inside, something long forgotten.
Truth be told, he needed her. She made his world of chaos a bearable place. Even the children behaved differently around her. He’d known from the first glance she was special. He’d felt drawn to her, to her smile, to the sound of her voice. And her lips, heaven help him. From his experiences in his youth, he thought he knew passion. But those fleeting dalliances were nothing compared to the powerful tremors that wracked his body when he was with her.
And yet he could not shake the feeling that their time together would soon be at an end. Was he as pessimistic as his son? Was Mrs Hibbet right? Had the Lord sent an angel to help them through troubled waters, to steer them to calmer, safer shores?
Did his son have a point?
Did everyone leave in the end?
Chapter Thirteen
Slivers of sunlight touched her cheek, warming her skin. Rose opened her eyes although the morning sun brought with it an overwhelming sense of trepidation. What must Christian think of her? Only simpering debutantes swooned.
But sometimes the body knew better than the mind when dealing with shocking news. Sleep had been the only way to banish thoughts of her father’s death. Any hopes of repairing their fractured relationship were gone. She would be forever the daughter of some other gentleman, even though her father lied about her mother’s infidelity out of spite and jealousy. And her father would always be the cold-hearted devil who’d imprisoned her in an old asylum as a means of control.
But she could not dwell on that now. Oliver had come home to claim his rightful place as head of the family. No doubt he’d dismissed Stokes and Mrs Gripes as soon as he’d heard about her mistreatment. And by all accounts, he’d rescued Nicole, too.
The chamber door creaked open, and Mrs Hibbet entered carrying a jug. She tottered over to the wash stand and filled the bowl with clean water.
When the housekeeper turned to the bed, she gasped. “Oh, bless us and save us. I almost dropped the jug. You’re awake.”
Rose stifled a yawn. “Forgive me. I should have got up to help with the chores. What time is it?”
“Almost nine.”
“Nine!” Rose pulled back the bedcovers ready to jump out.
Mrs Hibbet plonked the jug on the washstand, rushed to her side and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Rest, dear. His lordship isn’t expecting you in the nursery today. The fall in the lake gave you a nasty chill. Best give it another day before you return to work.”
“But you don’t have enough—”
“We’ll manage.” With a gentle push, Mrs Hibbet forced her to lie down. “We’ve been muddling along for two years. One more day won’t hurt. And no doubt the doctor will want to see you again.”
Again? She had no recollection of seeing him the first time.
A frustrated sigh left Mrs Hibbet’s lips. “Reverend Wilmslow thinks you’ve got the dreaded fever and insisted on searching your room. Something to do with plants and spores from the Indies, although I fear he’s been downing his lordship’s port again. I might be simple when it comes to science, but it sounds like poppycock to me.”
“Search my room?” Rose shivered, and it wasn’t from the cold. “And why would the reverend need to do that?”
Mrs Hibbet straightened the sheets and tucked them around Rose’s shoulders. “Oh, he thinks the illness is spread by contact with a poisonous plant. Maybe he should spend his time looking for a cure for restless hands instead of poking his nose into other folks’ affairs.”
Rose grasped Mrs Hibbet’s sleeve. “Don’t let the reverend in here. And whatever you do, don’t leave me alone with him.” Her apprehension stemmed from more than a concern over the reverend’s over-friendly nature. Something was amiss. She just didn’t know what.
“Have no fear.” Mrs Hibbet smiled. “Both the reverend and the doctor felt the sharp edge of his lordship’s tongue. Never in all my years have I heard him shout so loud, not with the children in the house.” She gave a satisfied sigh. “I doubt you’ll see the reverend here again until he’s desperate enough to come begging for funds.”
“What made Lord Farleigh so angry?” He was clearly a man of strong passions, in every sense of the word. One punch had taken the insane fool in the woods clean off his feet. One heated kiss had made her legs buckle, too.
“He said he’s tired of people prying into his affairs. Said he’ll deal with the matter in his own way, in a manner he sees fit.” Mrs Hibbet’s face beamed with pride. “Oh, he reminded me of how he used to be, before …” She paused and shook her head. “Well, when he was a younger man with the world at his feet.”
A few days ago, it would have been difficult to imagine Lord Farleigh as anything other than a man absorbed with his own problems. But when they were alone, when he kissed her so deeply her stomach flipped, then she caught a glimpse of the carefree gentleman. The man who held her spellbound. The man who made her heart sing.
“I’ve seen a lot more of that man lately,” Mrs Hibbet said. “Happen it comes from having someone young around. Someone educated enough to converse with him on his level.”
Oh, what was she to do?
She felt like two people fighting to claim the same body. On the one hand, she enjoyed playing governess to the children, enjoyed the relationship she shared with Mrs Hibbet. But she had not seen her brother for two years, had feared she’d never see Nicole again. And now they were staying at The Talbot Inn, in heaven knows what state after escaping the fire.
If the battle between being simply Rose or Lady Rose Darby was not enough to contend with, now she had an added complication. In moments of fanciful musings, she imagined herself in love with Lord Farleigh. She imagined herself as mistress of Everleigh, sipping port with him in front of the fire on cold winter nights, indulging in far more than salacious kisses.