Rosamund clamped her teeth together hard and stared sightlessly from the window. She could feel fury boiling inside her, perhaps because her brother had hit on a raw nerve.
“Not when Tobias can be brought to the point with no effort at all,” her brother added.
She turned to him, her eyes flashing. “So that is what this is all about,” she said. “Finally we arrive at the full truth. You are afraid I am going to be a burden on you, a fading poor relation to be provided for for the rest of my days.” She knew she was being unfair. But anger is not a rational emotion, and neither is hurt pride.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, raking her with scornful eyes. “You a fading creature!” He clucked his tongue.
“I would not dream of imposing on your charity,” she said with great dignity. “You need not fear it, Dennis. And you do not need to sell me to the first bidder, either. I will find my own husband, thank you kindly. And I will do it quickly to get myself off your hands.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he repeated, and kept his eyes resolutely on the scenery beyond the carriage window.
“That is all I am to you, is it not?” she said. “I am ridiculous and a nuisance and a burden. And I must be treated like merchandise. Toby Strangelove, indeed! I should have stayed where I was. Felix did not need the house—he lives in London. And he never so much as hinted that I was unwelcome there.”
“You are still a spitfire at the age of six-and-twenty,” he said. “I thought you might have changed, Rosa. I thought perhaps Hunter would have tamed you.”
“You probably imagined him taking a whip to me every day,” she said. “He happened to love me, Dennis, difficult as that may be for you to comprehend. He was unfailingly courteous to me. He did not constantly bicker with me.”
Lord March tossed a look at the roof of the carriage. “In the last few days,” he said, “I have sometimes wished that I had left you where you were. Life has been peaceful for the past nine years. I begin to wonder why I came for you. You are obviously not grateful.”
“Oh,” she said. “Stop this carriage immediately. I am getting out.”
Lord March favored the roof of the carriage with another look. “And walking back to Lincolnshire, doubtless,” he said. “Be thankful I don’t take you at your word, Rosa.”
“I am getting out,” she said, leaning forward before her brother realized what she was about and rapping sharply on the front panel for the coachman to stop. “I am sorry in my heart that I came, and I have no intention of riding another mile with you.”
The carriage drew to a halt.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lord March said.
“I have every intention of being just that,” she said coldly, “since that is what you clearly expect of me.”
A footman opened the door and peered in.
“The steps, please,” Rosamund said.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lord March said.
She buttoned her cloak at the chin and retied the strings of her bonnet. She grasped her reticule. “You may hand me out,” she said to the footman.
“You expect me to beg you to stay, don’t you?” Lord March said. “You expect me to grovel at your feet and apologize for every fancied insult. You may put up the steps,” he said to the footman. “It would serve you right if I let you go, Rosa.”
Rosamund held out an imperious hand to the footman. “You may hand me down,” she said icily.
The servant looked uncertainly to his master.
“Well, go then,” the viscount said irritably. “If you are determined to be so foolish, go ahead. I hope it does snow.”
“Thank you,” Rosamund said with exaggerated courtesy to the footman as he assisted her down onto the roadway. She looked up into the scowling face of her brother. “Do have a pleasant life, Dennis.”
She turned and walked resolutely away along the road, in the direction from which they had come. She was walking into the teeth of an icy wind, she found. And there was already snow sifting down.
How ridiculously she was behaving, she thought as she listened to the horses clopping off into the distance. Dennis was quite right. She had forgotten about such childish rages. It was mortifying to know that she was still capable of them at the age of six-and-twenty.
She smiled as she drew her cloak more closely about her and shivered. For how long would Dennis punish her? She wondered. How long would it be before he had the carriage turned in order to come after her? And when he came up to her, should she accept the olive branch graciously and smile at him? Even laugh, perhaps? Or should she remain icily cold and pretend that she was surprised to see him, and not altogether pleased?
She shivered again. It would not be difficult to act icily cold. The wind paid no heed whatsoever to her heavy winter cloak but seemed to be penetrating to the very marrow of her bones. The snow was turning from sleet to thick white flakes.
Viscount March, inside the carriage, was mentally estimating how far two miles was. He would allow the carriage to continue for two miles before ordering it to turn back for Rosamund. It would serve her right if he went five—or ten. It would serve her right if he did not go back for her at all.
