Borrowed Vows (15 page)

“What’s this? Lady Marchwood reduced to watching a minuet from the sidelines without treading the measure herself? An unheard state of affairs, I do declare. I prescribe a tonic, and without delay.”

She’d forgotten all about him, and yet he was to be Dane’s second at the duel. She gave a quick smile. “And what tonic might that be, Master Physician?”

“Why, another dance, of course,” he replied with a broad grin.

He wasn’t quite as short as he had seemed when alighting from the carriage the night everything began, but his hair was more carrot-colored, and his eyes unexpectedly shortsighted. His smile was warmly amiable, though, and she liked him straightaway. “Come now, sir, I happen to know you loathe dancing,” she said.

“Well, I admit I’m not the world’s most renowned hoofer,” he replied, “but I can wend my way around the floor with some semblance of grace.”

“You’ll be relieved to know I’m content to just watch, but please sit with me a while.”

He did as she asked, and then studied her concernedly. “Is something wrong?” he asked suddenly, searching her eyes. “You seemed a little, er, preoccupied a moment ago.”

“I’m quite all right, truly.” But she resorted to her fan.

He observed the fact, and then glanced out onto the dance floor. “No doubt you were keeping a wary eye on the Fast Lady of France,” he murmured.

“Who?”

“Dane’s partner for this dance.”

“Is that what they call her?”

“Not without cause. She’s only been in England since Waterloo, but has apparently been doing all she can to conquer the conquerors. I’m told there are wagers at White’s Club as to her final tally, but I shouldn’t concern yourself, for Dane’s name won’t figure on the list. He has become that most dull of things, a faithful husband.”

“Has he?” She thought of Elizabeth.

“Yes. Surely you don’t doubt it?”

She didn’t know why, but suddenly she wished to confide in him. “I don’t want to doubt it, but what else can I do when he never tells me he loves me?” she replied quietly.

“Do you need to be told? Surely his actions say all that’s necessary?”

“Actions don’t always speak louder than words. I’m afraid I’m one of those foolish female creatures who need verbal reassurance.” She looked away, toying with the dainty wrist chain of her fan.

“Would it help if I told you he’s confessed to me that he loves you?”

Her eyes swung back to him. “Has he really said that? Or are you—”

“I’m not the sort to tell white lies,” he interrupted quietly, putting his hand briefly over hers. “I was with him for a few minutes a little earlier, and we watched you dancing that allemande. Dane told me how much he loved you, and you may count upon it that he meant what he said.”

She lowered her glance to hide her confusion. It was what she wanted to hear, but at the same time she didn’t really know what interpretation to put on it. Was it the new Rosalind that Dane loved? Or the old one, the unfaithful one whose heart had always secretly belonged to Thomas Denham? And then there was Elizabeth ... Oh, God, she, Kathryn, was in such inner turmoil she didn’t know what to think. Except that she wanted Sir Dane Marchwood to love her for herself.

The doctor was surveying the ballroom. “I believe this will be my last Cheltenham ball,” he said suddenly.

“Oh? Why is that?” But she remembered what the librarian had told her about his sudden departure for America not long after the duel.

“I have an opportunity to go to Boston. That’s the one over in Massachusetts, not here in England,” he added quickly.

She smiled too. “And you mean to go?”

“I think so. It’s short notice, but the offer is very advantageous, and I’ve always had a secret desire to visit America. If I decide to go, I will be taking my leave of you and Dane within a month.”

“Gloucester’s loss will be Boston’s gain,” she murmured.

The minuet was drawing to a close, and the doctor prepared to leave her. She thought of the duel again, and as he got up from the sofa she spoke quickly. “May I ask you something?”

“Certainly.”

“You know Dane to be an honorable man, don’t you?”

He looked at her in surprise. “What an odd question. Yes, of course. Oh, I know he has a certain reputation for being dangerous and hotheaded, but the truth is different. I don’t profess to know the reason for all his duels, but I do know I have complete faith in his integrity.” He searched her face again. “Something is wrong, isn’t it, my dear?”

“No. No, of course not.”

