Marquesses at the Masquerade(17)
Still, it stung that he didn’t know her, after they’d shared what had felt like the most special hours of her life. Over the past months, just thinking of him, of the fact that he was somewhere in London while she was there as well, had filled her with secret joy. Forbidden joy, but joy nonetheless. Now she was being shown how meaningless all that had been.
She briefly considered simply telling him they’d met before. Oh, this is funny, she might say, we met at your ball. But then she would eventually have to tell him her real name, and he would know her as the daughter of a man who was, however undeservedly, a national disgrace. And if Melinda then also discovered her whereabouts and made an issue of the “stolen” necklace, Rosamund might be in a great deal of trouble. Considering her father’s sad infamy, she could not, as his daughter, expect leniency.
She wished that none of those details about her mattered and that she could once again look in Marcus’s eyes and see that he thought she was special. But wishing was for people who were not in the kind of desperate straits she was in.
Marcus was offering her what would likely be a better wage than she was making as a seamstress, and for much easier work. Though she knew it was foolish to consider accepting his offer, not just because of the potential harm of her aunt’s accusations, but because she couldn’t bear for Marcus to find out that his mystery lady from the ball was really a poor, shabby seamstress, her future looked bleak, and his offer was tempting. The seamstress work paid barely enough to keep herself, and she had no hope of securing anything better. Was there really any choice?
“My name is Rosamund, my lord.” Socrates started to shift in her arms, and she held him out to Marcus, who accepted him.
“Well, Rosamund, what do you think? Will you agree to be Socrates’s companion, at least for the next month, or until he grows in wisdom and acquires civilized behavior, which might be rather further in the future? I would, of course, make it worth your while to set aside your current employment, and I would provide you with a character reference, should your work prove satisfactory.”
He then named a wage that would solve a great deal of her troubles, the kind of money that might allow her to leave London and establish herself somewhere else, perhaps as a dressmaker. Such a vision of the future was so vastly better than what she was now facing that she could hardly believe it possible.
“Your offer is unexpected,” she said, stalling for time as she considered whether it was the height of idiocy to be a companion to Marcus’s dog and thus inevitably put herself in Marcus’s charming company when he could never be for her. Now that he was not wearing a mask obscuring half his face, she could appreciate fully how handsome he was. His eyes were a gorgeous shade of dark blue, and he was just as tall and broad-shouldered as she remembered. Simply standing there talking to him was making her heart beat faster. “I would imagine there are not many dog companions employed these days.”
He gave her an amused look. “I would imagine so as well. Just think, it might be the start of a new sort of occupation, and you can be proud to say that you were the very first.”
She couldn’t resist smiling back—really, the man was too charming for his own good, never mind everyone else’s—and gave an inward sigh. Charming people, and likely charming women, probably came as easily to him as breathing. She would doubtless regret this, but she had little choice.
“Very well, I accept,” she said, hiding a smile as Socrates attempted to lick his master’s ear. “When should I start?”
“Well…” He grinned sheepishly, deftly evading Socrates’s little pink tongue. “Now, actually. I really was just about to depart on my journey.”
“Now? As in, this very moment?”
“Well, as soon as possible. I did want to get an early start so as to make the trip in one day.”
“But I would need to give notice and let my landlady know I won’t need a room now and pack my things.” Only a very few, since she didn’t have much.
He waved a hand, dismissing her concerns. “A footman can be dispatched to your employer to give notice for you and sort things out with your landlady, and someone at Boxhaven House can pack a valise for you. I’m certain there are any number of my sisters’ castoff clothes lying about.”
“Oh. Well, I suppose that would all be agreeable.” Since he was neatly doing away with all these details for her, agreeable was an understatement, but he didn’t need to know that.
“Excellent. You can have a cup of tea and a sandwich, if that would suit, while the valise is packed.”
“That would be welcome,” she said, trying not to sound absurdly eager about his offer of food. Since her dwindling store of coins had necessitated measures such as simply telling herself she wasn’t hungry when she was, the possibility of eating an entire sandwich in one sitting sounded like heaven.
“If you will come this way, Rosamund, I will take you to Boxhaven House, where I can finally put down this squirming bundle of fur-coated insanity.”
Chapter Seven
* * *
Rosamund had not quite believed that tea could be served and a bag packed for her with such speed that in little more than half an hour, she and Marcus would be ready to leave, but that was what happened. The benefits of being a marquess were clearly many.