Chapter One

 

To be perfectly honest, the prospect of a ball filled Rosemary with nothing but pure displeasure. 

Perhaps, to some, the thought of a ball being nothing short of unpleasant was inconceivable. On normal nights, when she was not expected to do anything but stand around, smile, dance, and laugh at the most abysmal jokes made by egotistical men, it was somewhat bearable. But when one considered the stifling heated atmosphere of these ballrooms, the heady smell of perfume that threatened to send her to her knees, and the pressing weight of expectations on her to find a proper match, Rosemary wanted nothing more than to leave that style of life behind and live without such pressures.

“You’re scowling.”

“No, I’m not,” she responded without a moment’s hesitation. She blinked, looking over at her cousin.

Isabella was giving her one of those knowing looks that told Rosemary exactly what she thought of her response. For a moment, Rosemary considered ignoring her. She knew what her dear cousin would say after her.

You should smile more.

This is a night of festivities and happiness! Pray, do not pull such a long face! You look as though you have just found your fondest possession come to some ghastly end.

If you continue like that, you will never find a proper husband, Rosemary, and you know it.

She would be right if she said any of those things. Rosemary was simply not in the mood to confront that right now.

She was in the mood for very little, in fact. From the day Isabella told her about the ball to take place at Fitzwilliam House, she’d been dreading this moment, knowing only too well what would transpire. And, to her dismay, it was exactly what she’d expected.

“I like scowling,” she said at last, when it was clear that Isabella had no intention of leaving her alone. “It makes it clear to the gentlemen that I am not one to be trifled with.”

“On the contrary, Rose, it encourages the notion that you will be a difficult wife and hard to tame,” Isabella countered with a decisive nod.

“And why would they want to tame me in the first place? Am I so lacking in proper decorum that I am considered to be a savage beast?”

“With that look on your face, you cannot blame them if that is what they assume.”

Rosemary released a breath of frustration and Isabella did the same. The conversation was bound to turn into an argument if they continued in that tone as it had been since the start of the London Season. Isabella Fitzwilliam was nothing if not traditional, after all. The perfectly demure lady who believed that a lady should only ever aspire for matrimony and security, to produce an heir and secure the succession. Of course, with that mentality, it was no wonder she had a long line of gentlemen vying for her hand in matrimony. It was of no small advantage that she was a lady of such remarkable beauty with her fair hair and eyes as blue as the summer sky. 

Meanwhile, Rosemary had no interest in traditions whatsoever. She did indeed entertain the notion of matrimony, yet it was of no consequence to her whether the gentleman was of great fortune or of none. As long as they were handsome, kind, and allowed her to do as she pleased.

“On a different note, you look extremely charming,” Isabella said as she opened her fan with a thwack. “That is a lovely color on you.”

The side of Rosemary’s lips tilted upwards. “By way of peace offerings, I would much prefer a glass of lemonade to quench my thirst. It is dreadfully hot in here after all.”

“Oh, you make things so difficult sometimes,” Isabella claimed with a roll of her eyes. But Rosemary didn’t miss the humor sparkling behind them. “Go and fetch your own glass of lemonade. And, while you’re at it, why don’t you stop to talk with Mr. Haynes? He has been looking your way since you came into the ballroom.”

“Mr. Haynes annoys me.”

“Pray, whose company do you find most agreeable?” Isabella sounded exasperated.

Rosemary gave her a broad grin. She slipped her arm through her cousin’s pulling her close. “You don’t. As a matter of fact, you are the only person in this room that does not make me feel like my head is about to explode when I talk to them.”

“Oh, how flattering of you to point that out,” Isabella drawled, but again, there was no mistaking her humor. “Must I remind you that your circumstances do not permit you to rest at your ease? The Season will be drawing to an end soon and you have nothing to show for it.”

“My efforts have not gone without their reward,” Rosemary countered with light defensiveness. “There is not a single lady in this ballroom who can end a dance set as quickly as I.”

“Ah, are you under the impression that I am jesting? What will you do when your father discovers that you have no prospects? Or rather, that you have ignored all of your potential prospects?”

“Father does not need to know.”

“Oh, but Mother will inform him.” Isabella flicked her fan towards where Lady Fitzwilliams stood talking with a few other mothers of the ton. “You know very well that she will. He is her brother, and they have shared everything since their youth. Surely you are not unaware that your father sent you to stay with us for the Season as he was in no position to be of assistance himself?”

I am positive you do not desire to prove his decision was not of sound judgement?”

Rosemary felt dread as the conversation had steered towards unwanted grounds. She had no desire to speak of her father, her prospects, or her aunt.

But Isabella was not finished, and she gave her no chance to respond. “Mr. Haynes has been vying for a chance to approach you and Lord Jones has sent you more than a few indiscreet looks. It is not as if you do not have options. You have many, in fact.”

“Pray, do not lecture me, Isabella.”

Isabella sighed. “Very well. I shall leave you be. “It is abundantly clear I shall never persuade you, as your mind has been so decidedly turned. I only wish that…”

Her nagging drifted into silence. Surprised by the suddenness of it because Isabella never truly knew when to cease talking. At that very moment Rosemary looked up to see her staring intently at the doors.

To her utter astonishment, half the people around them were doing the same thing. Rosemary couldn’t recall the last time she’d seen the ton so taken by something. She craned her neck to see above the masses, cursing her small stature once more for being put in such a disadvantageous position. 

