The Gentleman Who Loved Me (Heart of Enquiry Book 6)(69)
Papa aimed an alarmed look at his younger brother. “It wasn’t gunpowder, was it, lad?”
“Of course not,” Harry said, continuing to stack sandwiches onto his plate.
At eight-and-twenty, he was tall and darkly handsome like Papa. His spectacles hinted at his scholarly bent while his rangy, muscular build showed his love of sporting. Harry spent most of his time at the university, and Rosie was surprised at how much he’d changed since his last visit. There was a new brooding quality to him—one that tempered his good-naturedness and gave him a harder and more jaded air.
Has something happened to Harry? she wondered. She thought about asking—and decided against it. Despite his easygoing ways, Harry was notoriously private. Having grown up with five sisters, he knew how to keep feminine inquisitiveness at bay.
“I’d never give them a saltpeter mixture; it’s too unstable.” He popped a ham and watercress triangle into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “They have a sample of a new compound I’ve been working on. All bang and no blast, I assure you.”
A small explosion rattled the windows. Worried looks were exchanged around the room... followed by shrugs. By now, they were all accustomed to Harry’s experiments.
“Well, then, let’s get on with the critical business: that of finding Rosie’s attacker,” Em said in her usual brisk manner. “Ambrose, will you brief us on the case?”
A petite and buxom brunette, Em had an active interest in sleuthing. At one time, she’d wanted to join Papa’s firm, and it was during her first case that she’d met the Duke of Strathaven. Despite being a duchess and mama now, Em still liked to keep up her investigative skills, and His Grace indulged her in this hobby as he did everything else.
Papa gave a summary of the facts, making note of Andrew’s contributions. He did so in a neutral manner, not commenting on the nature of Rosie’s relationship with Andrew. Relieved at the lack of censure, Rosie couldn’t help but think about her lover. When he left her bed this morning, he’d promised to have a special surprise for her tonight. She wondered giddily what he had planned. Who knew that having an affair would be so exciting and delightful?
It wasn’t just the lovemaking—her belly fluttered at the memory of those steamy hours—but how free she felt in his presence. When he’d made her look in the mirror, she’d seen herself clearly for the first time. In the reflection, she hadn’t been wicked or bad. Andrew was teaching her to accept herself as she was.
He’d given her so much… and what did she have to give him in return?
The imbalance niggled at her. Looking around the room, she wished she had some special quality the way each of her family members did. She wished she had Em’s practicality or Thea’s gentleness, Vi’s agility or Polly’s goodness. All she possessed was beauty and passion, and, if Andrew were to be believed, certain madcap tendencies.
What sort of offering was that to a man like Andrew? A man who was so worldly, powerful, and self-contained. What could she give to him?
She couldn’t even offer marriage—if, indeed, he even wanted to marry her…
She gave herself a mental shake. Why was she thinking about marriage? She had everything she wanted: a passionate relationship with a devastatingly attractive man and a position in Society… why rock the boat? Her journey was finally smooth sailing—with the exception of someone wanting her dead. Being targeted for murder did cause some choppiness in the waters.
The reminder made her focus back on Papa, who’d just finished recounting the events.
“Crumpets,” Violet said, her caramel-colored eyes wide. “I thought I was the hoyden of the family, but Rosie has me beat!”
“That’s debatable,” Carlisle muttered.
When his viscountess responded by elbowing him in the side, his rugged face creased in a grin.
“Wasn’t Andrew Corbett the one who accused Revelstoke of that ghastly business last year?” Emma asked. She’d aided Papa in the investigation that had cleared Polly’s husband of any wrongdoing. “Why has he gone to such lengths to protect Rosie?”
Before Rosie could muster up an explanation, Mama said, “As it happens, Corbett is an old friend.”
Em’s brows knitted together. “Why haven’t you mentioned that before, Marianne?”
“Corbett is part of a past I’d wanted to forget. He assisted me during those dark times when I was searching for Rosie.” Reaching up, Mama squeezed the hand that Papa had placed on her shoulder. “Corbett knew Rosie when she was a child, and he was a friend to her then.” Mama’s eyes met Rosie’s, and the maternal understanding in those emerald depths clogged her throat. “He still is.”
“Any friend of Rosie’s is a friend of the Kents,” Em declared. “Given his integral involvement in the case, why didn’t we invite him today?”
Seated next to her, Strathaven, a darkly elegant man, murmured, “Discretion is in order, pet.”
Em canted her head at her husband, her expression puzzled.
That was the charming thing about Em—about all of the Kents, Rosie thought. Growing up in an unconventional, middling class household, none of them gave a farthing about things like status or social acceptance. How she wished she could be more like them.
“Mama is right. Mr. Corbett has been a good friend to me,” she said quietly, “and a true gentleman, despite his profession. I owe him more than I can ever repay.”