all those years treating me like an equal! Letting me learn about the ships and the plantation, the people and the crops! Then off he sends me to school—and then to court, where I’m placed beneath the ‘benign eye’ of Lord Bryant to be ‘suitably’ wed! And the entire world seems to know that he really wants me to marry that horrible man I met today!”
Mary Kate shook her head. “Rose, I know that your father loves you. I’m sure he doesn’t want you to be miserable. He’s heard that the king dotes on DeForte, and so—”
“The king is a fool!” Rose cried.
“Hush! That’s very nearly treason!” Mary Kate said, distressed, and not nearly so amused anymore. Rose could be very wild and impetuous, and in her anger she might well get herself into some serious trouble.
Rose inhaled and exhaled slowly. “Oh, this is ridiculous! I wouldn’t have to hate DeForte and say stupid things about the king if I could just go home!”
Mary Kate frowned. Rose had never really been denied anything. Now Mary Kate was afraid that she was going to learn the lesson of denial in a very brutal manner, for Ashcroft was hardly likely to let her choose her own husband. It made Mary Kate sorry, for she loved the girl deeply.
“Well, there’s more to deal with than your father at the moment!” the maid warned.
Rose knew instantly whom Mary Kate was referring to. Lord Jamison Bryant. On top of everything else, Jamison’s kindly father had somehow managed to pass away at this most inopportune of moments! Now she was left with Jamison as a guardian. Although he was a handsome enough man, tall, lean, and always impeccably dressed, there was something about him that disturbed her.
“Jamison,” she said flatly to Mary Kate. She hesitated. “I don’t think he has any real power over me,” she murmured, a little uneasily. She inched her chin up a shade. “I won’t let him have any power over me. He’s a guardian, not my father. He’s supposed to see to it that my virtue is kept safe, and he’ll never have to worry in the least about that.”
Mary Kate, finished with her coiffing, stepped back to survey her young mistress critically. Perfect. He hair was neatly dressed in a coil at her nape, while little tendrils in shades of fire and gold curled softly around her face. Her eyes, certainly her greatest glory, blazed their emerald color in sharp contrast to the deep, dark auburn of her hair. Her gown was a rich blue velvet, the bodice rounded and laced, the skirt gathered twice to display the beauty of the petticoats beneath. It had been whispered that she was the greatest beauty to have come to the king’s court, and Mary Kate thought that it might well be true. There were wonderful whispers, too, that the girl would fall into a fairy-tale romance, that the exquisite commoner might find herself a titled lord, and live happily ever after.
Rose didn’t want a lord, Mary Kate reminded herself. But then, the good God in heaven sometimes seemed to see to those things people needed, and didn’t even know that they desired.
“I think you’re ready, my pet,” Mary Kate told her.
Rose nodded, still seeming distracted. Then she blurted out, “Truly, Mary Kate, you should have met him! He’s such a lout!”
“Are we speaking now of Lord Bryant or Lord DeForte?”
Rose grinned, wrinkling her nose. “We could be speaking of either. But I meant Lord DeForte.”
“Well, I shall try to get a glimpse of him tonight,” Mary Kate assured her. “Does he look like an ogre?”
“He—no,” Rose murmured. She was surprised to feel a flush rising over her cheeks. No, he had not looked like an ogre. He had spoken like one, but he hadn’t looked like one. With his jet hair and amazing silver eyes, he was an exceptionally striking individual. When he had stood by her in the stream, he had been commandingly tall. When he had touched her, she had felt the wealth of power and muscle within him. She had to admit that his
Mary Kate shook her head. “Rose, I know that your father loves you. I’m sure he doesn’t want you to be miserable. He’s heard that the king dotes on DeForte, and so—”
“The king is a fool!” Rose cried.
“Hush! That’s very nearly treason!” Mary Kate said, distressed, and not nearly so amused anymore. Rose could be very wild and impetuous, and in her anger she might well get herself into some serious trouble.
Rose inhaled and exhaled slowly. “Oh, this is ridiculous! I wouldn’t have to hate DeForte and say stupid things about the king if I could just go home!”
Mary Kate frowned. Rose had never really been denied anything. Now Mary Kate was afraid that she was going to learn the lesson of denial in a very brutal manner, for Ashcroft was hardly likely to let her choose her own husband. It made Mary Kate sorry, for she loved the girl deeply.
“Well, there’s more to deal with than your father at the moment!” the maid warned.
Rose knew instantly whom Mary Kate was referring to. Lord Jamison Bryant. On top of everything else, Jamison’s kindly father had somehow managed to pass away at this most inopportune of moments! Now she was left with Jamison as a guardian. Although he was a handsome enough man, tall, lean, and always impeccably dressed, there was something about him that disturbed her.
“Jamison,” she said flatly to Mary Kate. She hesitated. “I don’t think he has any real power over me,” she murmured, a little uneasily. She inched her chin up a shade. “I won’t let him have any power over me. He’s a guardian, not my father. He’s supposed to see to it that my virtue is kept safe, and he’ll never have to worry in the least about that.”
Mary Kate, finished with her coiffing, stepped back to survey her young mistress critically. Perfect. He hair was neatly dressed in a coil at her nape, while little tendrils in shades of fire and gold curled softly around her face. Her eyes, certainly her greatest glory, blazed their emerald color in sharp contrast to the deep, dark auburn of her hair. Her gown was a rich blue velvet, the bodice rounded and laced, the skirt gathered twice to display the beauty of the petticoats beneath. It had been whispered that she was the greatest beauty to have come to the king’s court, and Mary Kate thought that it might well be true. There were wonderful whispers, too, that the girl would fall into a fairy-tale romance, that the exquisite commoner might find herself a titled lord, and live happily ever after.
Rose didn’t want a lord, Mary Kate reminded herself. But then, the good God in heaven sometimes seemed to see to those things people needed, and didn’t even know that they desired.
“I think you’re ready, my pet,” Mary Kate told her.
Rose nodded, still seeming distracted. Then she blurted out, “Truly, Mary Kate, you should have met him! He’s such a lout!”
“Are we speaking now of Lord Bryant or Lord DeForte?”
Rose grinned, wrinkling her nose. “We could be speaking of either. But I meant Lord DeForte.”
“Well, I shall try to get a glimpse of him tonight,” Mary Kate assured her. “Does he look like an ogre?”
“He—no,” Rose murmured. She was surprised to feel a flush rising over her cheeks. No, he had not looked like an ogre. He had spoken like one, but he hadn’t looked like one. With his jet hair and amazing silver eyes, he was an exceptionally striking individual. When he had stood by her in the stream, he had been commandingly tall. When he had touched her, she had felt the wealth of power and muscle within him. She had to admit that his
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