It was a lady, she noted. A matronly one from what she could discern. But she was hanging off the arm of…oh goodness.

Rosemary sucked in a breath and Isabella murmured in agreement. The lady was beautiful, middle-aged, and possessed a commanding presence that held many in her grasp. But the man…the man was like a god amongst mortals. He possessed a head of thick dark, likely black hair, that was styled away from his face, as if he’d run his fingers through it numerous times to tame it into submission. She couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to run her own fingers through his hair, to trace her thumb along the sharp line of his jaw and the pink blush of his lips. 

And as soon as the thought filled her mind, she banished it, horrified. She straightened and was alarmed to note that her toes were aching from standing on the tips just to catch a glimpse of him.

“I cannot believe he is truly here,” Isabella breathed.

Rosemary tucked herself into the corner, trying to catch her breath. She was quite put out to be so disconcerted by the mere glimpse of a gentleman, a complete stranger no less.

“Who is he?” she heard herself ask before she could stop herself.

“The Duke of Cavendale,” Isabella told her as if that should have been obvious. “Weren’t you listening this morning? Mother told us that she had invited the duke and his aunt but he was yet to send his response so to whether he would be attending.”

“And so, he simply presented himself? Quite presumptuous of him to think that was a proper thing to do.”

Isabella shrugged. The crowd of guests was steadily parting ways to give space to the newcomers and Isabella took a step back as she did the same. “He is the Duke of Cavendale,” she said as if that was reason enough.

Rosemary couldn’t argue with her. She’d heard of the duke, though it was only ever done in hushed gossip clusters. He was an enigma, rumored to be young, handsome, and wealthy. All the things a young lady wanted to find in a husband. The only impediment, it seemed, was that the duke had no mind for matrimony.”

She could hear the hushed question running through the ballroom already. Was the duke here because he was finally looking for a wife?

Rosemary watched as Lady Fitzwilliams approached the duke and his aunt, sinking into a low curtsy with a broad smile on her face. 

“Here is our chance!” Isabella whispered excitedly.

“Our?” Rosemary echoed in surprise, but it landed on deaf ears when Isabella caught her hand and tugged her forward.

She had ample time to pull away. The duke was famous, after all, and a swarm of ladies would be flocking towards him in due time. The last thing she wanted was to get caught up in all of that or mistaken for one of the simple-minded ladies that hoped to be the one chosen by the duke. 

Yet, she let her cousin drag her to where her aunt stood, much to her inner confusion.

“Ah, here she is! Isabella, I had just made mention of you to our valued guests. Ladies, allow me to make an introduction.” 

Lady Catherine Fitzwilliams made Isabella in her image. They had identical blond hair, style in ringlets atop their head, had the same devastatingly beautiful blue eyes, and even tended to dress in similar colors like gold and green. They also shared a similar personality, sociable and she is always inclined to speak at great length on any subject.

“Your Grace, Lady Penhallow, this is my daughter, Miss Isabella Fitzwilliams. And this is my niece, Miss Rosemary Thorne. Ladies, please meet the Duke of Cavendale, His Grace Robert Cavendish, and his aunt, Lady Cynthia Penhallow.”

Isabella sank into a perfect curtsy. Rosemary tried to do the same, feeling rather askew in her attempts to avoid the duke’s eyes. But she couldn’t help herself and her eyes flicked up to him as she lowered into the curtsy. Luckily, he was not looking at her, but his eyes were filled with utter boredom, looking out across the ballroom as if they were not there.

“It is a pleasure to meet you,” they said in unison.

“Ah, what lovely ladies.” Lady Penhallow’s voice was filled with warmth. Rosemary straightened, allowing her eyes to fall on the strikingly handsome matronly woman. Though lines crinkled by her eyes and around her mouth, she did not appear to be any more than ten years older than Rosemary, though she sincerely doubted that was the case. “Are you two enjoying the evening?”

“We are, my lady,” Isabella responded with ease and her perfect small smile. “And I have no doubt our enjoyment will increase now that you and your nephew have arrived.”

Lady Penhallow laughed airily. “Well, far be it from me to disappoint you.” Then she glanced expectantly at her nephew.

Rosemary wasn’t ready to pay him any attention yet. She didn’t like the way her heart thundered in her chest, nor how breathless she sounded when she jumped at the chance to speak.

“That is a beautiful necklace, my lady,” she said quickly, before His Grace could say anything. “It is such wonderful craftsmanship, and very similar to its model.”

Lady Penhallow’s perfect brows rose in surprise. “You are familiar with a karvi?”

“Certainly, my lady. I spent hours poring over every botanical publication and illustration I could find that had an information on the elusive flower. However, I fear I could not glean due to the fact that it is such a rare Indian flower.”

“The mere fact that you knew anything about it at all is rather surprising,” Lady Penhallow said, her fingers brushing against the purple pendant. “I, myself, was not familiar with it until it was gifted to me.”

“They have marvelous taste. It would have been delightful to have a conversation with the person who bestowed upon you such a magnificent jewel. 

Lady Penhallow’s grin widened. To her surprise and dismay, she placed a hand on the silent duke’s shoulder. “You have your chance, Miss Rosemary, because the person who gave me the necklace is standing right here.”

Rosemary schooled her face into submission, willed her heart to be still. But when she looked at the duke, when his striking, grey eyes fell on her, she didn’t know how well she fared.

“You have my compliments, Your Grace.” Her voice was steady, thank God. 

