At half past nine the next morning, Rosalie found her way to the duchess’ parlor for tea. She was ready for it this time when the footman barked out her name as she passed through the open door.
“Ah, Miss Rose…may I call you Miss Rose?” said the duchess from her usual place in the center of the window-facing sofa.
“Of course, Your Grace,” Rosalie replied.
“Well then, sit yourself down here and we’ll get straight to business,” she said, gesturing to the closest chair. “I’m quite pressed for time this morning.”
Rosalie could well believe it. The Duchess seemed to be situated between a mess of paperwork—sample menus and seating charts for the ball, dance cards, stacks of unopened correspondence, folded newspapers. The woman never seemed to cease working.
A footman served Rosalie tea, which she accepted gratefully, taking deep whiffs of the floral oolong.
“Well, Miss Rose?” the duchess said, not looking up from her reading.
“Your Grace?” Rosalie replied, lowering her cup back to the saucer.
“Report,” the duchess replied with a huff. “Is that not why I sent you out these last three days?”
Rosalie nodded, setting her tea aside. “Yes, well…the ladies you assembled are all of fine breeding, well-mannered and accomplished. They seem to come from good families—”
“Stop right there,” the duchess snapped, tossing her reading aside and slipping the glasses off the tip of her nose. “If I wanted an accounting of their pedigrees, I would read their entries in the latest edition of Debrett’s Peerage and Baronetage. I’m asking you, Miss Harrow, what is your opinion of them. You are my impartial observer, for you do not know these ladies from Eve. I’m relying on you to tell me what you think.”
Rosalie blinked, too surprised for words. Was it possible that her opinion was actually going to hold any weight with a duchess? Her mind wandered back to the stack of bills hidden in her trunk and she took a deep breath. The duchess really wanted her opinion? Rosalie would oblige.
“The Swindon sisters are perhaps a bit vain, and Mariah in particular is very silly,” she began. “But she is young, Your Grace. She could learn, especially given the right guiding influence…your influence.”
The duchess nodded. “Go on, Miss Rose.”
“Lady Olivia is haughty in the extreme,” she went on. “She sees herself as better than everyone. She talks down to everyone—servants, the other guests. She was even rude to your son. Lord James was quite fair about it when I would have shown my teeth.”
“I heard about the incident,” the duchess replied. “Olivia comes by it naturally enough. Her mother is a cold-hearted bitch. I hate her…and I respect her. She’s a hell of a businesswoman.”
Rosalie nodded. In a strange way, she could see how the attributes of Lady Olivia might actually be good for an estate like Alcott, even if she shivered at the prospect of her being paired with George Corbin. It would be only the second worst pairing of the bunch. Rosalie lifted her eyes to the duchess. Those sapphire blue eyes watched her, waiting.
“Lady Madeline is not a good fit for the duke,” Rosalie said on a whisper. “They would be miserable together, and she would be miserable in her role here. The coronet would always wear her, never the other way around.”
The duchess frowned. “And Blanche Oswald?”
“She is ridiculous,” Rosalie replied. “She would drive you quite mad here, always under foot, always talking in your ear day and night. I fear you might snap and shove her out an open window…if Lord James doesn’t beat you to it. Mr. Burke would help in either case.”
The duchess contained her amusement, though Rosalie saw a flash of it in her eyes. “And you consider yourself a good judge of character? You think these opinions hold weight?”
“I speak for myself alone,” Rosalie replied. “But…yes, Your Grace. Like you, I see myself as a good judge of character. And I have no reason to lie to you. These are my honest opinions.”
“If only every conversation I had with all my acquaintances could be so to the point. It is our Richmond blood, I think,” she mused. “We Richmond women don’t suffer fools, nor waste our time with frivolous words.”
Rosalie blushed under the duchess’ muted praise.
“I think it’s time we talk about my primary design in bringing you to Alcott,” the duchess went on, shuffling around some of the paperwork in her lap.
Rosalie held her breath. She’d been hoping for this, as much as she was dreading it. She never liked feeling like she was being kept in the dark. “I will hear anything Your Grace wishes to tell me,” she murmured, reaching for her tea to give her hands some distraction.
“I’ll not deny it, Miss Rose, you’ve impressed me. I’ve watched you, and you are everything I hoped for…and everything I dreaded.”
Rosalie shifted uncomfortably, taking a sip of her overly floral tea. “I’m not sure if you mean to compliment me, Your Grace,” she admitted.
“You are clever, Miss Rose,” the duchess went on. “I’m pleased to see you have more than two thoughts in your head. You seem curious about the world, and you make easy conversation with people of high and low rank alike. Even my servants seem to enjoy you. You’ve earned a glowing recommendation from your maid.”
Rosalie had been getting on well with Sarah. The girl was a veritable font of gossip. It was through her she learned Mr. Burke had an older half-brother who was a curate in Devonshire. And that Sir Andrew was having an affair with his wife’s maid.
“I don’t know about your accomplishments,” the duchess added. “But you’ll soon have opportunities to exhibit them. No, on the whole, you were just what I hoped to find in Elinor’s daughter.”
Rosalie smiled faintly. “And…what do you dread, Your Grace?”
The duchess frowned. “You are too beautiful by half and your charm is infectious. You have an air of mystery about you that lures men in. Without lifting a finger, you’ve already managed to turn the head of every man in this house. You have the damnable ability to make a man question everything he owes to family and duty. It’s infuriating…and dangerous, and I won’t tolerate it. Not when you are a nobody with nothing to offer.”
Rosalie felt her pulse quicken. “Your Grace, I would never—”
“Oh, I know you wouldn’t wield your wiles on purpose. But that’s what makes you all the more alluring,” the duchess replied.