The orchestra played the final note of the minuet, and he looked at her again. “You may rely upon my discretion if you wish to discuss something. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do.”

It was true. He meant every word he’d said. Suddenly she got up and hugged him. “We’ll miss you when you go to Boston.”

He laughed at her exuberance, but then corrected her. “I haven’t finally decided yet.”

“Oh, I think you have,” she said more seriously. He was going to Boston; it was a historically recorded fact.

She watched him wend his way toward the supper room, and then something made her look up at the large Tompion clock next to the orchestra. It was five to midnight, and she felt compelled to keep the tryst on the footbridge. It wasn’t something she wanted to do, but fate left her no choice. She looked around for Dane, and saw that he’d been drawn into conversation by a small group of gentlemen, including the Duke of Beaufort. He didn’t see her gather her skirts to hurry out of the building into the cool shadows of the summer night.

Carriages were still arriving, although she couldn’t believe more guests could possibly squeeze into the ball. She could see the Well Walk. The double avenue of elms and limes rustled softly in the light breeze. Lanterns shone between the branches, and people strolled to and fro quite close to the upper end, but further down the avenue, toward Cheltenham, there was hardly anyone to be seen. The town had retreated across a meadow, and was visible as some twinkling lights in the distance as she began to walk down toward the little rustic bridge at the far end of the avenue.

She heard the splash of the Chelt as she neared the bridge, which was adorned with a slender wrought iron arch from which a suspended oil lamp cast a poor light over the footway. She wished she’d been able to resist coming here. What was she going to say to Thomas? She couldn’t be Rosalind for him; there was too much Kathryn Vansomeren in her for that.

She was still deliberating as she reached the bridge, but almost immediately she heard a step behind her. She turned, and saw Thomas. He wore a purple velvet evening coat and white silk breeches, and the gold pin in his neckcloth shone a little as he came to take her in his arms and press his lips passionately over hers.

Chapter Sixteen

For a moment she was immobile with shock, for she hadn’t expected him to embrace her without saying anything first. She didn’t experience any of the fire and excitement such intimacy would have aroused if it were Dane. Instead, she was again reminded of Richard. Everything about this man was like a reflection of her modem New York husband.

Her immobility ended as his hand moved to caress her left breast through the soft silk of her gown. She didn’t want such intimacy from him, he was the wrong man! She pulled sharply from his arms and glanced nervously toward the Royal Well buildings. “Th...this is very foolhardy.”

His brown eyes were warm. “There’s no one here except us.”

“Can we be sure?”

“Everyone we know is either at the ball already or still to arrive.”

“I still feel uneasy about meeting you like this.”

“We’ve done it before,” he reminded her.

“And have been lucky to get away with it.”
You’re not going to be lucky tomorrow if you persist, and the day after that you’re going to be dead!
She suddenly felt an overpowering urge to warn him about the duel, but the words wouldn’t come. Something stifled them on her lips, and she knew it was because nothing could prevent what was to happen on Lammas Day.

He smiled. “Well, right or wrong, you’re here now, so let’s make the most of these few minutes together.” His voice was soft as he reached out to pull her toward him again.

She resisted. “No, Thomas.”

Her reaction took him by surprise. “What is it?”

“I... I shouldn’t have come here.”

“But you did, and we both know why. Rosalind, it’s too late to change things now. What’s done is done, and we have to decide about our future.”

What future? You don’t have one!
The words screamed silently through her, but again didn’t reach her lips. She had to do something, though; she couldn’t just stand idly by and let things roll inexorably toward dawn on Lammas Day. “Thomas, I shouldn’t have kept this assignation because I don’t love you anymore. I love Dane, and want to stay with him.”

He was incredulous. “You love
Dane
?” he repeated.

“Yes.”

“Rosalind, I don’t know what’s brought this on, but I do know I don’t believe you. You’re trying to protect me, aren’t you? Why? Has Dane found out about us?”

“No, but he suspects. Thomas, please believe me, I really don’t love you anymore.”

“You can’t possibly stay with him! It’s madness!” he cried.

“It’s what I want.”

“But, you’re carrying my child!”