“And you have my curiosity.” And his voice was warm, deep. Enough to steal her breath away and cripple her knees. She clasped her hands before her and gripped her fingers tightly to keep from showing any of it.

“Regarding my botanical knowledge, I presume.”

“Quite so.” He tilted his head to the side, regarding her openly. Rosemary didn’t miss the fact that the others were still watching them, but her attention remained focused on the duke. “I wonder how far your knowledge extends.”

“If you wish to question me, Your Grace, I have no intention of indulging you.”

“I do recall you saying you wanted to have a discussion with the one who gifted my aunt the necklace. Here is your chance.”

She gave him a tight smile and he narrowed his eyes slightly. “A discussion, I openly welcome. Questions targeted at proving your belief in my limited knowledge on the subject I do not.”

“You presume I do not believe you are knowledgeable about botany?”

“Most gentlemen do.”

“That is a rather cynical way of viewing strangers, Miss Rosemary.”

“Or realistic, rather.” 

The duke frowned slightly. Rosemary mimicked him entirely, tilting her head to the side as well. Silence drifted between them, fraught with tension.

Not to her surprise, Lady Fitzwilliams was the first to break the silence with a muffled clap of her gloved hands. “Oh, I believe the quartet should have started by now. I shall see about it but in the meantime, Your Grace, feel free to partake in the refreshments. My daughter would be more than happy to show you the way–”

“No need,” he responded, turning those grey eyes to Lady Fitzwilliams. “I’m sure Miss Rosemary would not mind showing me the way. That way, we may finish our conversation without making others uncomfortable.

“Robert…” Lady Penhallow murmured in a warning tone. 

“There’s no need to worry, Aunt Cynthia.” Rosemary rose her brows at the surprising gentleness of his tone. “I will not do or say anything rude or improper, I assure. Miss?”

He held a hand out to her. Rosemary hesitated. She didn’t trust the way she felt near this man so the last thing she should think to do was go off alone with him. Even if they were still going to be in a room full of people, there would be no Lady Fitzwilliams to interject if things grew tense or Isabella to subtly nudge her in her side if she said something she shouldn’t.

As soon as the thought crossed her mind, she felt Isabella’s arm bumping into her. Rosemary glanced at her cousin to see her giving her a pointed look that spoke volumes. 

So, she sighed silently. “Very well.”

She told herself it was because she wanted to avoid hearing about this later, because she knew that her aunt would have a lot to say if she did not accept the duke’s invitation. 

It certainly had nothing to do with the duke himself, she told herself and ignored the thrill of heat that went through her body when he took her hand in his.

Chapter Two

 

It was most probable that the evening could prove to be a most agreeable one. Robert openly studied the lady standing next to him, who was making it obvious that she was ignoring him. It amused him to observe her stance and at the same time intrigued him endlessly. 

However, it was not the first thing that captured his attention as he could not deny she was indeed a beautiful woman. Her thick, auburn hair, a magnificent cascade, caught the chandelier’s light and shone with a brilliant lustre, a vision matched only by the profound sparkle of her green eyes. She was certainly petite, and Robert found himself wondering how easy it would be to pick her up and throw her over his shoulder. He was consumed with the notion of her reaction to his impropriety?

“Is there any particular reason you’re staring at me, Your Grace?” 

She didn’t look at him as she asked the question. She reached for a glass of lemonade and faced the ballroom once more, taking a ginger sip.

Robert felt his lips tug upwards into a half-smile. He found himself overwhelmed by a sudden impulse to be truthful, though for what reason, he could not surmise. Why? He didn’t have a clue.

“I said it before. I am curious about you. And I assume that by observing the object of my curiosity, I will come to understand it.”

She stilled for a moment, then continued sipping her lemonade. 

 “Pray, by no means, Your Grace, I do not imagine that I would ever be a disappointment to you. However, I must confess that your intense regard is somewhat unsettling.” 

“Such trivialities do not unsettle me,” he said with ease.

At last, her emerald green eyes flickered at him. “I daresay that it is quite apparent.”

She was interesting, that was for certain. Perhaps his aunt all but dragging him by the lapels to this ball wasn’t such a bad idea after all. He was fully aware of her designs and knew only too well she only wanted to employ her usual matchmaking schemes. Robert had been wholly prepared to defend his bachelorhood for the last remaining weeks of the Season, just as he had been since he inherited the dukedom. And if that meant being cold and uninterested to every lady that approached him, or was foisted on him by their ambitious mothers, then so be it.

But Miss Rosemary Thorne clearly had no romantic interest in him, which he found rather pleasing and quite refreshing. In fact, she seemed to be mildly annoyed by his very existence.

“Are you truly interested in botany?” he asked at last, because that was what he truly wanted to know. He’d never met another lady who cared about such subjects. Their interests rarely strayed from needlework and the pianoforte, a collection of pastimes which Robert found exceedingly tiresome.

Miss Rosemary sighed heavily as if she could not be bothered. “Yes, Your Grace. It may come as a surprise to you that I do, indeed. I do know enough about the science to recognize the rare flower around your aunt’s neck. It has always been an interest of mine so, as I mentioned to Lady Penhallow, I tend to read about it often.”

“What is your favorite plant?”

She frowned a little. “My favorite plant? Isn’t that question a little too…?”

“Tedious?” he suggested with a quirk of his brow.

“Uncomplicated.” she ended. 

