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14
Romy grabbed her portfolio, tucking it securely under her arm. She checked her pockets again to ensure she had several pencils and exited her room, grateful that the house was completely still and quiet. Most everyone had left a short time ago to attend a fair in Upper Granby, the small village about half an hour’s ride away.
Last night, Rosalind had come to her room shortly before joining the other guests for dinner, her damaged earring clasped in one hand. After retrieving the small pliers from her trunk, Romy had fixed the broken wire holding the amber. She had been absorbed in her task, forgetting she’d left out the sketch of a day dress she’d been working on.
Rosalind had taken the earring, hugging her in gratitude before placing it in her ear. Her gaze had run over the sketch, then back to Romy. “Someone will guess eventually.” Rosalind’s eyes had grown concerned. “You frequent Madame Dupree’s shop far too often. Even Mama has commented.”
“I’ve a headache caused by too much sun. I won’t be at dinner.” Romy had evaded the unspoken question.
Once her cousin had departed, she’d rung for Daisy, asking her to procure a tray as she wouldn’t be going down to dinner. If, rather,whenshe received Granby’s note, requesting she and Theo cut their stay short, Romy meant to leave privately, without the eyes of the other guests upon them. It was the only thing she could conceive of him requiring of her. Granby found her unacceptable. Opinionated and insulting. She thought him a heartless beast, one whom she was shamefully attracted to.
Romy shoved the portfolio more firmly beneath her arm.
Each day, though she didn’t wish it, Granby became more beautiful to her, like a savage landscape which, upon closer examination, revealed small details which drew her interest further. She seemed powerless to stop it.
Granby didn’t wish to be attracted to her, either. His gaze on her was filled with both desire and regret. Disdain and longing. It was a confusing combination and one that she was certain would lead to her imminent departure.
She could sense his discomfort and knew he blamed her for it. Granby likely wasn’t capable of any true emotion. Affection, and the like. The cold detachment with which he viewed everyone, including Lady Molsin, was evidence of such lack of feeling. Status was of primary importance. She knew Foxwood shared his views.
Which begged the question of Estwood.
Estwood is like the coat. The hair. The gardens.
Lost in her contemplation of the contradictions of Granby, Romy meandered through the garden, searching for the path she’d spied from her window while drinking her morning tea. It had been easy to beg off from today’s excursion by claiming her headache from the previous evening had not abated. Theo, as promised, held up her end of the bargain in explaining Romy’s absence.
Finding the path, Romy strolled at a leisurely pace. She was in no great hurry. The path curved, circling the pond where yesterday she’d seen Blythe and Meredith walking. She followed the trail into the expanse of trees where it continued around a large yew tree.
Another young lady, one raised primarily in London, might have been more cautious about venturing into such wilderness without escort, but Romy had been raised in the wild expanse of trees and fields bordering her father’s estate, Cherry Hill. The idea that harm would come to her on land owned by the Duke of Granby was ridiculous. Everyone for miles must be terrified of him.
As she rounded another bend, a girlish giggle broke the silence, followed by a splash. Slowing, Romy climbed up a small incline, careful to keep herself hidden in the thick bramble. Brushing aside the leaves and twigs catching at her cheek, she peered through an opening and caught sight of a large boulder.
And a great deal of Lady Carstairs.
Lord Carstairs and his wife were fishing; at least, that seemed to originally have been their intent, Romy guessed, catching sight of the two poles propped up and secured by a pile of rocks. But she doubted they were interested in catching anything but each other. Their bare feet dangled in the water below while Carstairs kissed his wife, simultaneously cupping her naked breast. She moaned softly, arching back as his mouth trailed along her neck before bending lower, taking a pert nipple into his—
Romy blinked, straining for air and thankful that much like Lady Carstairs, she’d neglected to wear a corset today. She had intentionally designed some of her day dresses to be worn without such constraint. Because—
Another moan came from Lady Carstairs. “Please, Douglas.”
She found herself unable to look away from the scene before her. Unbidden, an image of Granby, large hands splaying across her own body, invaded her thoughts. Would he elicit the same sounds from her? Caress her in such a way? The sensation of Romy’s nipples peaking sharply beneath the fabric of her dress forced her to suck in a breath.
Good Lord.
She quickly averted her gaze so as not to see what Carstairs was doing to make his wife pant as if she couldn’t catch her breath.
Romy backed up the way she’d come, careful not to make a sound, a distinct throbbing between her legs making her unsteady. The scene had unnerved her, both because of the intimacy she’d unwittingly stumbled upon, but also because watching them had aroused her. And made her think of Granby. Specifically, Granby doing such a thing toher.
Romy pushed such thoughts firmly aside. Chilly block of ice that he was, she doubted Granby possessed an ounce of passion. Certainly not enough to do something as shocking as making love to a woman atop a boulder, as Carstairs was apparently doing. She was imbuing him with attributes he didn’t possess.
“Bollocks,” she said, startling a wren from its perch above her.
Romy had been raised with two parents whose love for each other was apparent to any who saw them. They’d never hidden their affection from Romy and her sisters. As a child, it had been an embarrassment to hear her parents speaking in low tones and hearing the rustle of fabric behind a closed, locked door. Her parents remained passionately attached to each other until her father’s death. A true love match, rarer in thetonthan a flawless emerald.
I want you to find affection, for little matters in life without it.
Thinking of her father’s words, Romy knew he had left instructions for Tony regarding his expectations. Unlike so many titled men, her father had placed a great deal of value on his daughters, never failing to remind Romy and her sisters how precious they were.
I miss you, Papa.
