Somewhat startled at the thought, Charles realised that he, too, would be considered an eligible bachelor. Despite his marriage to Isabella, by taking on his brother’s identity, he had effectively become a free man once again.
Remembering the way mothers generally eyed Robert with caution and carefully watched their innocent daughters, lest he succeed in seducing them without proposing marriage, Charles wondered if he would ever find a woman that would not only suit him but whose parents would also allow him within speaking distance of her.
Chuckling at the absurdity of the situation he suddenly found himself in, Charles entered the ballroom, his eyes sweeping the many guests in attendance. While he recognised most faces, there were a few he had once counted among his friends.
Of their own accord, his feet moved toward Lord Neswold, an old friend with whom he had shared many an interesting conversation about the three texts inscribed on the Rosetta Stone.
As Charles approached, Neswold turned to him, his eyes narrowed as they slid over his appearance. The good-humoured smile vanished from his face, and he straightened his shoulders. “Norwood.”
Taking a deep breath, Charles inclined his head in greeting. “Good evening, it is a splendid night, is it not?”
“It would appear so,” Lord Neswold mumbled, clearly wondering why in the world Charles−or rather Robert−was speaking to him. “Have you heard from your brother?” he asked after a moment of uncomfortable silence.
“I have, indeed,” Charles said, grateful to have something to say. “He and his wife are currently travelling through Italy.”
“That sounds marvellous,” Neswold said, and the stern look on his face softened. “Your brother is a good man, and I am glad he is taking this time to enjoy himself.”
A self-conscious smile curled up Charles’ lips. “He is, thank you.”
“I look forward to seeing him upon his return.”
Charles nodded and took his leave, sensing that they had reached the end of their conversation.
Fortunately, people seemed to have no doubt that he was, indeed, Viscount Norwood, and, therefore, their secret was not in danger of being revealed. However, Charles could not help but feel a sense of loss, and although he was glad that there was no one at this ball, who had spoken to his brother in the last two years, he wondered how to pass his time that night.
Ultimately, Charles found himself wandering from room to room, exchanging a few pleasantries and greeting people here and there. However, when he tried to speak to old friends of his, the short dialogue that ensued always continued down the same path as the one with Lord Neswold.
Feeling disheartened, Charles returned to the refreshment table, procuring himself a glass of wine. As he stood to the side, watching the happy couples dance the night away to the lively tune played by the orchestra, he wondered about the value of friendship. How differently would this night have gone had he been able to reveal his true self!
“Tonight proves to be a marvellous start into the Season.”
Almost choking on his drink, Charles turned in surprise. “Mr. Lawson, it is good to see you!” he beamed, beyond himself with joy that someone would seek his company.
Mr. Lawson, a middle-aged man with laughing eyes, frowned at his reply, and Charles swallowed. “I have to admit I didn’t expect you to remember me. After all, it has been years since your father introduced his young boys to me.”
“It has,” Charles mumbled, searching for an explanation.
Mr. Lawson, however, grinned at him. “Your father always wondered what it would take for you to return to Town.”
Charles swallowed, knowing that this was dangerous terrain. Mr. Lawson had been a treasured acquaintance of his father’s, and over the years, Charles, too, had shared the occasional conversation with him. After all, Mr. Lawson had spent the previous thirty years working on historical artefacts, such as the Rosetta Stone.
Only too well did Charles remember the spring that he had been introduced to Mr. Lawson. A million questions had flown out of his mouth about the ancient texts chiselled into the stone and their importance for deciphering Egyptian hieroglyphs. Robert, on the other hand, had been bored out of his mind and had voiced his displeasure in his usual frank manner.
Their father had not been pleased.
“I apologise for my inappropriate behaviour back then,” Charles said, finding it odd to apologise for something he hadn’t done. “I ought not to have spoken as I did.”
Laughing, Mr. Lawson waved his apology away. “To be frank, your behaviour was quite within the norm. Few boys that age have an interest in these matters. Your brother was the rare exception.”
A delighted smile came to Charles’ face. “My…our father always spoke to me…eh…him about the longevity of the world and the small steps its people take on the way to understanding its secrets. It’s always fascinated me…I mean, him.” Cursing himself, Charles tried to ignore the slightly confused expression on Mr. Lawson's face. “Charles often spoke to me about the marvels of the universe.”
Mr. Lawson nodded. “I remember him fondly and was pleased to hear he has found a wife to share these interests. From what I heard, the new Mrs. Dashwood has quite a historical mind herself.”
“She does,” Charles agreed, mourning the loss of his companion, who had often enriched these nights with her sharp wit. “I believe them to be an excellent match. They are currently travelling the world, for Isabella was quite in raptures about seeing some of the sights she had been reading about with her own eyes.”
“I should imagine so,” Mr. Lawson said. “I, myself, have always enjoyed travel. It allows us to put the artefacts we discover in a proper context. However, the diligent study of these artefacts is my true passion.” He smiled apologetically, and Charles delighted in the childish gleam that came to his eyes. “The secrets they unearth are the very reason I…” He stopped and shook his head as though at himself. “I apologise. I do not mean to bore you with these matters.”