Robert shrugged. Now he faced the ballroom, idly noting that they were attracting a number of curious glances. Lady Fitzwilliam was across the room, talking with the musicians. “You’ve said it yourself, Miss Rosemary. You have no intention of indulging my questions so I will keep them simple, so as not to scare you away.”

Her frown deepened. “It will take more than a few targeted questions to frighten me.”

Robert fought the grin that threatened to erupt on his face. She was rather defensive, he noted.

“But to answer your question,” she continued on a heavy exhale. “My favorite plant is the calla lily.”

That surprised him. He was almost certain she would jump at the chance to prove her knowledge and state a far less common flower. “Why?”

“It was my mother’s favorite,” she said softly. “And it somehow became my own after she passed.”

He straightened, letting his eyes fall on her once more. Shadows of sadness misted her green eyes, her brows knitted slightly together as if the things going through her mind caused her pain. 

Grief he understood. Emotional pain he knew very well. In a matter of seconds, he watched both seize Miss Rosemary in their grasps. 

But before he could even consider a proper response, the music began. She blinked and the sadness cleared from her eyes. She turned to face him.

Robert anticipated her exact words and was determined to speak to them first. For reasons he did not care to explore at that very moment, he didn’t want to part ways. Not yet at least.

“Your Grace!”

A flutter of fans and overwhelming perfume swept in between him and Miss Rosemary. He made no attempt to hold back his scowl at the two ladies standing before him.

The older of the two held her hand out with a broad smile. “It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Your Grace. I am Lady Martha Montworth, and this is my daughter, Miss Penelope Montworth.”

“You have my greetings, ladies,” he responded stiffly, ignoring the hand she was clearly expecting him to take. “But if you do not mind, I was in the middle of a conversation.”

Lady Montworth’s eyes went wide with surprise. “Were you? I did not see anyone.” She made a show of looking around herself, revealing the fact that Miss Rosemary had indeed disappeared. Robert scowled deeper.

“They must have wandered off,” said Miss Penelope. “Perhaps they assumed the conversation had concluded, Your Grace.”

“Yes, that must be it,” Lady Montworth agreed. “You should move on as well, Your Grace. Tell me, are you already taken for the first dance set?”

He barely got the chance to shake his head before Lady Montworth spoke again, smiling brightly, “Marvelous, Your Grace! Then you must dance the first dance with my beautiful daughter. I insist.”

“I do not intend to dance…”

“It is the waltz, is it not?” she wondered aloud, looking around as if the answer would be revealed from the rafters. “Penelope is a wonderful dancer. I am certain that you will be impressed.”

She didn’t give him the opportunity to decline again as she gently guided Miss Penelope closer to him. Robert was left with no other option than to take her arm.

He held in his sigh as he made his way to the center of the ballroom to join the other dancers, eyes darting around in an effort to glimpse where Miss Rosemary had gone. He spotted Miss Isabella, being led out to dance by a pasty-white fellow, and even Lady Fitzwilliams watching from the sidelines. But there was no Miss Rosemary.

“How has your evening fared so far, Your Grace?” 

Miss Penelope’s voice pulled him from his wandering thoughts.

Polite conversation he could deal with. Even when the lady who was making it was staring up at him with flirtatious eyes.

“Well enough considering I have only just arrived,” he murmured. 

“I see. Well, I do hope that your evening proves to be more agreeable. I have been enjoying myself quite a lot and now that the dancing has begun, I know I will even more. Do you enjoy dancing, Your Grace?”

He gritted his teeth, as he strained his eyes over her head as they rocked back and forth for the waltz. Lady Montworth had been untruthful. Miss Penelope was barely competent in the dance, as she’d already stepped on his toes twice. 

“I do not,” he said coldly.

“How disappointing. Perhaps it is because you have never been given the opportunity to dance with someone such as myself.

“Someone such as yourself?” he echoed, just to be polite.

“Yes, Your Grace. I have been practicing my steps ever since I was five years old. And to do so while studying French and Latin and practicing the pianoforte as well as the harp is no small feat.”

“That is quite commendable.”

“Perhaps I could be given the opportunity to play for you, Your Grace. Though my sheet music is at my London home.”

She was determined, that was for certain. And subtle. Mentioning her London home was clearly meant to get him to agree to call on her. A lesser man might have fallen for it.

“Perhaps,” he hummed noncommittally at that and they lapsed into silence.

Robert almost thought he could get through the rest of the dance in peace but then she spoke again.

“Do you enjoy poetry, Your Grace?”

“No more than the average gentleman.”

“I do not know the degree to which the average gentleman enjoys poetry, I confess.”

“It is rather small.”

“Oh.” Disappointment laced her words. Another failed attempt at finding a connection between them. 

Robert was still looking for her. He didn’t realize it until he thought he might have spotted her near the staircase and nearly stumbled in an effort to see. But it wasn’t her and the disappointment that lanced him took him by surprise.

“Well, then that is good,” Miss Penelope was saying, clearly intent on making sure the conversation did not end. “I shall make it my mission to ensure that you do enjoy dancing by the end of the Season, Your Grace. I know we do not have much time left but I assure you that once I set my mind to something, I do not stop until I achieve it.”

Robert glanced at her. “Is that a threat?”

Miss Penelope’s eyes went wide with horror. She was quite a lovely girl, Robert noticed for the first time, but there were many beautiful faces littering this ballroom. She did not seem any different from all the others.

“A threat?” she gasped. “Certainly not, Your Grace! I would never!”

Robert couldn’t help feeling exhausted by this conversation. “I see,” was all he could manage to say in response.

