Scandal And The Duchess
Page 31
“Steven.” Rose slid her arms around him, her heart aching. “How horrible.”
“He never had a chance,” he said, voice stoic. “I got him away and to a safe place, but he died as I held him.”
Rose tightened her embrace. It felt so natural to comfort him, as though she had a right to. “I’m so sorry.”
“His last words to me were another apology.” Steven gave another short laugh. “Ronald thought I was still in love with Laura, to my surprise. He told me to go back to England and look after her. Gave me his blessing to marry her. I couldn’t argue with him, not while he was dying. It was important to him that he made his peace with me this way, so I agreed to take care of her.”
Rose said nothing. Steven turned back to the window, the rain increasing outside. Rose thought about how Steven had introduced her to Mrs. Ellis, emphasizing she was his fiancée. And Mrs. Ellis’s look of relief.
“She doesn’t want to marry you,” Rose said. “Is that what she thought you’d come to do? Propose to her?”
“Yes,” Steven answered wearily. “Ronald apparently told her that if anything ever happened to him, she and I could be together. But Laura never wanted me. She still doesn’t. That’s why she tried to put me off. I only insisted delivering Ronald’s things so I could fulfill my promise to him, and close the matter.”
“I understand.” Rose rested her hand on the seat beside her. “Handy that the world thought you betrothed then, wasn’t it?”
She spoke lightly, but she at last understood Steven’s willingness to have his name coupled with hers, to have the journalists spread the tale that they were engaged. It would send a message to Mrs. Ellis for once and for all that the events of the past were at an end.
“Rose.” Steven turned to her, a hard light in his eyes. “I might have seen the opportunity, that first morning. But that’s not what it became.”
His look made anything jealous in her shrivel in shame. “I’m not angry,” she said, her voice quiet. “I am happy to help you in return for the assistance you’ve rendered me.” She tried to smile. “Even to keep you out of an unwanted marriage.”
“Not to keep me out—to give Laura her freedom. I know her. She’d convinced herself I was still in love with her, and that it was her duty to marry me for Ronald’s sake. Even if I hadn’t proposed, she’d have martyred herself, waiting for me to so. This way, she can move on with her life, marry someone else if she wishes, instead of either burying herself for me or marrying me and both of us living in horrible guilt. Now she’s free.”
Rose nodded. “I do see that.” She thought of her first encounter with Mrs. Ellis and became torn between amusement and embarrassment. “I suppose she thought I was your paramour.”
Steven leaned back against the seat. “At this moment, I don’t give a damn what she thought. I’ve done my part, now we can all rest in peace.”
Before Rose could ask him what he meant by that, the coach slowed, nearing the hotel. The street was crowed, despite the rain, and men in black suits waited near the hotel’s entrance for their return.
“Oh, God,” Steven said, peering out at them. “I can’t face that mob right now. Miles!” he called.
Miles opened the hatch below his seat and peered inside. “Yes, sir?”
“Can you take us somewhere a little less conspicuous?”
“Yes, sir.” Miles snapped closed the hatch and the carriage turned abruptly. In the mist and rain, perhaps the journalists would not see the crest of the Duke of Southdown on the coach’s side.
Miles drove them back to Mayfair, to Grosvenor Street and the mews behind it. He was going to lend them his quarters above the coach house again, Rose saw.
The rain was coming down in earnest as Miles halted the coach. Steven pulled a flap of his greatcoat around Rose as he helped her down, then they dashed together into the warm, horse-scented coach house. A side door took them to a flight of stairs leading to the quarters above, where Mrs. Miles greeted them with tea.
Mrs. Miles helped Steven out of his wet coat, telling him she’d sent hot water up to the spare room he’d used before, if he wanted to wash his face and hands. She chivvied him on up the stairs, then brought a basin and towel to Rose.
Rose rinsed her face and patted it dry, blessing Mrs. Miles for her understanding. It was cozy here, in the small quarters where only Miles and his wife lived. Albert kept no other staff permanently in Town; he employed Miles only because he was paid by a trust settled upon him by Charles. Miles and his wife stayed for Rose’s sake, they’d let her know early on, and she was grateful to the pair of them.
Rose finished her ablutions and drank a cup of tea, but Steven did not reappear. After half a second cup and a wonderful scone, Rose filled the cup that waited for Steven and carried it up the stairs to the room at the top of the house.
She’d feared to find Steven on the bed, thinking haunting thoughts of his friend and his death, but he stood at the tiny dormer window, looking out. Rain streaked the window, filming it with an almost constant stream of water. Steven rested his arm on the high sill, his face turned out to the gloom.
“I brought you your tea,” Rose said brightly. “Truth to tell, I was getting a bit worried about you.”
“Were you?” Steven made no move to take the tea, and Rose set it on the washstand, the only other piece of furniture in the room. “No need. I’ll weather my storm. Already have, mostly.”
