Why had the palms of her hands dampened and her pulse raced?Was she really so starved for the sight of a handsome man that she’d immediately seized upon the unsuspecting gardener? She was disgraceful.
“Do you think he’s here about the gardening position?” Rose asked, gesturing toward Thorncroft and the visitor, who now walked beside the head gardener with his hands folded behind his back, nodding his head to whatever was being said.
“I suspect so,” Prudence said.
“I hope he knows what to do about the aphids.”
Prudence smiled. “For his sake, I hope so too.”
Rose nodded, but she couldn’t look away from the stranger. There was something about him that seemed at odds with his rough clothing. The confident way he moved, the proud tilt of his head. He looked like a man with an intriguing past.
“He carries himself well for a common gardener,” Rose said. “Do you not agree?”
“Perhaps he’s not so common. These days, many gentlemen have fallen on hard times.”
Rose returned her gaze to the man who made her stomach flutter. In her young life, that had never happened when she’d looked at a man of any type, common or noble. She felt a strange desire to get closer, to see him better. But why? Perhaps it was simply that he was the first interesting thing to happen since her return from London.
Or perhaps it was the way he’d paused in the drive, looking up at the house as if he were assessing it. As if he had plans for the estate.
“Come, Prudence,” Rose said, stepping back into her chamber. “Help me dress. It is time for me to start my day.”
After breakfast with her father, she would head out for her morning stroll. Perhaps she would get a better view of this large, seemingly inquisitive man. What harm could come from that?
*
Thirty minutes later,Rose stood before the tall, gilded mirror as Prudence finished buttoning her gown. The dusty blue muslin was one of her favorites, with delicate embroidered vines trailing across the sheer overlay and an ivory satin ribbon cinched just beneath her bust. Prudence had arranged her dark hair in a neat chignon, and her bonnet and gloves waited on the dressing table.
“You’re pretty as a picture, Lady Rose. The blue contrasts nicely with your green eyes.”
“Thank you, Prudence.” Rose smoothed her skirts, steeling herself for the day ahead. “I suppose I must go downstairs before Father grows cross with me. He’s already irritated enough about my failed Season.”
“Mrs. Blythe will be ready to meet with you after breakfast about the summer house party.” Prudence hesitated, her fair cheeks flushing pink. “But there’s something I need to tell you first.”
Rose’s stomach clenched. Prudence had been with the family since before Rose’s birth, first as head maid, then promoted to lady’s maid when Rose turned sixteen. She was loyal, protective, and privy to all the household gossip. When Prudence looked worried, there was usually good reason.
“What is it?”
“Your father has asked Mrs. Blythe to send an invitation to Baron White. For the house party.”
The words sent ice through Rose’s veins. She sank onto the edge of her bed, memories flooding back unbidden. Baron White at that dreadful London ball, following her into the garden. His sweaty hands, his brandy-soaked breath hot against her neck as he whispered things that made her skin crawl. The way her father had looked at her afterward, tired and resigned, when she’d told him what happened.
“I told him where to find you.”
Her father’s words still echoed in her mind. He’d practically served her up to that horrid man, all because she’d failed to attract a betteroffer during two full Seasons.
“Oh, Lady Rose.” Prudence sat beside her, taking her trembling hands. “What can I do to help you?”
Rose forced herself to breathe slowly. She wouldn’t fall apart. Even if it nearly killed her trying, she would be brave. Face whatever came for her. What choice did she have? “Does Father truly think so little of me that Baron White is the best I can hope for?”
“Lady Blackwell has been whispering in his ear again,” Prudence said. “She’s made it clear she won’t marry him until you’re… settled elsewhere.”
Of course. Honoria Blackwell, her father’s widowed mistress, who’d been circling like a vulture ever since her own husband died and left her in reduced circumstances. The woman wanted Rose gone so she could finally become the new Lady Wentworth.
“Prudence, I’m afraid for what is to come,” Rose said.
“As am I, my lady. I tremble to think what will happen to the staff if he marries Lady Blackwell,” Prudence said.
“You are all so dear to me. Yet, I’m powerless to protect you. She has her claws into him, and I don’t anticipate her releasing him anytime soon. I’m afraid I’m doomed to marry Baron White.” She clamped her teeth shut to keep her lips from quivering like a child.
