“Your mother seems to think that this carriage ride will encourage other gentlemen to extend a similar invitation,” he said.
“Yes, well, my mother has vastly overestimated how much interest I garner with the other gentlemen,” Anette replied. “Gentlemen are not interested in a wife that is clearly, and unabashedly, a bluestocking.”
Roswell’s gaze met hers and she noticed an intensity in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. “That is their loss. For they will never have the chance to get to know you and realize how truly extraordinary you are.” He spoke in a low voice, but she could sense the sincerity in his voice.
Anette felt a blush form on her cheeks and willed it to stay away, though it didn’t seem to obey. “Thank you, Roswell.”
Why couldn’t he love her?
Roswell turned his gaze back towards the road and she immediately missed the loss of contact. “We should be heading back. I do not want to take too much of your time.”
She nodded, or at least she thought she did. It didn’t matter what she did. Roswell would never see her as anything more than a friend.
ChapterSix
Roswell was in a hell of his own making. He loved Anette, but he couldn’t do anything about it. He had promised Caleb that he wouldn’t bring Anette into his life. It was too dangerous for her to even be associated with him.
He realized how wholly incapable he was ofnotloving Anette. But because his heart beat only for her, he had to let her go.
No matter how many times he told himself this, his heart didn’t seem to listen.
Pulling back on the reins, Roswell came to a stop in front of his townhouse. A footman exited through the main door to collect the coach.
As Roswell approached the main door, the door was promptly opened by Carson and he stood to the side to allow his master entry.
The sound of his sister’s laughter drifted out of the drawing room. It had been quite some time since he’d heard her sound this content.
As he went to see what was so amusing, Carson spoke up from behind him. “Lady Octavia has a gentleman caller, my lord.”
Roswell spun back around. “Who?” he demanded.
Carson held up a calling card. “A Mr. Louis Barnard.”
“Who the blazes is that?” Roswell asked as he accepted the card.
“I’m afraid I cannot answer that.”
Roswell frowned. This wasn’t the first time that Octavia had a gentleman caller, but it was the first time that she appeared to enjoy the man’s company. This would not do. She was far too young to seriously consider a suitor.
But perhaps he was just getting ahead of himself. He would go into the drawing room and see for himself what was going on.
In a few short, purposeful strides, he arrived in the drawing room and saw his sister was sitting on a settee, a bright smile on her face. A tall, broad-shouldered man with dark hair was seated across from her and his back was to him.
Roswell noticed Mrs. Harper in an upholstered armchair near Octavia, her chin resting on her chest as she softly snored. He wondered what good a companion was if she was always asleep.
Octavia smiled when she saw him enter the room. “Roswell,” she greeted. “I want to introduce you to someone.”
The man rose and turned around to face him. He had thick, dark eyebrows, a defined jaw and olive skin. He smiled, but it was not one that Roswell trusted. It may have been due to the fact that Mr. Barnard was a Frenchman. He had a general disdain for all Frenchmen.
Rising, Octavia gestured towards her guest. “Mr. Barnard has come all the way from the Continent to meet us,” she revealed. “He was friends with Fredrick.”
Roswell arched an eyebrow as he studied Mr. Barnard. “How is it that you were friends with my brother?”
“We worked together,” Mr. Barnard replied.
“I find that hard to believe since France and England are at war with one another,” Roswell said.
“Not every Frenchman supports the war, my lord,” Mr. Barnard remarked.