But it was clear that Miss Penelope felt she needed to make her stance clear. So he was forced to endure a few more minutes of her sad attempts to make herself seem pleasing to him. She listed bits of her personality as if she were interviewing for the position of his future wife, glorifying in matters of intellect and subservience. Robert might have been impressed by her self-proclaimed qualifications if he had not been so put off by it.

At last, the set came to an end. Robert wasted little time leaving her behind, not giving her the chance to suggest anything else. He even heard her calling out to him but he didn’t dare look back.

“You look happy,” came a drawl to his right.

Robert shook his head at the familiar voice. “Anything but,” he proclaimed. He stalked over to a corner of the ballroom where he hoped he would be able to find some peace and the man who approached him joined his side.

Lord Charles Tidemore grinned broadly at Robert’s scowl. “What plagues you, Robert? Is it the hordes of ladies throwing themselves at you yet again? Or rather the unending looks coming your way? Or the fact that the entire ballroom seems to be in an uproar at the fact that you have graced them with your presence?”

“Pray, make sport of me all you wish, but I daresay were you in my position, you would find the matter all but agreeable.” Robert grumbled.

“I daresay not a gentleman in attendance would begrudge you your position, myself included.” Charles drained the last of the drink he had been holding, setting it on a nearby side table. He flicked idly at a lock of blond hair that fell over his forehead. “Some of us would actually like to find a proper lady to wed this Season.”

“By all means, Charles, go ahead. Though I would steer clear of Miss Penelope. She talks quite a lot and your toes will be sore after just one dance with her.”

“I am under the impression that Miss Penelope already has her eyes set on someone else.”

Robert turned to Charles, a smile playing on his lips, yet Charles’s gaze was fixed on something else entirely. 

Robert followed his eyes and felt his heart sink when his eyes met Miss Penelope, who waggled her fingers at him in an eager wave, her eyes lighting happily. Lady Montworth was by her side and when she saw who Miss Penelope was waving at, she perked up, fanning Robert over.

“You will have your hands full with that one,” Charles commented, sounding endlessly amused. “Lady Montworth and her daughter are quite known for being the ambitious sort. And once they have their hold over you…”

“I have no intention of allowing that to happen,” Robert declared determinedly.

“Then why did you agree to attend the ball? Charles sounded genuinely curious, turning to face Robert fully. “You do not enjoy balls and you knew very well what would happen if you were to make your presence known here.”

“My aunt insisted, unfortunately. She reminded me of my duties to keep up appearances for the sake of the dukedom. And though I was well aware that her true motives were to match me with one of the ladies here, I decided to appease her.”

“What a wonderful nephew you are,” Charles teased. “I’m sure you will make some lady happy one day.”

Because Robert knew that Charles was only trying to taunt him. But he forgot to retort, imagining instead what it would be like to be wedded.

The mere thought sent a shudder through his body. He knew he had to wed one day and when the time came, it would only be because he had no choice. It was his duty to pass on the dukedom and, sadly, he wouldn’t be able to do so without taking a wife. 

A stranger, preferably. That way, he could lead his own life without interference from her. And even then, it would not be until he was well past his forties.

Still, the thought bothered him. He doubted he would be able to find someone he could tolerate for very long. He could not even tell the last time he’d been able to endure being near anyone but Charles and his aunt without feeling a degree of vexation. 

All of a sudden, without any warning, a flash of auburn caught his eye, revealing Miss Rosemary staring up at him, her green eyes unyielding and ready to challenge him.

Chapter Three

 

Rosemary didn’t know why she was standing in front of the duke again. She knew that it was her own feet that had taken her here, that she’d ignored the thought in the back of her mind telling her to turn back before he noticed her, and yet, now that his attention was on her, she was completely clueless about her motivations.

All she knew was that she wanted to speak with him again, wanted to be near him again, and had not given it a second thought.

One dark brow raised in question. “How may I be of assistance, Miss Rosemary?”

She raised her chin, more as a defensive tactic than anything else. If she couldn’t explain to herself, how did she expect to explain it to him? 

Grappling for something, she said, “I realized that I did not return the question to you, Your Grace?”

“What question?”

“About your favorite plant,” she muttered in a faint voice, even though she kept her chin high as if waves of embarrassment were coursing through her at once. “It was quite thoughtless of me to disappear in such a manner without affording you the same courtesy.”

For a moment, the duke only stared at her, as if he was waiting for more. Suddenly, a smile played upon his lips, and his eyes, deep with a hint of humor, began to sparkle.

But before he could say anything, the man standing by his side stepped closer. “Ah, you must be Miss Rosemary,” he said with a broad, lopsided grin.

Rosemary, grateful for someone else to focus on rather than the dark-haired duke who had succeeded in making her stomach flutter, turned to face him fully. “I’m sorry…”

“No, we have not met,” he answered for her. “But I did meet your aunt in passing and she made it her point of duty to tell me all about her beautiful daughter and niece. I only had to put the pieces together to understand that you are the dark-haired beauty she spoke up.”

“How kind of you to say, Mr…”

“Lord Charles Tidemore, Marquess of Tynedale.” His grin never faltered, blue eyes dancing with humor and gaiety. “The pleasure is all mine, Miss Rosemary. I see you have already made the acquaintance of my somber friend.”

“I daresay anyone would seem gloomy next to you, Charles.” the duke drawled but Rosemary could feel the weight of his eyes on her. So she took great care not to look at him.

