“If I could,” Lord Beresford said, “I would have slunk away unseen. Unfortunately you took me by surprise.”
His voice was rather grim, Rosamund thought. She had only ever heard it light and teasing.
The earl bent down to retrieve her hat and handed it to her.
“Under the circumstances,” Lord Beresford said, “I suppose I should be thankful things were not a great deal more embarrassing than they were. This is not bad after a three-day acquaintance, Justin. You have got farther than I. And I thought my only competition was Strangelove.”
“We have been acquainted for longer than three days,” the earl said.
“I believe your next words are supposed to be something to the effect that this is not quite what it seems,” Lord Beresford said.
Rosamund pinned her hat to her hair, keeping her eyes on the ground. She too had been expecting Justin to say those words and had been willing him not to.
“I don’t believe either Rosamund or I owe you an explanation, Josh,” the earl said. “I just hope you don’t go blurting this out back at the house and causing a lot of pain.”
“I am on foot,” Lord Beresford said. “If I just had two sound legs, I would go tearing off to tell tales to Annabelle and then go rushing off to find Dennis and my great-uncle. It would be just the sort of thing to bring me amusement.”
“Sorry,” Lord Wetherby said. “My words were foolish.”
Lord Beresford turned his eyes on Rosamund. “I expected better of you, Rosamund,” he said. “This is not exactly in good taste, is it?”
She looked back into the good-humored, handsome face-now pale and tight-lipped—of her girlhood companion and saw herself through his eyes. It was not a pleasant image. She lowered her eyes and walked toward the tethered horses.
“Let her go alone,” Lord Beresford said from behind her.
“I’ll be all right,” she said, turning. “I can find my own way back, Justin.”
He followed her wordlessly and helped her into the saddle.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his back to Lord Beresford, looking up at her with troubled eyes. “I’m so sorry, Rosamund.”
She tried to smile back at him before turning her horse’s head for the house a mile away. She had to concentrate on moving carefully through the trees so that she would not be struck across the face by a twig or branch. But she did so entirely by instinct. She saw nothing and heard nothing about her.
She saw only herself from the outside, as Josh would have seen her, sitting on the grass by the lake with Annabelle’s suitor, kissing him.
It was a sordid image, indeed. The past hour had been all wrong, every self-indulgent moment of it. She had gone there to the lake with him and sat close beside him, her head on his shoulder. She had allowed him to kiss her and had returned his kisses. She had allowed him to touch her.
Oh, she had shown a good deal of sense and restraint by stopping him from unclothing her. It was quite unexceptionable to allow another woman’s betrothed to fondle her through the silk of her blouse, she had seemed to be saying, though the depths of immorality to allow his hand on her naked breast. She could feel proud of herself for drawing such a firm line between what was right and what was wrong.
The truth was that she had indulged herself with a man who was forbidden to her. She might as well have allowed him to lift her skirts, as he undoubtedly would have done eventually if she had not stopped him when she had, and come right inside her. She was just as guilty as if she had allowed that ultimate intimacy. And perhaps a little more of a hypocrite.
One thing was sure: she was not going to change her mind about leaving Brookfield the morning after the ball. And she was going to find some way to avoid the wedding and all future meetings with Annabelle and her husband. In the meantime she was going to avoid him at all costs.
And she was going to throw away her pressed daffodil as soon as she had stabled her horse and gone to her room. It was over. It was a pleasant episode from her past, one to be held firmly there and forgotten about as soon as possible. No longer would she indulge herself by drawing out the memories for present enjoyment and nostalgia—not even at night.
It was over. As surely as her marriage was over. He was dead to her as effectively as Leonard was dead.
She dismounted from her horse in the stables while a groom was still hurrying toward her.
“Well,” Lord Beresford said as the earl watched Rosamund ride out of sight, “do I plant you a facer now and be done with it, or is there some sort of explanation for this?”
Lord Wetherby turned to look at his friend. “I don’t owe you any explanation, Josh,” he said.
“I heard you had cast Jude off,” the other said. “I was impressed, I must say. But I suppose there are limits even to your energy. Annabelle to get your heirs on, her aunt to play with. Who would need a mistress too?”
“I don’t need this, Josh,” the earl said wearily. “Not from you of all people.”
“I of all people happen to be Annabelle’s cousin,” Lord Beresford said. “And I intend to see that she gets a fair deal.”
