A Ring For The Pregnant Debutante. Laura Martin
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mouth, wide eyes and rapid blinking of her eyelids. Over the years he had become a master of concealing his fears of the illness that might one day claim him and distraction was a great technique.
‘Home?’
‘Back to England. To whatever friend you hope will take you in.’
‘Why would you do that?’
Thomas shrugged. He’d made the suggestion impulsively, but the more he thought about it the more he warmed to the idea.
‘I need to return home. I owe that much to my mother. It wouldn’t be gentlemanly to abandon you in your hour of need, so why not combine the two objectives?’
‘It’s too much, I could never ask that of you.’
‘What other options do you have?’
Rosa fell silent. She was in no position to turn down the offer of assistance in whatever form.
‘You are sure you’re happy to return to England? I wouldn’t want you to return solely on my account.’
Thomas thought about it before answering and found he was. It would be pleasant to stroll around his estate and reminisce with his mother. He knew he would not stay there indefinitely, but a few weeks, maybe a month, and then he could pick a new destination for his travels. Thomas found the idea of revisiting the home he had once been so happy in rather appealing and knew if he wanted to return for a short period he should do so soon. Who knew if he would get another opportunity?
‘Quite sure.’
Rosa shook her head in disbelief, then threw her arms around him.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered.
He had never heard two words uttered so sincerely or with such relief.
‘I will find a way to reimburse you any expenses accrued once we get back to England.’
Thomas waved a dismissive hand—the cost of a passage on a ship and a few weeks in various guest houses was the least of his worries. It wasn’t as though he would be able to take his money with him when he died.
‘Thank you, Lord Hunter,’ Rosa replied. Thomas could see she was struggling to hold back the tears.
‘Call me Thomas. We’re going to be spending much time together.’
‘Thomas,’ she repeated, smiling up at him.
‘And I shall call you Rosa.’
‘You do already.’
He grinned, took her hand and kissed her just below the knuckles. It felt good to have a purpose after all this time.
‘This afternoon we shall return to the villa. There are a few things I will need to tie up before we depart. I will arrange for us to leave early next week.’
He would terminate his lease on the villa. As much as he loved the comfortable dwelling and beautiful views, he realised it was time for him to move on. The momentary fear that he might be entering his last few months of healthy life had jolted him into action. There was more of the world to see, more to experience. He would travel home with Rosa, visit his mother for a few weeks and then spin the large globe that sat in his father’s study. His study. Wherever his finger landed, that would be where he travelled next.
As they walked back along the promenade Thomas tried to summon some of his normal excitement when contemplating a new adventure, but this time his heart was not really in it. His mind was preoccupied with thoughts of home: the rolling green hills, the woods he’d played in as a boy, even the peaceful spot right at the edge of the estate where his father and brother were laid to rest.
Dearest Caroline,
I hope you are keeping well. It seems like a century has passed since we saw each other last winter. I was very saddened to hear the news of Lord Trowridge’s passing. Please forgive me for the lateness of my condolences. I have been out of the country for some months, but you are never far from my thoughts.
How is young Rupert? I remember the week I spent with you in January with such fondness. He was such an adorable little baby and I’m sure he’s bringing you even more joy as he grows.
I do not know if any gossip has reached your ears down in Dorset, but I am in a little bit of trouble. These last three months I’ve been exiled from London, sent to stay with my mother’s family in northern Italy. I won’t bore you with all the sordid details, but I have found myself with child, and you can imagine Mother’s reaction to that little scandal.
Her plan was to tell the world I had gone to nurse my ailing grandmother—who is as strong as an ox and still shows up the young farmhands. I would reappear in society in a year and no one would be the wiser. My child was to be adopted by some Italian family and I would never set eyes on him or her again.
I know I should probably have been grateful, Caroline, but I couldn’t bear the thought of my baby calling someone else Mama. Out of everyone I think you would understand the most.
Anyway, I escaped and now I’ve met an English gentleman who has offered to escort me back to England. He seems very capable and I feel safe in his company, even if he is rather forceful and confident in character.
Now I have the biggest favour to ask of you. I know if I return home my mother will send me back to her family in Italy and if that happens they will take my baby away from me. Caroline, can I come and stay with you whilst I wait out the rest of my pregnancy and work out exactly how to live my life as the mother of an illegitimate child? For I will not give up my baby for anyone, no matter what the future brings.
I remember you saying you have a certain freedom now Lord Trowridge has passed and I wonder if I can impose on you for a short while? I would be happy to be hidden away, or to live a simple life in one of the cottages on your estate.
I have no money and nowhere else to turn. Caroline, I’m sorry to ask so much of you, but I hope one day I will be able to repay you.
We will be leaving Italy any day now. Lord Hunter is just tying up a few loose ends from his life here and then we will be starting our journey back to England. I am not sure of the exact date we will arrive in Dorset, but perhaps I might call on you when we arrive to hear your answer.
I cannot wait to see you and young Rupert again.
All my love,
Rosa
Rosa sat back, folded the letter in half and slipped it into the envelope. She was asking a lot of her old friend, maybe too much, but she didn’t have much choice. Caroline was kind and loyal and wasn’t one to worry overly much about what others thought of her. Rosa knew her oldest friend wouldn’t hesitate to take her in, but that didn’t mean asking was any easier.
‘Who are you writing to?’ Thomas asked as he sauntered across the terrace, tossing a ripe orange up in the air and catching it with ease.
‘Caroline, the Dowager Lady Trowridge,’ Rosa corrected herself. ‘She’s my oldest and dearest friend.’
‘She sounds severe.’
Rosa laughed. No one who had ever met Caroline would describe her as severe.
‘She’s twenty years old, no more than five feet tall and laughs at absolutely everything.’
‘Not your average widow, then?’
Thomas was of course right, despite there being many young widows in society, the term often conjured up images of statuesque women in their later years presiding over a large family with an iron will.
‘Not your average dowager,’ Rosa agreed. ‘She married at eighteen, had her son at nineteen and was a widow by the age of twenty.’
‘Poor girl.’ Then Thomas paused. ‘Or maybe very