The Rebel's Promise by Jane Godman Page B

and growing. It was swallowing up the surrounding countryside and spewing out buildings in its place. It was a city of huge contrasts and Rosie wondered how the wealthy and privileged managed to turn a blind eye to eye-watering degradation suffered by the slum dwellers. This was the Age of Enlightenment. However that enlightenment, it appeared, was limited to those with inherited wealth, status and feudal power. For visitors such as Rosie and Harry there seemed to be almost too much to do, and their growing list of places to visit included pleasure gardens, fairs and curiosities. Rosie, bowing to Lady Aurelia’s insistence – after all, prolonging her seclusion would not bring her beloved father back – must also endure an endless round of balls, soirees and routs. Tonight marked the beginning of that merry-go-round.
    To her new acquaintance, Rosie appeared content. Her engagement to Clive had not been publicly announced because of her mourning state, but it was generally known that she was promised to him. Rosie was reminded of the swans on the lake at Delacourt Grange and the way they glided smoothly across the water with scarcely a ripple. Yet, all the while, their feet were paddling wildly just below the surface. ‘ I am one of those swans ,’ she thought. ‘ Although my emotions are raging beneath the surface, I surprise even myself by continuing in an outwardly calm and serene manner. ’ No-one would ever suspect that her mind played a perpetual series of memories of Jack, so that he was with her constantly. It was only Harry, knowing the laughing, light-hearted sprite of a girl his sister had been, who wondered at her unnatural tranquillity and regarded her with brotherly concern. He must never know – no-one must ever know – that it was only by maintaining this cool, collected and unfamiliar persona that she could function at all. She lived in fear that, if she let the mask slip, she would tumble headlong into the bottomless pit of her grief.
    Before she could gather up her ruched velvet cloak, Harry and Beau wandered into her bedchamber and both regarded her thoughtfully.
    “Lord, Rosie,” Harry announced with somewhat unflattering surprise, “I did not know you could look half so good!”
    “Flatterer!” she laughed and twirled, then curtsied before him, “Did you want to talk to me, love?”
    “No, merely to bring you a letter,” he held it out to her, “It is Tom’s writing. I think it has been forwarded from Drummond Park.”
    “So it is, but I must dash because it will not do for me to make Lady Aurelia late.” she swung the heavy cloak about her shoulders. “Do leave it on my dressing table, Harry, so that I may read it tonight when I return.”
    She kissed his cheek and, from habit, he scrubbed where her lips had touched with the back of his hand. Laughing, Rosie went down the wide staircase to join her hostess.
     
    “Fore ‘gad, St Anton!” Sir Peregrine’s exclamation dragged Jack out of his reverie and back into the ballroom, “Who would have believed the wilds of Derbyshire could spill forth such beauty?” his friend had raised his quizzing glass and, through it, was appreciatively regarding the lady who had just arrived. With a heart thudding so loudly he felt sure it must echo around the room and betray him, Jack stared at Rosie. For a brief instant he forgot everything in the fierce joy of seeing her once more. Anger, hurt and heartbreak were momentarily banished and he actually started towards her, intent only on the overwhelming need to hold her in his arms once more. He was caught up short as he recognised her companion. A stocky, petulant man, attired in dull puce brocade, who placed a proprietorial hand in the small of her back to guide her through the throng.
    Jack’s sudden flush of rage was disguised by the paint on his face. He was glad to have this fashionable mask behind which to hide his feelings as he studied Sir Clive and his future wife. The simplicity of her