far had that lust progressed? And the most important question of all, was Rose the result of that infidelity? The idea was horrifying.

Loss and confusion plagued her over the following days. Her father had been a hero, a soldier who had given his life for love and country. Thus, her worry over Lord Lambert being her father was unfounded. Yet, she could not shake the feeling of impending doom that had settled on her since finding the pieces of writing.

“What is bothering you, my dear?”

Rose looked up from the vanity table to see her aunt standing in the doorway. She had been so lost in thought, she had not heard the woman enter.

“You have been very quiet the last few days. Are you unwell?” Aunt Eleanor gave her a knowing smile. “Or perhaps it is merely nervous excitement about Mr. Bradshaw calling?”

Rose did not want to worry her aunt unnecessarily. She had no idea what any of it truly meant and therefore decided to keep what she had learned to herself. There was no reason to upset the woman who had opened her home to her.

“Yes, I do find myself feeling a bit nervous. I do not wish to embarrass you—or myself.” This was the truth, even if it was not the full truth. However, her stomach refused to settle. Perhaps a few questions would not hurt. “Did you know my father?”

Her aunt shook her head. “I am afraid I never had the pleasure of meeting the man.” She walked over, picked up the brush from the table, and began running it through Rose’s hair. “Your mother spoke highly of him, but I cannot add more to what your mother has already told you.”

“Why did you and Mother stop speaking to one another? Mother always spoke highly of you but claimed you were busy and had little time for writing.”

Replacing the brush, her aunt chose two ribbons from a small box and smiled. “Raising my children took up a great deal of my time, and your mother was occupied with caring for you and your brother. We simply grew apart, which you will learn happens to everyone. It does not happen out of lack of caring for each other but rather from placing our attention on other duties.

“Lord Lambert and Mother were close friends at one time, were they not?”

Her aunt tied the last ribbon and then placed her hands on Rose’s shoulders. “You are a beautiful woman who has elegance, intelligence and a host of other admirable qualities. If I were you, I would not concern yourself with old people and their associations. Your sights should be set on the gentleman who will be calling today.”

Rose could not help but giggle. Perhaps her aunt was right. Would knowing such things change what took place today? Not at all. Granted, she had unanswered questions, but she could wait to learn their answers.

Plus, there was a good chance she had misinterpreted what she had read. Yes, that was it. She had simply mixed up the facts, which led her to draw conclusions that were untrue.

“I agree,” Rose said with a smile as she rose from the seat. “I am far too nosy for my own good.”

Her aunt chuckled as she helped Rose don a glove. “There is no harm in asking questions, but it is not prudent to speak of the dead. They cannot either confirm or deny what we believe.” She pulled the second glove up to Rose’s elbow and took a step back. “There. What do you think?”

Rose stood before the standing mirror and smiled. Her hair had been neatly tied with ribbons that matched her purple dress, and her gloves matched the white lace on the neck and short puffy sleeves. “I doubt my hair has ever looked so nice,” she said. “Thank you.”

“You are most welcome,” her aunt replied. She glanced at the bedroom door and frowned. “Now, where is Caroline?”

No sooner than Aunt Eleanor said the words than Caroline entered the room, proudly showing off her new bright yellow dress. “Oh, Rose,” she gasped, “you look wonderful!”

Rose felt her cheeks heat significantly. “You are too kind,” she said. “And your dress is perfect.”

Aunt Eleanor clicked her tongue. “You two can remain here and compliment each other or go to the drawing room and await the arrival of Mr. Bradshaw.” The twinkle in her eye belied the harshness of her tone.”

Rose followed Caroline and Aunt Eleanor into the hallway, and the trio made their way to the drawing room.

“I will be in the study if you need me,” Aunt Eleanor said before continuing down the hall.

Caroline closed the door behind her and hurried to the window. She motioned for Rose to join her. Why did the woman seem nervous?

“What is wrong?” Rose asked.

Caroline grinned. “There is nothing wrong,” she replied. “I received a letter from Mr. Banner today.” She reached into her pocket, pulled out a folded parchment, and handed it to Rose.

Rose unfolded the page.

