love with another man he had no idea, but the reasons for Miss van Haven’s blushes were of as little consequence to him as her romantic attachments.
He had done his duty as host. Now he had work to do. He had a devastated estate to rescue. It was that which demanded his full attention.
Only a fool would allow himself to get side-tracked by the frivolity of a visit by an American heiress, and one thing Alexander knew about himself: he was no fool.
Why had she said that? Of all the excuses she could have come up with why had she said she was in love with another man?
Usually she could think much faster than that when put on the spot. Instead she had said the first thing that had come into her head and invented a non-existent lover to explain why an American heiress would not be interested in marrying the eminently suitable Alexander FitzRoy, Lord Ashton, the handsome and charming Duke of Knightsbrook.
But she could hardly have told him the truth, could she? She couldn’t tell him that the real Arabella van Haven didn’t want to marry because her one and only true love was the theatre, and she was determined to dedicate herself to pursuing a career on the stage.
Nor could she tell him that she, Rosie Smith, had long ago resigned herself to remaining unmarried. As the ward of a wealthy man, she knew that none of the men who moved in Mr van Haven’s circles would be interested in marrying a woman who had no money of her own and no dowry. How could she tell him that a man like him, who could trace his family back countless generations, was so far out of reach it would be a joke for her even to contemplate marriage to such a man.
And she certainly couldn’t tell him that she wasn’t Arabella van Haven. She had promised Arabella she would help her and her goal had been easily achieved. But she still couldn’t reveal that secret without Arabella’s knowledge. It would be a betrayal of her promise to her friend—something she would never do.
Instead she had lied to Alexander. Again.
She should have thought more clearly. She should have come up with a better reason—one that was closer to the truth than her invention of a beau for Arabella. Why had she done that? It must have been because that image of the two entwined lovers was still in her mind. That beautiful painting had made her realise that such passion would be something she would never experience. But it had still been a dim-witted thing to say, and Rosie could kick herself for her lack of clear thinking.
She would have to keep her head and her emotions in check for the rest of the weekend, so she didn’t say or do anything so foolhardy again.
She took one last glance over her shoulder at the art works she would never see again as Alexander hurried her out of the gallery. Such a shame. She could have spent the rest of the day and the evening looking at the paintings, but it seemed Alexander had different ideas. It appeared he’d had enough of the gallery. Or he’d had enough of her company.
They rushed down the hall as if they were late for an important appointment, his hand on her back hurrying her forward. It was apparent that now Alexander had done as his mother had commanded—had shown her the gardens and done his duty to his guest—he wanted rid of her.
Rosie tried hard not to be offended. It hardly mattered, really. So he was suddenly tired of her company and wanted to end their time alone together? It mattered not one jot.
And yet previously he had been so attentive to her. Right up till the time she had told him she was in love with another man. But there could be no connection between them; that would be too ridiculous. He had no interest in her. He had said so himself. And yet...
Rosie dismissed such scatter-brained thoughts. Even if his change in demeanour had come about because she had told him about the man she supposedly loved, it was the man American heiress Arabella van Haven loved—a woman from a respectable wealthy family. Not poor orphaned Rosie Smith.
Whatever his reason for such haste, trying to figure it out was pointless speculation.
As they rushed down the corridors towards the drawing room Rosie told herself she would not be offended by his determination to be rid of her. After all, what did it matter? She had got what she’d come for. Arabella was safe from an unwanted marriage. She had seen a beautiful garden, and viewed some exquisite paintings that few people got to see. That was a memory she would treasure always. Her plan had worked—not in the way she had envisaged, but it had still worked. Surely that was a satisfying conclusion?
All she had to do now was relax and enjoy the rest of her weekend in this grand home.
She glanced up at Alexander. His handsome face was set like stone as he focused straight ahead. It was as if he had one purpose and one purpose only: to end his time with Rosie as quickly as possible.
They reached the drawing room and she almost expected him to push her in, slam the doors behind her and make his escape. Instead he stood politely behind her, waited for the footman to open the doors, then followed her in.
The stately room was filled with the murmur of polite conversation as the assembled guests took afternoon tea. Fires crackled in several fireplaces, struggling to warm the expansive room, which held a slight chill despite the mild spring afternoon.
Rosie quickly scanned the room and took in every aspect of its opulence—from the large crystal chandelier suspended from the soaring engraved ceiling down to the intricate silk carpets that adorned the polished oak flooring. More of the family’s art collection was on display here. The walls were filled with paintings, and every surface seemed to be decorated with artefacts and antiques—presumably collected by Alexander’s many wealthy ancestors.
Rosie could only hope she would have an opportunity during the weekend to admire them more closely.
The Dowager was engrossed in conversation with a group of elderly women. When she saw Rosie and Alexander she instantly excused herself, rose from the chaise longue and with a purposeful swish of her black satin skirt walked over to join them.
Her gaze quickly moved from Rosie to Alexander and back again, giving her every appearance of making an assessment as to just how close her plan of marrying off her son to a wealthy heiress was to completion.
‘There you two young people are,’ she said. ‘You were away so long I thought perhaps you had eloped!’
Alexander’s body stiffened beside Rosie. She looked up and could see his lips drawn into a tight grimace.
‘No, Mother, you are quite wrong. Yet again.’
‘Oh, well, never mind,’ the Dowager continued, ignoring the note of censure in Alexander’s voice. ‘I’m pleased you have had a chance to get better acquainted. Did you enjoy your tour of the grounds, Miss van Haven? I hope Alexander showed you just how beautiful Knightsbrook is—particularly when the trees are in blossom. Although I think it’s beautiful in every season of the year.’
Rosie smiled politely. Now that the issue of marriage had been settled between her and Alexander there was no need to try and shock the Dowager with her bad behaviour. She could be herself. Well, not quite herself. She still had to be Arabella. But she didn’t have to pretend to be a completely unacceptable potential bride who posed a constant threat to priceless heirlooms.
‘Oh, yes,