“In passing,” Rosemary admitted noncommittally. She didn’t know how she managed to keep her voice leveled, how she kept from looking at the duke every second. Standing so close to him washed her with heat, her insides swarming with a host of butterflies beating wildly against the walls of her chest. 

She knew what it meant, understood the signs though she’d never experienced anything like it before.

A feeling for him had begun to take root, and the realization filled her with alarm. 

“Miss Rosemary?” 

She opened her fan a little too aggressively, needing something to do with her hands as she looked back at him. Good gracious, she noticed the way he was staring intently at her.

“Yes?”

“Your question…” He dragged out the sentence, tilting his head to the side, tension rushing in between them. At last, he ended, “It is not so easy to answer as you would believe it to be.”

“I see.” Now was her chance. “Well, I suppose there is no reason to force your hand. I’ll take my leave…”

“Wait…”

“Rose, here you are!” Isabella appeared before her, breathless with flushed cheeks. “Lord Pentbrook is asking for you! He is hoping to dance so I told him I will go and fetch you and…”

She trailed off when she realized that Rosemary was not alone.

“Forgive me,” Isabella quickly apologized, cheeks growing pinker. “I did not know you were all in a middle of a conversation.”

“I was just taking my leave,” Rosemary tried to say but the duke spoke over her.

“Miss Isabella, have you met my friend, Lord Charles Tidemore of Tynedale? Apparently, he has heard quite a lot about you.”

Isabella curtsied first, then turned to the blond haired gentleman. “It is a pleasure to meet you, my…” Her voice faded, lips parting. “…lord.”

Rosemary blinked in surprise. She’d never seen her cousin at a loss for words. Indeed, Isabella’s chief failing was that she never knew when to hold her tongue.

But it seemed the same phenomenon plagued Lord Tynedale. His hand was poised in front of him, as if he was reaching out to her, with a look of utter wonderment written across his features.

All of a sudden, it felt as if she was intruding on an intimate moment. Without thinking, she glanced at the duke to see that he seemed to be thinking the very same thing.

 “Pardon me, my lady,” the duke stepped in, laying a hand on Lord Tynedale’s shoulder. “He is not normally at a loss for words. I believe he is attempting to ask you to dance.”

The flush creeping across Isabella’s cheeks deepened into a striking crimson hue. Rosemary, observing her friend with a keen eye, might have felt some concern for her friend had Isabella’s quiet, downcast smile not reassured her.

“It would be my pleasure, Lord Tynedale,” she murmured softly, eyes trained on the floor. Rosemary couldn’t believe her eyes. Her outspoken and confident cousin was acting like nothing more than a blushing schoolgirl.

Lord Tynedale still seemed afflicted with a want of words. It was the duke who finally took his arm and directed his path with a firm hand toward Isabella. Isabella giggled behind her hand as she accepted it and, together, they went off towards the center of the ballroom.

Rosemary watched her go with a mixture of amusement and happiness as it was more than obvious that her cousin was smitten. Oh, she was going to take a lot of enjoyment out of poking fun at her later. Suddenly the duke spoke out a trifle nervously.

“I have no intention of dancing.”

Rosemary turned to the duke, scowling a little. “I do not recall asking.”

He raised his brows, crossing his arms. “Is that not why you came over here? So that I may take advantage of the situation and ask you to dance?”

“No,” she answered sharply, grateful for the fact that the thought truly hadn’t crossed her mind. “As I said, I was only trying to be polite by asking you the same question you had asked me.”

“You and I both know there was no reason for you to do so. I would not have deemed you impolite. As a matter of fact, I don’t think anyone would.”

“You would be surprised, Your Grace.”

He tilted his head to the side. Rosemary didn’t like the way her heart skipped a beat whenever their eyes met, so she kept her gaze trained towards the middle of the room, to Isabella and Lord Tynedale who were blissfully dancing the cotillion.

“Admit it, Miss Rosemary. You were only seeking a reason to speak with me again.”

He had hit upon the truth and she gritted her teeth as she mentally made the admission. “Then indulge me. If I so ardently wished for a moment of your time, why would I have walked away so readily?” 

“I confess, I am quite at a loss. I must beg you to enlighten me.”

 “You think too highly of yourself,” she scoffed.

“No, I simply know how to read you.”

She couldn’t help looking up at him at that, couldn’t stop the thrill that raced down her spine when she spied the tiny smirk he wore. “You do not know me, Your Grace.”

“That is true,” he agreed with a natural arrogance that didn’t bother her as much as it should have. “Which begs the question, Miss Rosemary. Are you an open book or am I simply far too discerning?”

“Are you far too arrogant would be a much more appropriate question,” she grumbled, turning her back to him. 

“Arrogance does not always spring from a dry earth, Miss Rosemary. More often than not, it takes a fair amount of watering to grow the level of confidence I possess.”

She swiveled back around to face him, against her better judgment. “So that is why you think every lady who crosses your path must wish to throw herself at you. It happens once or twice and you deem it the norm.”

“Am I at fault here?” 

“Upon my word, I cannot find it in myself to condemn anyone for wishing to rid you of that insufferably confident grin.” 

The grin only widened. “Would you like to try your hand at it?”  

He was taunting her and she was falling right in his trap. Rosemary shook her head, taking a step back, needing the distance to clear her head. She should not have come over here. She should not have allowed this infuriating man to vex her in more ways than one.