 

Dear Miss Thrup,

It was a great privilege to engage in conversation with you at the party given by Lord Bradshaw. I would like to send a card soon requesting permission to call on you. It is my hope that you will accept.

Sincerely,

David Banner

 

Rose smiled and hugged Caroline. “You have caught the eye of a very handsome and intelligent man,” she said. “For him to send this letter is a testament to that fact.”

Caroline’s cheeks went pink, and she nodded. “I thought I would become a spinster,” she said with a smile. “Now one of the most eligible men wishes to call on me! This is truly a special day.”

“That it is,” Rose replied, pleased for her friend. “You see? You remained a lady just as I suggested, and as promised, Mr. Banner has written you a fine letter.”

“You were so right,” Caroline said. “I used to follow Juliet’s advice, but I now realize that you and Annabel were the ones who knew the truth.”

“Was Annabel a good friend, as well?” Rose knew very little about the woman and found that she wished to know more seeing as how they shared viewpoints.

“Most certainly,” Caroline replied with a firm nod. “She met her husband at one of my parties.” She said this with pride, as if her party had been the cause of the couple falling in love. “When she married, I thought I had lost the last of my friends until you arrived. I must say that, since you have been here at Scarlett Hall, I feel as if we have known one another for years. It seems as if you have always been a part of Rumsbury and not simply a newcomer.”

Rose laughed. “I feel very much the same. And to think I was almost born here.” She clamped her mouth shut, wishing she could take back the words.”

“I did not realize that you had been to Rumsbury before.”

“Well, no, I have not, but my mother lived here for many years. Perhaps you know her. Lady Rachel Prescott?”

Caroline’s face paled and her jaw fell open.

“What is it?” Rachel asked, although she was uncertain if she wanted the woman to tell her. “What do you know?”

Caroline shook her head. “It is not wise to gossip,” she whispered. Caroline rarely whispered. “I have made a pledge to stop spreading tales. Plus, I do not wish to upset you or speak ill of your mother.”

Desperation filled Rose. She could not push away the curiosity that the writings she found in the book on hunting had created. And no matter how much she thought she did not need to know the truth, the reality was that she indeed had to know.

“Please,” she said, pulling at Caroline’s arm, “we are friends and have shared so many secrets. You can tell me.” The sounds of footsteps in the hall had her giving Caroline a pleading look.

Caroline lowered her voice further and said, “Your mother left Rumsbury pregnant, and although no one knew who the father was, she was seen often in the company of Lord Lambert himself.”

***

“Miss Skylark, would you like to attend?”

Rose stared at Mr. Bradshaw before her mind made sense of his words. They had been sitting in the drawing room for less than an hour, and she had struggled to maintain her attention on the conversation the entire time. She now regretted insisting that Caroline tell her what she knew, for now she could think of nothing else. Poor Mr. Bradshaw must have thought her an imbecile.

“My apologies,” Rose replied. “Attend what?” She wanted to run from the room and hide; this had not been the first time she had asked him to repeat himself.

“My good friend, Mr. Banner, is having a party in three weeks. I was hoping you are attending. I am certain Mr. Banner will be inviting Miss Thrup, as well.” He turned to Caroline. “Will you accept?”

“Oh, yes,” Caroline said with a fervent nod. “I would very much enjoy a party.”

Rose forced a smile. The last thing she wanted was to attend a social event at the moment, but upon seeing the look of anticipation on Mr. Bradshaw’s face—and the beseeching look on that of Caroline—she thought it best to accept. Perhaps it would do her good; spending her days fretting over a relationship that she had no evidence even existed was a poor use of her time. “I look forward to attending,” she said. “It was kind of Mr. Banner to consider me for his guest list.”

Mr. Bradshaw laughed. “It was because I told him to. David and I have been friends for a very long time. Thankfully, the man heeds my advice or he would be a recluse. Or a drab like Gunther Parkinson.”

Rose thought the man’s smugness unappealing. “And who is Gunther Parkinson? Is he a friend of yours?”

“Hardly,” Mr. Bradshaw said with a snort. “Miss Thrup may be able to tell you more than I, but I will say this. The man spends a good amount of time drawing pictures of butterflies of all things. No man worth his salt would use his time in such a manner. I believe it to be a sign of madness.”

