Rose tried to smile reassuringly, but somehow the smile got caught up in her swallowing an inconvenient lump in her throat and went wobbly. “I don’t know what he’ll do,” she said truthfully. “I barely know Gilbert.”
“Is that why you came here last night instead of going straight to him? To gather yourself?”
Lottie’s gaze was suddenly sharp—she saw too much sometimes. Rose averted her eyes to stare down at her chocolate.
“It’s a long journey, and I was tired by the time I got here. I just couldn’t face him last night.”
The maid fastened a final pin in place and stood back. Lottie nodded her satisfaction and dismissed the girl, then brought her own chocolate to the chaise longue, settling herself down next to Rose.
“I hate to think of you facing Waite alone, cara, but my boat leaves this afternoon. My carriage is already packed.” She gestured helplessly with her free hand, her expression unhappy.
“Don’t even think of it—”
“The concerts were arranged two years ago—”
“Lottie.” Rose put her hand on her friend’s knee, stilling her. “It’s fine. I just needed one good night’s sleep before I saw him again. I feel quite up to it now. This meeting can only go one of two ways. Either Gilbert lets me stay, or he insists I return to Weartham. And I’m quite sure I can persuade him of the former option.”
She did manage a smile this time, a bright one that hid all traces of her lingering despair. Lottie didn’t need to know that when Rose had made her impulsive decision to come to London last week, she’d been feeling quite desperate. Oh, she’d made a life for herself in Northumbria, a good life with friends and occupation, but it was still the life of an exile. It was not the life she had expected when she had given her wedding vows.
Years ago, she had told her new husband that she never wanted to see him or be touched by him again. And she had lived with the consequences of those words for five long years. Now she had changed her mind. She had all the trappings of a brilliant marriage but with nothing to show for it. She rather thought she would lie with the devil himself to change her life. She wasn’t sure that lying with Gilbert would be much better.
“Besides,” she added, “you’ll be seeing Papa. And I’m counting on you to persuade him to return to England.”
Lottie made a scoffing noise. “Do not count on me for that, cara. I’ve never been able to persuade your papa to do anything. In his last letter, he was talking of a trip to Egypt.”
Rose laughed, but inside she felt the old familiar sadness. Her father had left England within weeks of her marriage to Gilbert and had yet to return. Sometimes she wondered if she would ever see him again. It was as though, in marrying her off, he’d palmed off a responsibility he couldn’t wait to be rid of. Well, she wouldn’t be palmed off by her own husband. Not anymore.
“And your plan is still to beard the lion in his den?” Lottie asked, interrupting her thoughts. It took Rose a minute to realise she was talking about Gilbert.
“Yes. If I turn up at Stanhope House and ask to see my husband, what can he do but see me?” Rose asked lightly, though privately she’d been having visions of being turned away, another humiliation to add to the long list of humiliations culminating in the sly references to Gilbert’s latest love affair in that scandal sheet of Harriet’s that she’d so stupidly picked up and read last week.
The very next day, she’d been on her way to London, but the heat of her anger had worn off over the long journey, and now she was nervous of the confrontation to come.
“Are you quite sure this is the best course of action, cara?” Lottie asked carefully. “Your husband has refused to come to Weartham all these years, and while I’m sure he’ll be gratified to see how beautiful you’ve grown—after all, the man is horribly shallow—I fear the shock of you turning up on his doorstep unannounced might cause him to do something foolish, like send you home before he’s taken a good look at you.”
Pathetically, Rose found herself seizing on the least relevant part of what Lottie had just said. “Do you think he will find me much changed?” she asked hesitantly, staring into her chocolate cup.
Lottie sighed. “Cara, I doubt he will know you.”
“Really?”
Lottie rose and held out her hand. “Come here.” She drew Rose over to the seat she’d recently vacated in front of the dressing table, facing the mirror, and sat her down. Then she lifted one of the silver-backed brushes and began to draw it through Rose’s dark hair, still loose round her shoulders from being brushed out last night. After a brief silence, Lottie said, “Do you recall what your hair was like when you married?”