“Then you are also a fool.”
Rose smiled. “My father said something very similar to me. He didn’t call me a name, but he did think I was wrong.”
“Edmund is and always has been kind. I am not.” One side of her mouth lifted in a grin. “Ask my children. Fortunately for me, I fell in love with a man who likes me to be outspoken.” She stood, as did Rose. The duchess flared out her cape behind her and gestured with her fan at Davis, who had begun to hover not far from Rose’s chair. “Now, your butler looks desperate to speak to you, and I must mingle before the evening grows any later. I am not as young as I used to be.” She glanced at Thomas, who was at her side instantly, offering her his arm. She took it, then looked over her shoulder at Rose. “You will consider it?”
Rose curtsied. “I will, Your Grace.”
“Excellent.” And they were off, leaving Rose watching them go, her mind flying in a dozen different directions.
“My lady?” Davis touched her elbow.
She pulled out of her reverie and looked at him. “Yes?”
“Lady Rose, you are needed in your office rather urgently. One of the vendors insisted on seeing you and stormed up here before we could stop him. I did not want to create more of a scene by having the footmen toss him back down the stairs. I do apologize.”
She rolled her shoulders back. “Rightfully so, although it would have been a marvelous tale for the gossip sheets. And what would one of Mother’s soirees be without a bit of offstage drama? Let’s go.”
Chapter Twelve
Thomas watched Rosestride from the ballroom, Davis in her wake, a steep longing building in his chest. As he had helped his father and brother prepare for the business that would take place tomorrow, regret over the letter he had sent Rose pressed hard in the back of his mind. While he firmly believed that maintaining a distance from her over the next few weeks would help protect her, he had never meant to hurt her, and his own growing network of informants had told him that she had not left Huntingdale House since its receipt, had remained in her office constantly, and focused so directly on tonight’s event that her mood had been snappish and foul.
A gentle tap on his arm brought his attention back to his mother, and he looked down at her, forcing a smile on his face.
She shook her head. “Do not even try, Thomas. You are not that good an actor. A charming façade in the face of strong emotion is your brother’s purview, not yours. You should go after her.”
His brows furrowed. “But she’s taking care—”
Emalyn’s fan whisked away his concern. “She will take care of that nonsense in less than five minutes, which will leave her alone. In her office.”
Thomas glowered at her. “You are suggesting we court ruin.”
Her smile held a bright mischievousness. “Only if you get caught.”
His eyes widened. “Mother!”
“Pshaw! You are the Kennet heir. She’s a spinster about to retire from Society. Ruin should be the least of your concerns.” She paused, her grip tightening on his arm. “Turn me over to your brother and see where Lady Rose disappeared to. Robert and I will hunt down Aldermaston and make sure he is still behaving himself with your sister. The readings are about to begin, so now is a good moment.”
Who was he to argue with his mother? Thomas squeezed her arm, handed her off to his brother, and made his way slowly toward the front of the hall, making a few bits of casual conversation along the way. In the hall, he eased toward her office, hearing a strident male voice emerging from the partially open door, followed by Rose’s firm but calm response. Thomas could not hear the words, but the exchange became progressively quieter. Finally, the door opened and Davis escorted a tradesman of some sort down the back stairwell.
Thomas approached the door, his fingers fidgeting with unexpected nerves. He ignored the voice that scolded him for being here, where he had not been invited and most likely was not wanted. Instead, he stepped into the doorframe.
Rose sat behind her desk, her spectacles on the blotter in front of her, her hands covering her face. Her shoulders sagged, and her entire body radiated exhaustion. His heart lurched at his sudden desire to comfort her, and he tapped lightly on the door. “Lady Rose?”
Her head shot up and her hands dropped to the desk. Her eyes widened at first, then narrowed. “What are you doing in here?”
Thomas glanced behind him, but the hallway was empty. In the distance, he heard the droning delivery of the first readers. He stepped in and shut the door behind him. “No one saw. They are listening to Syagrus.”
Rose stood, stepping in front of the desk. Her shoulders rose and fell as her breathing increased. “You should not be in here.”
“I know.” He moved toward her, one hand out, but stopped as she backed up, bumping into her desk. “And I’ll leave if you insist. I only wanted to apologize.”
She stilled. “For what?”
He lowered his hand. “For that thoughtless letter.”
“You only said what we both knew had to happen.”
He shook his head and took a step closer. “No. I did not. I said what I thought you wanted to hear, after what you said in the park. And I said it because you pushed me away, and I was unprepared for that. I had met you with an entirely different purpose in mind, and when everything went awry, when you told me about Bentley—” He stopped and straightened his shoulders. “I reacted poorly, and since then—”
