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“Lord Benedict will do, I think. In private, of course. It’s a scandalous informality.”
She blinked. “Your first name is Benedict?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Yes. Why?”
“Idon’t know. You don’t look like a Benedict.”
“Well, I am a Benedict, so you’ll just have to get used to it.”
CHAPTER12
Cordelia ran a wondering hand over the nicest of the gowns.
“We saw this last time I went to Madame’s.” she said breathlessly. “It’s that beautiful iridescent color, between green and purple. I was quite in love with it, but it was too expensive for us. And the Duke let you buy it?”
Rosaline nodded. “I’m as surprised as you. Delia, you should have seen thebill. Mama nearly fainted when I came home with all of this.”
She hadn’t told Cordelia about him paying off her mother’s bill. That was too embarrassing. She knew full well that the bill hadn’t been run up buying necessary things, like gowns to replace worn-out ones, chemises, underthings, and shoes.
No, her mother had spent that awful amount of money on fancy gowns that she never wore more than once, on bonnets that she did not need. It was humiliating, to rack up that sort of expense on such fripperies, and even more humiliating to have a man like the Duke of Keswick pay off the bill.
He’d told her to call him Lord Benedict in private, now. Rosaline wasn’t sure she’d get used to that.
“So, what else is there?” Cordelia asked, breaking into Rosaline’s thoughts.
Rosaline grinned. “Come and see.”
Rosaline’s room was small and shabby. She’d done her best to decorate it with flowers and such before Cordelia’s visit, but a little dusting and tidying couldn’t make up for years of neglect. There were carpets, old and threadbare, spread over bare boards. Her bed was narrow and uncomfortable, piled with blankets to keep out the chill. The rooms were draughty, and the windows old and cracked, letting in the wind.
However, there was a small room that opened off Rosaline’s room. It was intended to be a closet, but of course the Baroness had commandeered it for her own storage.
When Rosaline had arrived home yesterday with the ridiculous amounts of gowns and bandboxes, the Baron had told his wife to clear out the storage room.
“Rosaline will need the space as a dressing room.” He said absently, stroking a real fur stole that Madame had forced upon her, which Rosaline hated and had resolved never to wear. Much as Rosaline wanted to feel happy that her father was standing up for her, the kindness was hollow.
The Baron only wanted Rosaline to have a dressing room so that she could look her best in the fine dresses the Duke had bought her. He saw Rosaline as just another wager, just another investment – albeit one with much better odds than his horses and pugilists.
Rosaline wondered briefly how her parents would react when the almost-betrothal was called off, as it would be when the Duke decided it had served his purpose. Hopefully she would have secured another suitor by then.
Putting that unpleasant thought from her mind, Rosaline led Cordelia to her new closet, and threw it open to reveal rows of dresses, coats, hats, bonnets, shoes and much more. Some items were kept neatly in their boxes, others taken out and displayed.
Cordelia let out a gasp. “Oh, they’re beautiful, Rosie! You’ll suit them so well. Who could have thought that the Duke of Ice would be so generous?”
Rosaline grimaced. “It’s just so I don’t embarrass him in Society. He called it an investment.”
Cordelia’s hand stilled where it was stroking another gown. “An investment? That’s a little mercenary.”
Rosaline shrugged. She picked up a new bonnet, decorated with silk flowers and a few feathers, and started drawing the feathers through her fingers.
“Itisa mercenary arrangement. I keep the rabid Society Mamas away from him, and he gives me an opportunity. Apparently, he values his peace so much he’s willing to pay me to make it seem as though he’s off the market.”
Cordelia was quiet for a few moments. “It’s just that I thought…”
“Thought what?”
“Don’t be angry with me, Rosie, but I kept thinking what awonderfulthing this would be for you, marrying a man like that.”
“He doesn’t want to marry me.”
