Page 51 of Sinfully Daring

He directed the question at Montagu, who nodded. Lady Montagu, who had also been studying both Sebastian and Rosamund with interest, did likewise.

“It’s so outrageous no one will believe the rest of the story can be true,” she declared. “Especially not once the Peculiar Ladies have worked on it and spread it about.”

“The Peculiar…?” Sebastian began but Rosamund shook her head.

“I’ll explain later,” she whispered.

“Is this to do with—”

“The hat, yes,” she said, gravely.

Sebastian nodded, as if that made complete sense. If he was losing his mind, he was inclined to let it happen so long as he ended up married to Rosamund.

“Is this what you want, Rosamund?” her mother asked suddenly. “This was your idea. You invited Lord Hargreaves here, you proposed to him, but is it actually what you want?”

Sebastian’s heart, which had endured some harsh treatment over the past days, trembled as Rosamund turned to face her mother. “Yes, Mama. It is what I want.”

“Well, then,” the duchess said, perfectly calm. “That’s that, then. Robert, you had best get up to Doctors’ Commons at once. We shall need a special licence.”

The duke stared at his wife in stunned silence but uttered not a single objection.

Sebastian smothered a grin.

Rosamund stood by the door as her father accepted his hat and gloves from the footman. She waited until the staff retreated and walked out of the front door with him. Her younger brother, Fred, was going too to keep him company and was already waiting in the carriage.

“Rosamund,” Papa said, turning to her. “I know everything that has happened has upset you deeply so perhaps you are not thinking clearly. I don’t want you to rush into some foolish marriage when we can simply wait for this scandal to be replaced by another. In a couple of years, with the weight of my name and our friends’ support, this will have died down. You are certainly young enough to wait that long. There is no need for this, truly.”

“But I want to marry him, Papa,” Rosamund said, colour tingeing her cheeks.

“Oh,” her father said, obviously taken aback by the determination in her words.

Rosamund put a hand on his arm. “I didn’t lie, Papa. He was only my friend. I never allowed myself to think of him in any other way and would never have done so, but things are different now and the truth is… I like him very much. I admire him, and when I am with him I feel—”

Her father took her hand and gave it an encouraging squeeze. “Yes?”

“I feel entirely myself. Not Lady Rosamund, daughter of the Duke of Bedwin. Not the public face, the façade, but me.”

“Well, then,” Papa murmured, his expression softening. “I had better get this licence, hadn’t I?”

“Yes, please.”

He smiled at her and leaned down to kiss her cheek, before turning and climbing into the waiting carriage.

Rosamund watched him go and then went back indoors to find her mother waiting for her.

“Have you set his mind at rest?” she asked with a smile.

“Yes, Mama.”

“Good. Well, in that case, you had better do the same for your fiancé. I believe he is walking in the garden. He looked rather overwhelmed, the poor dear. He’s had quite a tumultuous few days. I think you had better go and talk to him.”

“Thank you, Mama,” Rosamund said, and hurried outside.

She found him sitting on a bench in Matilda’s private garden. Hidden by high brick walls, the white garden was hidden from the rest of the property and arranged in a formal knot with low hedges of cut box. The planting in between was far looser and more romantic, though, and everywhere there were white flowers studding the green like pearls upon velvet. Extravagant climbing roses tumbled over the brick walls, filling the garden with its lush perfume. Bees droned lazily and the sound of birdsong filtered into the space, but other than that there was no interruption from the outside world. It was a little corner of paradise where one could simply escape from everything.

Rosamund paused just inside the arched doorway, watching Lord Hargreaves in silence and feeling suddenly shy. He looked up and met her gaze, and a prickle of awareness shivered over her. She had never allowed herself to look at him this way before, as a potential suitor, but now she saw him, now she acknowledged the attraction she had buried down deep and an odd, fluttering sensation stirred low in her belly.

“Don’t wake me up,” he said, keeping his voice soft, as if he might disturb the peaceful atmosphere if he spoke too loudly.