him. He ran down the stairs and out of the door.
Outside in the street, the bright sunlight seemed almost obscene. There should be thunderclouds, lightning, rain. Where the hell was he going? He needed to get control of his temper, then work out how to woo Rosabella out of her anger. Diamonds should do it. He’d visit Rundell, Bridge and Rundell, then head for White’s for a brandy, before heading home.
One thing was certain. She wasn’t going to leave him. She needed him. Without him she had nothing. She had nowhere else to go.
The sound of the front door slamming jerked Rosa to her feet. She had to leave before he came back. Before his temper calmed and he used his charm, the pull of the allure she could not deny, and persuaded her to stay. It would be a terrible mistake to remain with a man who had that much coldness in his soul.
Gently she returned the reticule to the trunk and picked up the shoes, their leather cracked and worn, one much heavier than the other. Frowning, she pried the paper stuffing free from the heavy one. Not just paper. A green pear-shaped stone. It tumbled into her lap, glittering as its facets caught the light. She flattened the paper it was wrapped in.
Dear Rosabella, this jewel is your inheritance. It is the only thing I own of your mother’s that is not tied to the estate. It was always intended for you and your sisters. It has no sentimental value, bought by another noble admirer for your mother. My beloved Rosabella, sell it and live well. Please care for your sisters. Signed Andrew Cavendish, with two scrawling signatures of the servants and dated 18th of June. She stared at an emerald as big as a pigeon’s egg.
Elation filled her. Father had kept his promise. He’d hidden his gift among her mother’s things where he knew Grandfather would never look. She lifted her gaze from the paper and stared at the dressing-room door. If she understood the value of this stone, she didn’t have to marry anyone. She and her sisters were wealthy.
She stuffed the paper and the jewel into the pink reticule and grabbed her cloak from the clothes press. She needed help. And there was only one person she could think of who might know what to do.
Clutching the scrap of pink satin to her chest, Rosa glanced up at the knocker on the modest front door of a town house in Golden Square. Thank goodness Lady Smythe had left her calling card with her address. The hackney driver had no trouble finding the house.
Would she stand by their promise to help? If not, where would she turn next? With more bravery than she felt, she banged on the door.
A rotund cheerful-faced butler opened the door. ‘Yes, miss?’
Rosa took a deep breath. ‘Is Lady Smythe at home?’
He opened the door wider. ‘I’ll enquire, shall I, miss? Who shall I say is calling?’
‘Lady Rosabella Cavendish,’ she said. She could barely remember the last time she’d introduced herself so formally, but she could not risk the butler refusing her admittance.
An eyebrow shot up. He gestured her to come in. ‘Please, have a seat, my lady. I’ll let my mistress know you are here.’
‘Thank you.’ Rosa sank down on the hall chair beside the door while he trotted off down the corridor.
She didn’t have long to wait before he was back. ‘This way, if you please, my lady.’
Rosa let go a sigh of relief and followed him to a small room at the back of the house. When the butler opened the door, she was surprised to find both husband and wife seated at tea in the drawing room. Of course, they would both be home; it was a Saturday.
Lord Smythe rose as she entered. ‘Lady Rosabella,’ he said. ‘Please, sit down. Would you care to partake of some luncheon?’
If she tried to swallow, she would be sick. ‘No, thank you. I am so sorry to disturb you. I didn’t know where to turn.’ She turned to Penelope. ‘You did say you would help me if…’
‘Please,’ Penelope said, ‘sit down. Tell us how we can be of service.’
Rosa bit her lip. Would Lord Smythe indeed be willing to help her if it meant going against his friend’s wishes? ‘I’m sorry. I should not have come here, after all. If you will excuse me.’ She turned away.
‘Rosabella,’ Lady Smythe said. ‘Please. Don’t go. Mark, tell her she can trust us.’
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