“I told you, I am not considering marriage.”
“Well then,” the duchess said with a haughty sniff, her brow arched in that imperious way she now attributed to all three Corbins. “If you are sincere, then I believe we may be able to make an arrangement.”
“Arrangement?”
The Duchess smiled. “You seek to pay off your debts to me. You seek a position that does not involve marriage, and I have one to offer.”
What turn of events was this? Rosalie didn’t dare breathe. “A position, Your Grace?”
“I want you to come and stay here at Alcott Hall,” the duchess declared. “Stay as my ward. You’ll have room and board, pin money, new dresses. Let the next few weeks be a trial if you wish.”
Rosalie’s heart was in her throat. “And…why would you want me here?”
The duchess set her empty cup and saucer on the table. “Because it seems quite certain that my son George will make an inappropriate match, if he makes one at all, and this estate needs management. It needs a proper duchess. By your own estimation, if he were to choose Madeline or Blanche, I’d sit back and watch as they ran this estate into the ground.”
Rosalie’s mind spun. “You want me to…to be a duchess? But you just said—”
“No, dear,” the duchess said with a soft laugh. “As we’ve already decided, you are quite out of the question as a prospective bride. But I will not trust the running of Alcott to whichever new duchess dares take my place on George’s arm. She’s certain to be a useless creature, and I will not allow the Corbin name or this great estate to suffer her ill attentions.”
Rosalie saw sense in this solution, even if it was a bit unconventional.
“I want you to be my ward,” the duchess continued. “You’ll learn at my side how to run an estate such as this, at least the feminine side. My son James handles the rest. You’ll plan menus and events at the house, handle charity and patronage for the tenants. In a word, you will be me: a guardian and manager of both Alcott and the Corbin family. You will work discretely, allowing George and his new bride to live their lives as unencumbered by responsibility as possible. Trust me when I say, this arrangement will be better for everyone.”
“But…Mrs. Davies,” Rosalie pressed. “Surely a trained housekeeper already fills these roles—”
“A housekeeper lives in the shadows,” the duchess explained. “The mark of a good one is that a guest might never see her in the whole course of a visit. No, I need someone who can balance between the worlds, the shadows and the sunlight. A manager who can plan events, but also a lady who can assist in the hosting of it. If I take you on now, and train you at my side, it will be no discomfort to those within the duke’s circle to see you at balls and assemblies, comings out and christenings and church bazaars.”
“I don’t understand why you would possibly want me to fill this role,” Rosalie admitted, still trying to wrap her mind around it all.
“Are you Elinor Greene’s daughter or not?” the duchess snapped. “My Elinor was a force of nature—creative and clever, loyal to her friends. She was reliable and resourceful. Do you possess none of the traits that made her such a worthwhile companion?”
“I think…I am very much like her,” Rosalie murmured, trying to keep any emotions she felt about her mother safely in their box.
“Good, excellent. Because I want someone with a clear head on her shoulders,” the duchess replied. “Someone clever and resourceful and unafraid of hard work.” She sat forward. “More importantly, I need someone who will not have their pretty little head turned by the empty promises of lovers or social climbers. This is a dangerous world for a woman and predators are everywhere. I am trusting that your status as a wholly worthless marital prize will protect you from unwanted suitors.” She paused, once again raising her arched brow. “To swim in these exalted waters is to know sharks abound, Miss Rose. So, tell me, are you a good swimmer?”
Rosalie fled the duchess’ study with promises to consider her proposal. She retrieved her bonnet and found the first exit that led out a side door, taking off for the comfort of the trees. Her breath came out in sharp pants as she clutched her hands into fists at her sides. She didn’t slow her pace as she slipped under the trees and followed a shaded path directly away from the house.
What a turn of events! It was beyond anything Rosalie had ever dreamed possible. It was not enough that the duchess was cancelling all Rosalie’s debts. Now she was offering a chance for Rosalie to make something of her life beyond settling into an unwanted marriage or selling herself in servitude as a governess. The duchess wanted to give Rosalie a position. Rosalie could make Alcott her home and live in the shadow of a duchess, learning how to run a grand house for one of the most illustrious families in the realm.
How could she refuse? How could anyone in her position refuse?
And what did the duchess expect in return? That Rosalie commit herself to her tasks and work hard? Easy enough, for Rosalie hated being idle and longed for a new challenge. Show resolute loyalty to the Corbins and the estate? The duchess was now Rosalie’s redeemer. And Lord James was a good man, determined to do right by his family and the people here. She would gladly show them loyalty. As to the estate, it was beautiful beyond words. To think of it as her home gave her no small amount of pleasure.
And then there was the last request of the duchess: that Rosalie marry herself to her work and not let her head be turned by men. The duchess said herself that Rosalie’s position as a penniless, low-born woman of no social consequence would surely protect her from anyone who navigated in high society circles. This gave her pause…not the part about marriage. Rosalie was happy to sign an oath here and now declaring her intention never to marry. But the duchess’ words unsettled her. She said Rosalie turned men’s heads. Was Rosalie turning heads here?
She’d be a fool to say the tension with Burke wasn’t heavy with mutual attraction. The man was handsome beyond words, clever and curious. He was just what a good man ought to be. But the duchess had been explicit: Burke was not for consumption. Neither was Lord James. Could Rosalie stand to live in a house with these men and watch as they tried to dash themselves upon her rocks? Was this not a recipe for disaster?
But then another thought crept in with the stealth of a morning shadow: could she stand to live without them?
“Miss Harrow?”
A deep voice behind her made her gasp. She turned, taking an involuntary step back to see the lieutenant standing before her.
