The Deceptive Lady Darby (Lost Ladies of London 2)

The affectionate display warmed Rose’s heart. Even in her wildest dreams, she’d never imagined seeing Oliver happy, never imagined ever seeing Nicole again. And now they were a family.

Other than the clink of cutlery on china plates, the house was quiet — at peace. And yet Rose glanced at the door, waiting for a roar of disapproval to ring through the corridor, for her father to come bursting into the room and berate her for some imagined misdemeanour. She could picture his face, all red and puffy, his eyes bulging from their sockets.

“What time did Lord Farleigh say he’d call?” Oliver’s voice broke her reverie.

“I think he said two o’clock.” The distraction helped to calm her racing heart. “Although with the commotion in Lord Warner’s garden, I may have misheard. Either way, I have no plans to leave the house today.”

“What does he want?” Oliver held her gaze while he sipped his coffee.

Nicole gave a bemused chuckle. “You’re a man, Oliver, what do you think he wants?”

The cup rattled on the saucer as Oliver placed it down. “A man doesn’t come to town after all this time unless a lady has given him some incentive. Are you going to tell me what happened during your stay at Everleigh? And I don’t mean you played with the children and ate cake.”

It crossed her mind to lie, or to evade the question. But after her experiences at Everleigh, she’d made a pact with herself to tell the truth. “Do you really want to know?”

Oliver sat up straight. “I do.”

“I fell in love at Everleigh.” The truth of her words filled her chest, the sensation all warm and fuzzy. “I fell in love with the house, with the children,” a chuckle left her lips, “even with Mrs Hibbet.” How she wished she was back there, running around the lawn wearing her blindfold, holding secret meetings with Christian in the study.

“And what of Lord Farleigh?”

Rose paused as an image of Christian’s handsome face filled her head. She could almost smell his cologne, smell the unique scent that clung to his skin. “Oh, I am so in love with Lord Farleigh it hurts.”

Nicole’s beaming smile stretched from ear to ear. “Perhaps it was just as well you did get lost. I have a strange suspicion he feels the same way.”

A weary sigh left Oliver’s lips. “Well, I suppose I’d rather see you wed to Farleigh than Lord Cunningham. I assume he will approach me to ask for your hand.”

“I have no idea what he will do.” Rose bit into her toast, her heart feeling suddenly light and free.

“Perhaps I should pay him a visit—”

“No.” Rose shot out of the chair. “Lord Farleigh must make the decision on his own, without coercion.” He’d been pressured into marriage before and come to regret it. “Promise me you’ll say nothing. Promise me you won’t try to force his hand.”

“Let’s see what the day brings.” Nicole patted Oliver’s arm. “I’m certain, come tomorrow, this will prove to be a pointless conversation.”

Rose settled back in her chair. The clock on the mantel chimed eleven. Good Lord, at Everleigh she’d have eaten her breakfast and done a host of chores by now.

They continued their meal in silence until a knock on the door brought Bradbury carrying the salver. “A letter has arrived, my lord, addressed to Lady Rose.”

“Lady Rose?” Oliver took the note and scanned it before handing it across the table. “Thank you, Bradbury.”

“Shall I wait for a reply?”

Rose shook her head. “I shall call you if I need you.”

The butler bowed and left the room.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Oliver sat forward. “Is it from Farleigh?”

Rose ignored Oliver’s hard stare. “Won’t you at least give me a chance to open it?”

Her heart leapt as she studied the folded paper with her name scrawled neatly on the front. She flipped it over and broke the seal. Unable to contain her excitement she read it quickly, but couldn’t quite believe the words as they formed in her head. Her smile faded, the corners of her mouth pulled down by the weight of her burden. The sudden need to breathe deeply came upon her, and she put her hand to her throat and gasped.

“What is it, Rose? Is it Farleigh?” Oliver would not rest until she’d offered an explanation. “By God, if he’s playing games with—”

“No, it’s not from Lord Farleigh.” In truth, she didn’t know who’d written the note. She swallowed deeply though the large lump in her throat remained. “Just give me a minute to compose myself, and I’ll tell you.”

The tick of the mantel clock pierced the prolonged silence.