“He never had a chance,” he said, voice stoic. “I got him away and to a safe place, but he died as I held him.”
Rose tightened her embrace. It felt so natural to comfort him, as though she had a right to. “I’m so sorry.”
“His last words to me were another apology.” Steven gave another short laugh. “Ronald thought I was still in love with Laura, to my surprise. He told me to go back to England and look after her. Gave me his blessing to marry her. I couldn’t argue with him, not while he was dying. It was important to him that he made his peace with me this way, so I agreed to take care of her.”
Rose said nothing. Steven turned back to the window, the rain increasing outside. Rose thought about how Steven had introduced her to Mrs. Ellis, emphasizing she was his fiancée. And Mrs. Ellis’s look of relief.
“She doesn’t want to marry you,” Rose said. “Is that what she thought you’d come to do? Propose to her?”
“Yes,” Steven answered wearily. “Ronald apparently told her that if anything ever happened to him, she and I could be together. But Laura never wanted me. She still doesn’t. That’s why she tried to put me off. I only insisted delivering Ronald’s things so I could fulfill my promise to him, and close the matter.”
“I understand.” Rose rested her hand on the seat beside her. “Handy that the world thought you betrothed then, wasn’t it?”
She spoke lightly, but she at last understood Steven’s willingness to have his name coupled with hers, to have the journalists spread the tale that they were engaged. It would send a message to Mrs. Ellis for once and for all that the events of the past were at an end.
“Rose.” Steven turned to her, a hard light in his eyes. “I might have seen the opportunity, that first morning. But that’s not what it became.”
His look made anything jealous in her shrivel in shame. “I’m not angry,” she said, her voice quiet. “I am happy to help you in return for the assistance you’ve rendered me.” She tried to smile. “Even to keep you out of an unwanted marriage.”
“Not to keep me out—to give Laura her freedom. I know her. She’d convinced herself I was still in love with her, and that it was her duty to marry me for Ronald’s sake. Even if I hadn’t proposed, she’d have martyred herself, waiting for me to so. This way, she can move on with her life, marry someone else if she wishes, instead of either burying herself for me or marrying me and both of us living in horrible guilt. Now she’s free.”
Rose nodded. “I do see that.” She thought of her first encounter with Mrs. Ellis and became torn between amusement and embarrassment. “I suppose she thought I was your paramour.”
Steven leaned back against the seat. “At this moment, I don’t give a damn what she thought. I’ve done my part, now we can all rest in peace.”
Before Rose could ask him what he meant by that, the coach slowed, nearing the hotel. The street was crowed, despite the rain, and men in black suits waited near the hotel’s entrance for their return.
“Oh, God,” Steven said, peering out at them. “I can’t face that mob right now. Miles!” he called.
Miles opened the hatch below his seat and peered inside. “Yes, sir?”
“Can you take us somewhere a little less conspicuous?”
“Yes, sir.” Miles snapped closed the hatch and the carriage turned abruptly. In the mist and rain, perhaps the journalists would not see the crest of the Duke of Southdown on the coach’s side.
Miles drove them back to Mayfair, to Grosvenor Street and the mews behind it. He was going to lend them his quarters above the coach house again, Rose saw.
The rain was coming down in earnest as Miles halted the coach. Steven pulled a flap of his greatcoat around Rose as he helped her down, then they dashed together into the warm, horse-scented coach house. A side door took them to a flight of stairs leading to the quarters above, where Mrs. Miles greeted them with tea.
Mrs. Miles helped Steven out of his wet coat, telling him she’d sent hot water up to the spare room he’d used before, if he wanted to wash his face and hands. She chivvied him on up the stairs, then brought a basin and towel to Rose.
Rose rinsed her face and patted it dry, blessing Mrs. Miles for her understanding. It was cozy here, in the small quarters where only Miles and his wife lived. Albert kept no other staff permanently in Town; he employed Miles only because he was paid by a trust settled upon him by Charles. Miles and his wife stayed for Rose’s sake, they’d let her know early on, and she was grateful to the pair of them.
Rose finished her ablutions and drank a cup of tea, but Steven did not reappear. After half a second cup and a wonderful scone, Rose filled the cup that waited for Steven and carried it up the stairs to the room at the top of the house.
She’d feared to find Steven on the bed, thinking haunting thoughts of his friend and his death, but he stood at the tiny dormer window, looking out. Rain streaked the window, filming it with an almost constant stream of water. Steven rested his arm on the high sill, his face turned out to the gloom.
“I brought you your tea,” Rose said brightly. “Truth to tell, I was getting a bit worried about you.”
“Were you?” Steven made no move to take the tea, and Rose set it on the washstand, the only other piece of furniture in the room. “No need. I’ll weather my storm. Already have, mostly.”
