are you talking about?’
‘Lord Stamford. For a husband.’
‘A husband?’ Horrified, she stared at Lady Carlyn.
‘I don’t believe you’ve been attending at all. His aunt, Lady Spence, told me—in strict confidence, of course—that Eversleigh has been casting about for a wife for him. Why did I not think of this before? There is no reason why you should not be in the running. Now that you are finally in London, I shall call on Margaret and drop a hint in her ear.’
A most alarming headache was beginning in her right temple. ‘Grandmama, please, no. I would rather be dead than ever, ever consider him for a husband.’
His most blatant efforts to flirt with her had failed dismally.
Michael received his overcoat and hat from the footman and headed down the steps into the cool spring night. He liked walking at night, despite the risk of footpads.
A smile curled his lips. It was wicked of him to tease Lady Jeffreys so much. Especially in front of Lady Carlyn. But the fire that sprang to her eyes and the all too-ready colour washing over her cheeks was too tempting to resist.
He had no idea why such a respectable widow should interest him. She was pretty but not beautiful. Her dress, even tonight, was unfashionably plain; no rows of lace and flowers adorned its hem, no low-cut bodice designed to reveal its wearer’s charms. But it became her.
He usually found such ladies excessively dull. But not Lady Jeffreys. Behind the proper façade she tried to present, he sensed a warm, passionate woman. It would be a challenge for any man to storm those barriers.
Particularly as she detested him and made no pretense otherwise, not even in hopes he might relent and return her brother’s estate. He admired her for that. At least she was honest in her dealings with him.
It would probably be too much to hope Miss Randall would harbour the same sentiments. No, from what he gathered of the young lady, she was very biddable and unlikely to disobey her family’s wishes. A pity Lady Jeffreys was not his intended bride; he’d never get her to the altar unless she was drugged and bound.
Suddenly, Charles’s words flashed through his mind. His head snapped up and he stopped dead in the quiet street, inspiration hitting him like a bolt of lightening. Why not? She was well bred, respectable, pretty, intelligent. And she disliked him thoroughly.
What more could he want in a prospective bride?
Having the proper, disapproving Lady Jeffreys in his power would be most agreeable. He’d wager any sum that by the end of their association, he could break down her resistance to him.
And he knew without doubt he could induce her to agree to his plan.
Chapter Three
Morning sunlight streamed through a crack in the heavy brocade curtains of Rosalyn’s bedchamber. She fought to open her eyes, heavy with sleep, wanting nothing more than to snuggle back down into the cosiness of her bed.
It was these late nights. She was not used to staying up past midnight, let alone until two or three in the morning. She had never realized what energy a woman of sixty some years could possess. An evening at home was far too tame for Lady Carlyn; she must be out to a soirée or ball or to a concert every night. And she insisted Rosalyn accompany her.
Rosalyn struggled up as Mrs Harrod, her housekeeper, entered. She carried a tray with a pot of chocolate and a plate of toast.
‘Anything else, my lady?’ she asked as she set the tray in front of Rosalyn. She was plump and kindly and watched Rosalyn with a motherly eye. ‘I thought you might like a tray today seeing how you did not come in until nearly three. Such a long night for you.’
Mrs Harrod bustled about, opened the curtains and then departed. After pouring herself a cup of the steaming chocolate, Rosalyn sunk back on her pillows, wondering if there was any way she could escape tonight’s ball. She had been to more of these affairs since arriving in London ten days ago than in the eight years since her own coming-out.
Her husband, John, had considered ton parties a frivolous waste of time, as did most of his scholarly colleagues. After the miserable, tongue-tied shyness of her one and only season, she had been grateful.
Sometimes she had longed for a little more gaiety. It seemed after the first year or so of their marriage, as he became more deeply immersed in completing the massive book he’d spent years working on, that anything which distracted him from his work was a waste of time.
Including her.
Tears pricked her eyes. She brushed them away with an angry hand. It was only that she had lost so many people she loved in the past five years, first John, then her mother a year later. Her father’s spirit had been buried along with her mother, his body finally succumbing to a bout of influenza two years later. Now, she was losing James.
She had come to London, hoping to somehow bridge the gap between them. Since their mother’s death, he’d walled off his emotions, rarely talking to her as he once had. Her father had been no help; lost in his own sorrow, he’d scarcely noticed James was growing more unmanageable, running around with some of the wildest young men in the neighbourhood. After her father died, he stayed away from Meryton for long periods of time, only once bringing a group of his new friends down for a week.
Rosalyn had been appalled. It took no more than a few hours in their company to discover he kept company with some of the most disreputable rakehells in London. She’d stayed out of their way, afraid to say anything to James for fear he’d shut her out even more. But he’d never asked them again.
She finally forced herself out of bed. Her abigail, Annie, helped her dress in a long-sleeved navy print cambric gown with a ruff around the throat, then dressed her hair in its usual knot.
Rosalyn had just reached the staircase when Mrs Harrod bustled up to her, her plump face shining with curious excitement.
‘You have a visitor, my lady. I have shown him to the drawing room.’
‘A visitor? Is it James?’
‘No, not your brother.’ Mrs Harrod clasped her hands. Her voice quivered with anticipation. ‘It is the Marquis of Stamford, my lady. He wishes to see you.’
Rosalyn backed away from the staircase, her hand fluttering to her throat. What was he doing here so early? It was hardly the hour for morning callers. Did he think she was at his disposal at any time?
‘Lord Stamford? He wishes to see me? Please inform him I am not at home.’
‘But, my dear, he is very anxious to see you.’
‘No, I certainly do not want to see him. It is much too early.’
Mrs Harrod pursed her lips in disapproval. When she saw Rosalyn did not plan to relent, she nodded and bustled away.
Irritated, Rosalyn turned back to her room. She supposed he’d finally decided to return her fan. A full three days had passed since the rout. Well, he could leave it with Mrs Harrod. She would hide out until he left. She picked up a novel she was reading, but the words jumbled into nonsense.
She