She was thunderstruck. Child? Rosalind was pregnant? So that was what he’d been told last night just before the first transition took place! Why hadn’t she guessed? They’d played with fire and been burned, and things would become obvious before long. Of course they would, for advancing pregnancy had a way of showing!

Thoughts tumbled wildly through her. The real Rosalind might be carrying a child, but Kathryn Vansomeren wasn’t, and she was sure Rosalind’s body wasn’t pregnant now she was in it. She remembered how she’d felt when she first knew she was expecting Richard’s child. It was a weird feeling, like she wasn’t really there, and it had persisted right up to the day she lost the baby. She didn’t feel like that now, and intuition told her the body she was in now definitely wasn’t pregnant. So what did that mean? Had Rosalind’s unborn child traveled with her into the future? Did Kathryn Vansomeren’s body become pregnant when Rosalind took it over?

It was an incredible thought, and should have been deeply painful, but Kathryn felt oddly detached.

Thomas took her arms to shake her slightly. “Answer me, Rosalind!”

She struggled to find a response. “I... I’m going to tell Dane and beg his forgiveness,” she said at last, but it sounded lame and unconvincing, and she knew it.

He released her swiftly, and ran his fingers agitatedly through his hair. “His
forgiveness
? Dear God, have you taken leave of your senses?” He shook her again. “What is this, Rosalind? One moment you run gladly into my arms and whisper everlasting love, the next you tell me you not only want to stay with him, you’re also going to tell him you’re carrying a child that cannot possibly be his. It lacks all logic! Your condition has made you irrational.”

“It has nothing to do with my condition.”

“There’s no other explanation,” he answered.

“Please let me go, for my mind is made up.”

“I don’t accept your decision!” He didn’t loosen his hold.

“You have to accept it. It’s finished between us, Thomas. I’m Dane’s wife and I intend to stay that way.”

“Stay that way? When you expect my child? Dane won’t have you! For God’s sake, Rosalind, you have to see sense on this!”

She could see the desperation in his eyes, and hated herself for hurting him so, but it was all she could think of doing. If she could just instill a little doubt in his mind, if he could be made to think she’d never go to him, maybe she could turn fate on its head after all, no matter what Alice might say. So she pressed on. “I don’t love you, Thomas! I love Dane, and I always will!”

“No!” His face contorted distractedly, and his voice choked on a sob. “No, I won’t believe you!”

“Let me go!” She wrenched herself away and gathered her skirts to flee from the bridge and along the lantern-lit walk.

“Rosalind!” His distraught voice followed her, and she could feel his anguish reaching out after her. Tears stung her eyes, but she didn’t look back. She’d placated her conscience by doing what she could; now she needed to find Dane, to feel his arms around her again. No, what she really needed was to be able to confess all this to him! But she couldn’t, it was almost too incredible for her, and so was bound to be to him. The tears welled down her cheeks as the thoughts spilled dejectedly through her, and she felt dangerously close to flinging herself hysterically into Dane’s arms and blurting out everything.

But common sense returned as she neared the line of carriages. She couldn’t do anything as rash as that; besides, she probably wouldn’t be able to! She’d already tried altering the course of things, and it hadn’t gotten her very far. No, better to compose herself and behave rationally—well, as rationally as possible under the circumstances.

Knowing her present tearful state would cause a stir, she paused beneath one of the trees to smooth her gown and pat her hair. Having applied the brakes to her wild impulse to tell all, she soon brought her reckless impulses under control, but when she glanced toward the bridge again a few moments later, she saw Thomas hurrying up the walk. Renewed dismay washed through her, and she gathered her skirts to run on past the line of carriages to the brightly lit ballroom.

The warmth inside the building was almost stifling after the cool air outside, and as she reached the edge of the dance floor, Kathryn looked anxiously around. She desperately wanted to be with Dane now, but where was he? He wasn’t with the Duke of Beaufort’s party now, nor could she see him on the dance floor. She might never find him in a press like this! The whole of Gloucestershire seemed to have attended, for every sofa was now occupied, every corner was filled with people talking, and every inch of space around the edge of the dance floor had been taken up with guests who were either watching the minuet now in progress, or threading their way toward someone they knew.