Page 33 of The Lady’s Deception

Freeing one hand from the tangle of sheets and blankets, she laid her palm softly against the cool plaster that divided her bedchamber from his. Perhaps at this very moment, he was on the other side of that wall thinking not of telling her to leave, but of asking her to stay. Perhaps he—

She snatched her hand away, shut her eyes, shook her head—but none of it stopped the next thought from forming. That cricket ball must have done more damage than she realized. Paris wasn’t planning a proposal after one foolish kiss. And she wasn’t free to accept him if he were. However eager Charles had been to marry her off, he would certainly object to any future for her that involved Merrion Square and an Irish barrister. So long as he was her guardian, she wasn’t free to choose.

“Good mornin’, Miss Rosamund,” Molly sang out as she backed into the room carrying hot water and fresh linens. Eileen shot between her legs and through the open door. “Never tell me you had that creature in here with you last night?”

“She was an excellent companion and protector, Molly.”

Molly spun, training her sharp eyes on Rosamund. “An’ just what is it you need protectin’ from?”

At the memory of the kitten climbing over Paris’s shoulder, Rosamund only smiled, ignoring the question. “Is Mr. Burke up?”

After another searching look, the maid moved to fill the washbasin. “I’ve not seen him yet this morning. But his room’s empty.”

“Oh.” The note of disappointment in her voice earned her a puzzled, backward glance from Molly as she left.

Quickly, Rosamund washed, dressed, and went down to the kitchen, where she met the girls and they all ate breakfast together. Eileen was already there, too, greedily lapping milk from a chipped saucer Cook had placed on the floor. Half an hour later, with the kitten curled contentedly on a pile of rags near the hearth, Rosamund ushered Daphne and Bell up to the schoolroom. Still no sign of their brother, though she noted in passing that the drawing room door was shut.

The girls slid into their seats as she walked to the window and looked out. “We’ll begin with geography, girls,” she said briskly, spinning to face them. Surely the wide world contained sufficient distraction from the question of what would happen when she saw Paris again.

Several hours later, Molly opened the door to the schoolroom. “Beggin’ your pardon, but I—”

She broke off, eyes wide, forcing Rosamund to make an honest assessment of the mess the girls had made with their papier-mâché topographical map of North and South America, which covered the surface area of both desks. Bell was wrist deep in pulp, working on raising the Andes to disproportionate heights. Daphne looked comparatively neat, although the smears and speckles on her face suggested she might have employed her chin in carving out Hudson Bay. Rosamund carefully wiped the starchy paste from the ends of the hairpin she’d been using to trace the path of the Amazon and tucked it back into her loose chignon.

“I, er…” Molly continued. “I’m sorry to disturb your, uh, lesson, Miss Gorse, but Mr. Paris sent word that I was to pack his things for him, and all the bags are up here.”

“Is he—is Mr. Burke leaving, Molly?” Rosamund could not give a name to the catch in her chest. Whatever resolution she had imagined, it had not been this one.

Daphne slapped her palm onto the board, wiping out a goodly portion of the eastern seaboard of the newly-minted United States of America and splattering her pinafore in the process. “I knew it. I knew he’d go back to his rented rooms once he found us a governess.”

Rosamund’s first instinct was to contradict her, but she bit the words back. How ironic that she should find herself leaping to the defense of a man whose own sister was so quick to assume the worst.

Molly, however, came down on Rosamund’s side. “Now, Miss Daphne,” the housemaid said in a surprisingly reassuring voice. “T’isn’t that at all, at all. He went out early this morning for a meetin’, then along come a note saying he’s got to speak with someone about a case and guessed he might be gone overnight. Two days, at most.”

Daphne looked unpersuaded. “Everyone leaves us.”

Bell crossed her arms protectively over her chest, smearing her dress with would-be mountaintops. Tears welled in her eyes. “At least the others told us they were going.”

“I won’t leave you,” Rosamund promised rashly. Not even if she should—for her own good. She was letting her wild imagination get the best of her again, making excuses for a man who didn’t exist. Daphne and Bellis knew the real Paris. Angry. Selfish. Neglectful.

“That is,” she corrected gently when Bell rushed to her side and wrapped her arms, coated in laundry starch paste, around Rosamund’s waist, “when it comes time for me to leave, I will be sure to say goodbye.”

As many as two days would pass before those words would have to be spoken. Perhaps between now and Paris’s return, he would have forgotten about the kiss. After all, from his perspective, it might have been utterly forgettable.

And perhaps she—no. She had no hoping of forgetting. But she could use the time to figure out what do to about the fact that she wanted much more from him than mere legal advice.

* * * *

By the morning of the third day, the weight on Rosamund’s chest was far heavier than a kitten. Colder and harder too. A solid lump of dread. Why had he stayed away so long?

Last night, Daphne and Bell had begged to stay up late and await their brother’s arrival. Rosamund had read to them from The Botanic Garden for more than an hour, in part because she knew her listeners would hardly hear a word. When at last she had insisted upon bed, she’d left Eileen with them, an even better distraction than a book. She herself had sat up in the drawing room until the longcase clock struck one. Still, Paris had not returned.

Nor had he sent any message informing them of a delay. Molly did her best to behave as if all was as it should be, but the girls were clearly worried. Rosamund was too, though she dared not admit it—not even to herself.

At least the day had had the decency to dawn fair. “Excellent weather for safe traveling,” Rosamund said aloud as she rose, repeating the words to Molly when she brought the water, and again to the girls over breakfast.

Rosamund feared that skepticism was soon to become the permanent expression of Daphne’s face. “He’s not coming back,” the girl declared. “Not to stay. You’ll see. He’s back in those miserable rooms near Henrietta Street without a care for us.”

She’d said as much on each of the previous days. Then, Molly had corrected her. Today, the maid said nothing.