She thinned her lips, meeting his eyes dancing with amusement. “Good evening, Your Grace,” she managed to say at last. She refused to let him pull her out of character.

His face fell, dripping with dismay. “You disappoint me, Miss Rosemary.”

“I find myself in complete agreement with that sentiment.” 

She wouldn’t give him the chance to get the last word in. That was the only piece she would keep to herself. She was feeling far too out of sorts already, running after a man who made it clear he found her underlying enthusiasm amusing and predictable. Needing to hold on to a smidgen of her pride, she turned and walked away before he got the chance to respond to her.

And nearly collided right into the Marquess of Pembroke. 

“Miss Rosemary, I have been looking everywhere for you.” Lord Pembroke fished out his handkerchief and coughed violently into it before tucking it into his pockets with shaky hands. “Would you like to dance?”

“Forgive me, Lord Pembroke…” she tried to say but, despite his age, he was a quick man. He grabbed her hand with his liver-spotted own and tugged her towards the dance floor.

“I insist,” he croaked. “I cannot allow the night to come to an end before we share at least one dance.”

Rosemary held in her grimace, allowing the aged gentleman to lead her towards the other gathering couples. She’d thwarted his advances nearly the entire Season and yet he was not deterred. For whatever reason she could not fathom why. Though she was perhaps four-and-twenty and fast approaching spinsterhood she had not yet grown so desperate as to consider a union with a gentleman twice her years.

Besides, the wretched cough he had been suffering from since their acquaintance led her to believe he had one foot in the grave already.

But then again upon further thought, she found it difficult to refuse him as they were being observed by onlookers standing around the dance floor watching intently. At least, not so publicly now that she could tell others were looking. The last thing she wanted to do was embarrass a marquess, even though it was the only thing going through her mind.

“You look lovely this evening, Miss Rosemary,” Lord Pembroke said as he tugged her close to him for the beginning of the dreaded waltz.

Rosemary whispered a prayer of gratitude that her gloves kept her from feeling his clammy palms but she had no protection against his stale breath of whiskey.

“Thank you,” she managed to say.

Lord Pembroke wobbled back and forth, slow and slightly off rhythm. “Allow me to be blunt, Miss Rosemary…”

“Oh, there is no need to…”

“I am quite charmed by you,” he finished. Then cleared his throat against another cough. “You remind me of my third wife.”

“Was she the one who was consumed by consumption, my lord?”

 “No, she passed away during childbirth and took my last chance at having an heir right with her.”

Rosemary glanced at him, surprised at the smidgen of sadness in his voice. Though she couldn’t quite tell if it was towards his deceased wife, his unborn child, or both.

“Well, I hope the similarity between her and myself is a good one,” she said nicely.

“It most certainly is,” Lord Pembroke confirmed. He was staring directly at her and it was all Rosemary could do to keep from showing how uncomfortable she was. “She had beautiful green eyes like yours. And was a rather headstrong lady.”

“She sounds like a wonderful woman.”

“She certainly was, though no better than the other two I was wedded to. You, however, I’m sure would be different.”

Rosemary tried not to grimace. She held her breath, letting the puff of whiskey breath drift away before she said, “We are not married, my lord. I suppose that is a substantial difference.”

“That will change soon enough.”

Keeping that scowl off her face was proving to be more difficult than she’d imagined. So she kept her eyes fixed over his shoulder instead, deciding not to say anything even if it would be deemed rude. This was a line of conversation she certainly did not want to encourage.

Her eyes met a steely pair of grey eyes from across the room.

All of a sudden, Lord Pembroke disappeared. She floated through an empty ballroom, drawn in by the magnetizing man staring at her which displeased her immensely. She felt an unease as he could make her heart thunder in her chest with but one look. The fact that she was breathing erratically whenever their eyes met across the room left her highly unsettled. She did not care for the way he had managed to discompose her so completely, for she barely knew him. It was plain to all that his disposition was quite contrary to her own. 

Feeling a surge of exasperation, she tore her eyes away, trying to focus on what Lord Pembroke was babbling about.

Mercifully, she was not obliged to bother herself further as the dance set was drawing to a close. 

“It was a pleasure, my lord,” Rosemary spoke quickly as she curtsied and quickly walked away before the marquess could say anything to her. She didn’t know where to go where she wouldn’t feel drawn to the frustrating duke. No corner of this ballroom would be far enough away.

So she headed straight for the terrace doors, needing to escape the ballroom altogether.

 

***

 

Robert found himself following her and could not understand what it was that was drawing him to her. He observed as she made her way towards the terrace doors and pursued her without any hesitation.

He didn’t question his actions until he was close behind her, until she’d delved into the thick of the gardens with only the moonlight as her guide and they were quite alone.

“Are you in the habit of taking late night strolls such as this?” 

Miss Rosemary gasped loudly, whirling to face him. Robert watched with slight amusement as the shock written across her features dissolved into irritation.

“I do not take kindly to being hounded,” she stated, crossing her arms in a defiant manner that both surprised and endeared him. “And that is exactly what you are doing.”

“I suppose it would make no sense to say that I just happened to be going on a stroll as well and that this is a complete coincidence?”

“It would not,” she confirmed. “Because I would not believe you. What is it that you seek, Your Grace?”

“Nothing,” he said, feeling oddly as if he were fabricating the truth. He knew not what he wanted, nor why he was there. 

She stared at him for a moment longer, narrowed her eyes in suspicion, and then turned and continued. Robert kept just a few paces behind her. After three steps, she whirled to face him again, her eyes flashing in the darkness.