Honestly interested, Charles stepped forward. “Not at all. I am eager to hear what you have to say.”
Mr. Lawson smiled at him indulgently, and Charles felt reminded of his brother. “Your manners have, indeed, improved,” Mr. Lawson chuckled. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d believe you to be a dedicated student of the ancient world. However, I do know better, and, therefore, I insist you leave my rather tedious company and join conversations more suited to your interests.”
Patting him on the shoulder, Mr. Lawson turned to leave. “It has been a pleasure speaking with you. Next time, I will introduce you to my daughter. Although knowing her as I do, you will probably find her similarly tedious.” Laughing, Mr. Lawson returned to the circle of colleagues to which Charles no longer enjoyed the privilege of being acquainted.
Remaining behind, Charles wondered if there was a way for him to openly show interest in the sciences without arousing suspicions. What would people think if he suddenly expressed an interest of joining the Society of Antiquaries?
Sighing, Charles procured himself another drink.
Tomorrow, he would visit the British Museum. That, at the very least, no one could deny him.
Chapter Two − Loyalty
Sipping her tea, Rose glanced at her father.
Hidden behind The Times, he occasionally reached for his muffin or teacup before returning to the words on the page.
Rose cleared her throat, possibly a little too vehemently.
Mr. Lawson, however, as he was completely absorbed in the news of the day, ignored her.
Her lips thinned, and her eyes narrowed. Then she set down her teacup with such force that for a second she feared the saucer had broken.
Lowering the right half of the newspaper, her father glanced at her through squinted eyes. “Would it not be easier to voice your objections verbally, my dear?” The hint of a grin tickled his lips. “If you continue to destroy our good china in order to get my attention, what will we drink from in the future?”
r />
Rolling her eyes, Rose shook her head. “As always you’re exaggerating, Father. It was one teacup.”
“And one saucer if I recall correctly.” Setting down the paper, her father turned to her, a twinkle in his eyes and a mischievous grin on his face.
Some days, Rose swore he was a young boy trapped in an old man’s body!
A scientist at heart, her father had married late in life as no woman could compete with his one true love. Only after her mother had died in childbirth had Mr. Lawson realised that there was an even greater miracle in his life than the study of ancient societies. From the moment the midwife had laid Rose in his arms, he had doted on her as any devoted father would.
As far as Rose could remember, they had never spent a day apart. Unlike other fathers, he had never felt the need to appear too respectable. Crawling around in her nursery on all fours with her on his back, they had spent many a wonderful day. He had taught her to read and write and opened up his world to her without hesitation, delighted with her hungry mind and quick wit. Many days, Rose had accompanied him in his work, learning Latin and Greek, hoping to understand the few remnants left by societies past. Their conversations had always been a source of joy for her because only in her father’s company did Rose feel truly accepted for who she was.
“What can I do for you, my dear?” he asked, his eyes earnest as they searched her face. “You seem distraught.”
“I am.” Taking a deep breath, Rose met her father’s gaze. “I am worried about Diana.”
Rolling his eyes, her father huffed something unintelligible before picking up his newspaper once again.
Frowning, Rose stared at him. “How can you not care about her misery? She is your niece, after all.”
“What misery?” Dropping the paper, her father shook his head as red blotches crawled up his face. He took a deep breath, trying to remain calm. “I love her dearly, but that girl is a spoiled chit!”
Rose’s mouth fell open.
“I mean no disrespect,” her father continued before she could object, “but as an only child, she has always gotten whatever she wanted, and she expects no less of the world.”
“I am an only child as well,” Rose pointed out. “Do I dare ask what you think of me?”
For a moment, her father stared at her, then the agitation left his face, and he reached out, gently placing his hand on hers. “My dear Rose, maybe you are right not to blame her for her faults because, after all, it was her parents who indulged her every whim and turned her into the woman she is today.”
Rose knew his words to be true. As the firstborn son, her uncle had inherited the title of a baron as well as the family estate and its financial resources. When after a number of miscarriages, Diana had been born, both, he and his wife, had been overjoyed, spoiling her to no ends. As a result, Diana had turned into a spoiled chit−as her father had called her−demanding that everything was carried out precisely as she desired.
However, Rose also knew−while her father did not−the very reason why Diana’s life had suddenly become such a burden to her.
Meeting her father’s caring eyes, Rose knew that she could never reveal to him her cousin’s secret as Diana had sworn her to secrecy.
Her father nodded, and the hint of a smile lit up his face. “However, I am guilty of the same transgression, and yet, you have become a woman who makes me proud every day.”
Not only his words, but also the love that shone in his eyes brought tears to her own, and a deep smile came to her face. “Thank you, Father.”
“Don’t thank me,” he said, patting her hand. “I suppose it is not because of my influence, but rather in spite of it, that you turned into such a marvellous, young woman,” he chuckled. “However, I fear that London society will never know considering that you missed your first ball last night. I thought you were at least somewhat excited about your first Season in Town.”
“I am,” Rose assured him. “However, Diana needed me, and I could not leave her.”
Rolling his eyes once again, her father shook his head. “Did she not just have a baby?” he asked. “I thought women enjoyed motherhood. What could she possibly be complaining about now?”