Either the man’s attitude or her concern for who her father was nettled her, but whichever it was, it made her hackles rise.

“Mr. Parkinson sounds like a gentleman who appreciates both art and nature. Perhaps this is how he expresses that appreciation.” She had not meant her tone to be so sharp, but she could do nothing to stop it. “He is not drab—nor mad—simply because he enjoys expressing himself in art. Plus, it takes a special type of man to appreciate nature. I find such accusations to be beneath you.”

When she finished, the reality of her words hit her and humiliation washed over her. No gentlewoman spoke so sharply to a peer, and certainly not to a man destined to be a baron. Even Caroline’s surprised expression told her that she had spoken out of turn.

“My apologies, Mr. Bradshaw,” she said with a sigh as she blinked back tears that threatened to spill over her lashes. “I did not mean to speak so rudely.”

Rather than be upset, Mr. Bradshaw chuckled. “Perhaps it was unwise to speak ill of another,” he said. “I do not often do such things, but with a man such as Parkinson, you must understand my reason for doing so.”

“I am afraid I do not,” Rose said.

He shook his head. “Women may say they appreciate a man who enjoys nature and other pastimes attributed to women, but is it not true that they prefer men who participate in more…let’s say ‘manly’ activities such as hunting?” He did not wait for Rose to respond before turning to Caroline. “What is your opinion as it pertains to Parkinson?”

Caroline tapped the book on her lap as she took a moment to consider the question. “I believe you are both correct.”

Why did Caroline not defend me? Rose wondered. When she looked at Mr. Bradshaw, it was clear that he did not appreciate the woman’s response any more than Rose did, for his jaw had tightened significantly. Perhaps the man was more old fashioned and closed minded than he pretended to be.

For several moments, they fell into an awkward silence until Mr. Bradshaw suddenly smiled and said, “You seem quite interested in things of nature. Are you knowledgeable in that area?”

“I have not studied the subject, if that is what you are asking, but I admit that I have done some reading on different topics.”

“Then I propose that we go on a picnic the next time we meet,” he said with a wide grin. “The weather has not yet turned cold, and I enjoy the outdoors as much as the next man. I would like to learn more about nature, and with your wisdom in that subject, I look forward to learning from you.”

The man had been angry with her not moments before, and yet now he thought her intelligent enough to garner information from her? Was he scoffing at her or being forthright? Yet, his smile said he would like nothing more than to spend time with her. Perhaps she was being too prickly.

When she looked into his eyes, her heart fluttered, and before she could truly consider the invitation, she replied, “That would be lovely. In fact, I think it is a wonderful idea.”

Mr. Bradshaw rose from his chair. The smile he wore was a bit smug, but Rose did not care. Truth be told, the idea that he thought he could learn anything from her left her with a buoyant feeling.

“I shall send a note with a possible day for our outing once I have checked my diary,” he said.

“I look forward to your invitation,” Rose said as she, too, stood. She struggled to keep herself from wobbling on her legs as he gazed down at her. “I will walk you to the door.”

Caroline joined them, and the trio walked to the foyer.

Mr. Bradshaw turned to her. “I look forward to seeing you soon. You, as well, Miss Thrup.”

Caroline went to speak but instead sneezed, sending the book she was carrying tumbling to the floor. When she bent to retrieve it, Mr. Bradshaw surprised Rose by leaning in and kissing her on the cheek!

“Goodbye, Miss Skylark,” he whispered, an impish grin on his face. By the time Caroline had righted herself, he was back to a more reasonable distance.

Unable to move, Rose struggled to calm her pounding heart. The man had the audacity to kiss her? Perhaps he truly was a rogue, for only a rogue would be so forward! Or was this some new modern manner of treating a woman? If so, she was uncertain if she accepted the new ways!

“Are you all right?” Caroline asked after Lord Bradshaw was gone, breaking Rose from her thoughts.

Rose had not realized she was holding the cheek on which he had kissed her, and she moved her hand. “Yes,” she managed to whisper.

Then it occurred to her that she was not shocked at his behavior but rather enthralled with it, which only made her uncertainty all the greater. How could a sensible woman think an unsolicited kiss something as wonderful as she clearly believed it was?