“Surely you must be aware of how improper it is to follow an unattached lady without a chaperone,” she accused.

“As opposed to when there are witnesses? What is it about me that bothers you so, Miss Rosemary? Why do you grow so anxious?”

“Anxious?” She scoffed, crossing her arms again. “You think far too highly of yourself, Your Grace. I only met you a short while ago.  There is nothing about you that makes me anxious.”

“The redness of your cheeks says otherwise.”

Miss Rosemary’s eyes went wide. Surely he was bluffing even though she could feel the heat rise in her cheeks. She did not speak a word, only rolled her eyes and marched away with a determined step.

He did, of course, follow her with an air of certainty.

“Leave me be,” she threw over her shoulder.

“Not until you tell me why I bother you so,” he drawled.

“Why do you care so much?” She replied as she did not slow her pace, and avoided looking back at him. “You do not know me. You should not care about what I believe. As a matter of fact, I was of the impression that you did not care to be here at all, so why does it matter what opinion I hold of you?”

“That is an interesting question, Miss Rosemary, and I will give you the proper response once I know it myself.”

“Good gracious, you are infuriating.”

“And yet I am handsome enough to make up for it.”

She stopped, looked at him, and then scoffed again. “How interesting that you seem intent on complimenting your physical appearance while remaining disinterested in the institution of matrimony. If that is not a clear indication that you are a rake, then I do not know what is.”

Robert’s brows shot upwards. “You’re deducing that I am rake simply because I know how handsome I am?”

“Yes, in simpler terms. Am I wrong?” Before he could respond, she held up a hand. “Never mind. I shall believe that is the case no matter what you say.”

All of a sudden out of nowhere, something wet landed on his cheek. He was content to ignore it and would have had she not looked up in surprise. Two large droplets landed on her forehead and another near her eye, making her blink.

In the next moment, rain thundered down as if a cloud had burst above them. Rosemary let out a small squeal and ducked her head under her hands. Robert rushed in, using his own person to shield her as best he could. He did not hesitate to slide a hand about her waist and draw her near, nor did he stop himself from hurrying her towards a nearby pavilion.

He didn’t realize just how close they were until they were safe from the rain. Almost instantaneously, Rosemary came to her senses as she took in the scene and wrenched herself away quickly with her chest heaving.

“Forgive me,” he quickly said. “I had only intended to get us both out of the rain before we were soaked.”

“You did not have to worry about me, Your Grace,” she said, sounding out of breath. “I am more than capable of running to safety on my own.”

So stubborn, he thought.

“You think me a rake already, Miss Rosemary. The last thing I want is for your dismal opinion of me to fall even further.”

“My opinion of you should not matter. Your opinion of me certainly does not.”

“I think quite highly of you already.”

She crossed her arms over her chest as if she was trying to warm herself, eyeing him with suspicion. “I do not believe that.”

“Why ever not?” Robert asked on a laugh.

“Because, as I said previously, we’ve only just met. And all we have done is bicker with each other.”

“You certainly seem intent on bickering with me, that is for certain. I simply cannot fathom why.”

“It is because I am not fond of you, Your Grace.” She spoke rapidly, as if she needed to get the words out before she thought better of it.

That bothered him far more than it should have. “And that is because I thought to question you about your knowledge in botany?”

She shook her head slowly.

Robert frowned slightly. “Then what is it?”

She thinned her lips, not taking her eyes off him. Robert certainly couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was radiant, a glowing beauty with perfect droplets of rain dotting her hair and a banking fire warming her eyes. The need to close the distance between them nearly grew unbearable and he would have acted without thinking yet again if someone hadn’t called her name.

Miss Rosemary’s head swiveled towards the sound just as there was another, “Rosemary, are you out here?”

“That’s Isabella,” she murmured. “She must be concerned about me being caught in the rain.”

“So she delved out into the rain herself?” Robert asked, surprised at the twinge of disappointment in his voice.

The answer to his question was revealed a moment later when Miss Isabella appeared around a corner with a maid right next to her, the maid bearing a large umbrella. 

“Rosemary, there you are!” she exclaimed as she rushed forward. The maid struggled to keep up with her. “I have been looking all over for you. Mother had assumed that you snuck away to your bedchamber but I thought that I should at least look around the garden first, even if it is raining. Though I would not be surprised if…”

She trailed off, eyes widening at Robert. He was honestly surprised that she hadn’t noticed him sooner.

“Your Grace,” she breathed, glancing between the two of them.

“Thank you for coming to find me, Isabella.” Miss Rosemary surged forward, linking her arm with her cousin. “His Grace was only seeking refuge from the sudden rain as I was.”

“Oh, I see.” Miss Isabella’s eyes flickered back to him, clearly not knowing what to truly make of the situation. “Would you like to come back to the ballroom with us, Your Grace? I’m sure the umbrella will be able to…”

“He is a large man, Isabella, the umbrella cannot possibly cover us all. We can ask one of the footmen to guide him back when we return.”

Miss Rosemary didn’t give her cousin a chance to protest before she twisted her around and hurried her forward, once again forcing the maid to keep up with them. Robert watched them go with a soft smile. She didn’t look back once, even as her steps grew quicker.

Once he was well and truly alone, he let out a small laugh. He had managed to get under her skin, that was for certain. And for some reason, he was determined to understand the cause.

He wondered just how she would react when she found out that he would be spending the night here as well.