“Women are not solely on this earth to be mothers,” Rose snapped, wondering where that hint of anger had come from.
Not offended in the least, her father grinned, patting her hand once again. “I apologise if I have offended your sensitivities, my dear. I know very well−”
“I wish you wouldn’t treat me like a delicate flower,” Rose interrupted. “Say what you have to say, and do not apologise for it.”
“As you wish, my dear Rose.” A mischievous gleam came to his eyes as he chuckled into his beard. “What I meant to say−before you so rudely interrupted me−was that I know very well how capable women are. After all, I have you to remind me of that every day.”
“Thank you,” Rose mumbled, a slight blush colouring her cheeks as she regretted her rather inappropriate outburst.
“If I am not to apologise, then you are not to thank me.” Her father held out his hand to her. “Do we have an agreement?”
A smile on her face, she took his hand.
“Promise me you will do something entertaining today,” her father said. “Spending your days listening to your cousin’s imagined complaints cannot be good for your health.” He glanced at the paper, then met her eyes again. “How about a visit to the British Museum? That place always brings the most wonderful glow to your eyes.”
Rose nodded. “That is a splendid idea, Father.”
“I wish you wouldn’t sound so surprised!”
Chuckling, Rose reached for her teacup. “I will go and ask Diana if she wants to accompany me.”
Dropping the paper, her father stared at her. “That is not what I had in mind. Do you misunderstand me on purpose?”
“No, not at all. However, you are right. Diana needs to get out for a little while and do something enjoyable. Maybe it will lift her spirits.”
Folding the paper, her father leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “First, I was talking about you, not Diana. Second, as far as I know, that girl cares very little for artefacts of any kind.”
Rose shrugged. “Maybe I can change her mind.”
Shaking his head, her father chuckled. “Learn to recognise a lost battle, my dear. It will save you heartbreak and disappointment.” Before Rose could object, he lifted a hand to stop her. “Since I know my niece−and I know she'll have no interest in cultivating her knowledge on ancient societies−I shall stop by her townhouse around noon and escort you to the museum myself, thereby ensuring that you will not spend the whole day catering to Diana's every need.” Her father's eyes narrowed as he regarded her. “Or do you have any objections?”
Rose shook her head. “I do not, Father. Thank you, for I truly wish to see the stone again.”
***
Although only two years Rose’s senior, Diana deported herself like an old woman whenever her imagined complaints−as Rose’s father called them−plagued her. Whining and wailing, she moved from the settee to the armchair and back again, a moist handkerchief draped over her forehead so as to soothe the migraine that had assailed her once again. Whenever her spirits were low, she was a nightmare to be around, and yet, Rose could not help but pity her for the losses she had suffered.
“Maybe you should return to your bedchamber,” Rose suggested, suspiciously eyeing the brilliant sunlight reaching inside the drawing room through the wide-open curtains. “The dark will ease the pain and allow you to rest.”
“Rest?” Diana shrieked, her head jerking off the backrest of the armchair. “I would rather die than spend another day locked up in that room, all alone in the dark.”
Rose sighed. Her cousin’s fits of melodramatic exaggeration exhausted her. “You were not locked up, Diana. You were in childbed,” she reminded her, hoping that the thought of her new-born son would bring a smile to her face.
It did no
t.
“Dear Cousin, if you knew what childbirth meant,” Diana spat, “you would not speak of it as though it were a delight.” Sinking back into the armchair, she closed her eyes.
“You are right,” Rose conceded. “I do not know. However, your son is born now. Do you not delight in his presence?” Remembering the sweet, little boy, a wistful smile came to Rose’s lips. “Is he not a blessing?”
“A blessing?” her cousin echoed, incomprehension ringing in her voice as she met Rose’s gaze. “How could he be? He only reminds me of the man I was forced to marry.”
Sitting down across from her cousin, Rose looked deep into Diana’s eyes, hoping that her cousin would listen to the words she needed to hear. “I feel for you, Diana. I truly do,” Rose said, and relief washed over her when her cousin’s features softened. “I know how ill you were treated and how that forced you down a road you would not have chosen for yourself. However,” reaching out, she grasped her cousin’s hand, “what is done is done. You cannot change the past. Are you willing to sacrifice your future for a man who only treated you with disregard?”
Tears streamed down Diana’s face. “It was just one night. One foolish night, and now I live with regret every day.”
“I know.”
“I should never have trusted him,” Diana whispered, wiping the moist handkerchief over her flushed face. “I know the words you speak are true, dear Cousin. However, it is easier said than done.”
“Why?” Rose asked, afraid that the moment of honest reflection would slip from her grasp. How many times had she pleaded with Diana to leave the past behind? Countless times. Wallowing in her pain, her cousin had never listened, never understood a word Rose had said. “It is only your own pain and regret that keep you from moving forward.”
Diana took a deep breath, then she closed her eyes and shook her head. “It is not.” Meeting Rose’s gaze, she sat up. “I hear he has returned to Town.” Rose swallowed. “How am I to walk with my head held high when the whispers will start anew now that he is back?”