marriage had been set. Yes, he thought, drawing the paper towards him and dipping his pen in the ink, it might be best just to write a line or two saying he was coming down rather than explaining in a long and complicated letter.
Having penned his brief note to Cynthia and addressed it to her home, he wrote to Amanda and Phipps, telling them he would be in London in two days and had a favour to ask. Then he drew another sheet of paper towards him and began to write a list of what he ought to do in order to set Miss Ross’s affairs in order. A visit to his lawyer and then to hers, and depending on what he learned there, perhaps a visit to Miss Ross’s home.
Another deep sigh escaped him, for it looked as though a time of frustration was ahead and he wondered why he had been moved to give a girl he did not know his promise of help. Miss Ross was certainly lovely to look at, but Cynthia was beautiful—quite the most beautiful woman he’d ever met—and she’d agreed to be his wife. He was the world’s worst wretch for having left her alone in the country for weeks on end.
He would definitely go down this weekend, for once his temporary ward was safely in Amanda’s charge, he need not worry about Miss Ross’s affairs immediately. A visit to the lawyers should be sufficient to set things in motion.
He had not fallen for the girl? Examining his motives, Brock decided that it was merely the natural and proper instincts of a gentleman to protect a vulnerable girl. No, his affections were not engaged. Rosemarie was young, vulnerable and pretty, but if he admitted the truth only one woman had touched his heart...only one woman could have made him happy, but that woman was out of his reach. Of course, he’d loved sweet Mary—or Sister Violet, as the nuns called her—but that was as a friend of his childhood or a sister. No, there was but one lady he had wanted for his wife, but that dream was long squashed—almost forgotten.
He had learned that the only way to cope with his pain and grief over Samantha Scatterby was to block it out of his mind. She had loved her late husband and despised him for having tried to make love to her while her beloved husband was lying ill upstairs, and indeed, he despised himself for it. He had been swept away by a look in her eyes and that was weakness and it shamed him. Brock knew that he must live in the world as it was, remember his duty and keep the promise he had made, even if he had regretted it almost at once.
He would speak to Cynthia about setting the date this weekend, after he’d settled Miss Ross, and for that he must first go to London, for Amanda and Phipps were in residence in their town house.
* * *
‘You only just caught us,’ Phipps said when Brock entered their elegant parlour in the London house two days later. ‘We are returning to the country tomorrow. Indeed, had your letter not reached us we should have left today.’
‘Oh, well, I suppose it cannot matter to Rosemarie where she lives,’ Brock said, frowning. ‘You know the favour I would ask, Phipps. I hope it will be only a matter of weeks, because I imagine her lawyers can settle the matter soon enough. However, she does need a sanctuary for a while.’
‘And I wish that we might offer it,’ Phipps said. ‘I’m afraid it is out of the question at the moment, old fellow. Amanda has been ordered complete quiet once we are home. She is to go to bed and stay there for at least the next month. She is expecting our first child and is not doing too well at the moment, I’m afraid. Doctor Renfrew says if she is taken home by easy stages and made to rest she should bear a living child—but if we ignore his advice he has little hope of it. It’s because she’s such a little thing.’
‘Oh, my dear Phipps,’ Brock said. ‘Of course you must do exactly as the doctor says and I perfectly see why you cannot have Miss Ross as a guest.’
‘I haven’t even told Amanda that you asked,’ Phipps said, looking anxious. ‘She would insist that Renfrew is an old fool and tell Miss Ross she was welcome to stay for as long as she wishes, but I simply could not bear anything to happen to my darling or her child.’
‘Certainly not. I wouldn’t ask such a thing of you now that I understand the risk—let me wish you a fortunate outcome to Amanda’s confinement. Do not worry too much, my dear fellow. Amanda is very strong and I’m certain she will pull through.’
‘Renfrew says the same, but he thinks she might lose the child if she doesn’t do exactly as he says. I feel an utter wretch for letting you down, Brock.’
‘You are not to worry about Miss Ross. I shall visit my godmother and ask her to take her in for a while. I am sure she will be only too happy. She likes young company.’
‘I am truly sorry, Brock. You know I would have obliged if I could.’
Brock smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘You have enough troubles of your own. I shall come about, never fear.’
‘Where is the young lady now?’
‘I left her at Grillon’s in a private suite,’ Brock said. ‘She should be safe enough there for the moment, at least until I’ve spoken to Lady March. I secured a maid for her, though she is a little rough and ready, being the innkeeper’s daughter, but very willing.’
‘I am so sorry not to have been more accommodating.’
‘Think nothing of it.’
Brock shook his hand and left, frowning as he set out on foot for his godmother’s house two streets away. He wasn’t sure about Lady March’s reaction when he asked her to take in a young woman with only one decent dress to her name—especially if he told her the whole story, which in all honour he must.
* * *
‘You say she ran away from a forced marriage to a man of fortune?’ Lady March frowned at her godson. ‘It sounds rather impulsive and ill thought out to my mind. What family does the girl come from—and who is the man she refuses to marry?’
‘Her father was Lord Ross of Falmouth House and her mother was his mistress, but she is his heir and he adopted her legally, so her lawyer tells me.’
‘A bastard! Harry Brockley, how can you expect me to take in such a gel?’ Lady March asked in outraged tones. ‘This all sounds very fishy to me. Who is the man that is prepared to marry her?’
‘Sir Montague. That’s all I know.’
‘Sir Montague? I only know one man of that name. He is about your age, Harry, and a very decent, wealthy and upright man, too. The girl is a rogue!’
‘No, I assure you, Godmother. She is an innocent. I believe her when she tells me her family are trying to force her into this marriage—after all, many people would think it plenty good enough for a girl in her situation. I’m not sure whether they are truly trying to cheat her of her father’s fortune, or whether it is merely a business arrangement, similar to many marriage contracts. However, if she dislikes the idea, it cannot be right that she should be forced to it, can it?’
Lady March was silent for a moment, then answered reluctantly, ‘No, I do not think it can.’ Her gaze narrowed intently. ‘What is this girl to you? Have you a feeling for her? She isn’t your mistress?’
‘I swear to you that she means nothing to me. I am acting only as any honourable man would, having found her in such terrible circumstances. How can I desert her? I must find her somewhere to live until this unpleasant business is resolved.’
‘Well, I can only offer her a few days’ sanctuary. In ten days from now I am taking my niece Alice to Paris to buy her bride clothes. We are there for three weeks and after that we go down to Bath and shall remain there until the wedding at her fiancé’s house.’
‘Could you not take Miss Ross with you? At least buy her some new clothes—and then I may find somewhere else for her to live—somewhere respectable.’
Rosemarie was already kicking against his plans for her, saying that she could very well find a place to live and work if he would sell some trinkets for her, but he could not tell his godmother that, of course.
‘This is what I will do for her,’ Lady March