#rosaduke

This is the sequel to “Addicted to Love”.  There is an unfinished prequel as well, “The Absinthe on My Lips” (which I also need to work on as well as my other incomplete works...geez).

I’d alluded to this situation in Open Your Eyes, but tonight I wanted to write a bit of it.

While executing a particularly difficult step of the redowa dance, Rosamund felt her foot land strangely.  During the next step she winced and squeezed her partner’s shoulder to get his attention.  Indicating that she needed to sit out, the gentleman helped her limp off the dance floor, carefully winding through dancing couples, and to a table.  He asked her if she needed anything.  When Rosamund said no, he shifted away to another table.

Rosamund shrugged to herself, fiddling with her dance card and gingerly moving her foot under her skirts.  She knew she’d been a mere place holder for that gentleman – like she was for so many of them in her third Season.  Sighing softly, she shifted the dance card so she could read the next name.  The ball was only halfway through, and she dreaded having to sit through the rest of the evening – not that she had filled her dance card.  But the next name made her smile.

Marmaduke Painswick.

In fact, Marmaduke himself always made her smile.

As the dance ended, she applauded with the rest, then spotted Marmaduke making his way toward her, ignoring everyone else.  He approached her and took her hand, kissing the back of her glove gently.  “Ready for our next dance, Lady Rosamund?”

Shaking her head, she replied, “No, actually, Marmaduke.  I think I twisted my ankle.”

Concern filled his countenance.  “Are you sure it’s just twisted?”

“It doesn’t feel like it could be much worse.”  

“Shouldn’t you go home?  I could accompany you, if that would be acceptable.”  He squeezed her hand.

“No, no.  I couldn’t go without telling Robert, and I think he and Cora are probably hiding in the gardens by now.”  Rosamund chuckled.  As Marmaduke moved a chair closer to her and sat with her at the table, she shook her head slightly.  “You should go and be with others.  It’s a ball.  You don’t want to sit here with me.”

“I do, actually.  But, wait – would you like me to get you anything?  A glass of champagne?  Some ice for your ankle?”  He jumped up out of the chair in anticipation of any of her needs.

Rosamund grinned at him.  “Both would be appreciated, Marmaduke.”

When he returned – a little later than she expected – he put two glasses of champagne and a cloth containing ice down on the table.  As Rosamund surreptitiously drew her leg up under the cover of the long table cloth and applied ice to her stockinged ankle, Marmaduke said, “I took the chance to cancel my other dance partners.”

Her eyes growing wide, Rosamund said, “But why?”

“So I can sit with you, of course.”  He took up his glass and sipped at the champagne, his eyes landing on her fan on the table, his cheeks tinging with color.  In a lowered voice he said, “You know how I feel about you, Lady Rosamund.  It would be a pleasure to endeavor to keep you entertained while you cannot dance.”

“Marmaduke,” she said in a hushed tone, “I don’t want to be a bother.”

His eyelids lifted so his eyes could settle on hers.  “You are not a bother at all.  You’re the reason I come to these parties at all.”

Feeling her own face flush, Rosamund couldn’t pull her eyes away from his.  “Please, don’t say things like that.”

He nodded.  “As you wish, then.  But I will stay if it’s not an imposition on you.”

“No,” she smiled and shook her head.  “Not at all.”

So Marmaduke stayed with her the rest of the evening.  Not once did another lady turn his head.  And Rosamund laughed with him.

On her way home in the carriage, Rosamund finally admitted to herself what she’d long been denying – she was in love.  With Marmaduke.

Rosamund pushed a hand through her red curls and sighed.  “I suppose you should pack your things while I’m away.”

Choking slightly on his coffee, Marmaduke blinked at her.  “But… why?”

“Because,” she started, training her eyes on his, “how are we ever to move forward?  You refuse to come home with me every time I ask.  I don’t know how we’re supposed to continue this way.  Marmaduke, we’ve been dating over a year.  We’re practically living together.”  She shook her head.  “I won’t go on this way.”

“Rosamund, please don’t.  It’s not about that.  I just—“

“Are you really that afraid of my mother that you can’t come home with me for a week?  Meet them?  Get to know them?”

He narrowed his eyes, leaning toward her from his place across the breakfast table.  “You would throw it all away because you think I’m afraid of your mother?”

“Well, isn’t that what you’re doing, Marmaduke?”  Her mouth was set in a hard line, her brow furrowed.

“Are you challenging me?”  Standing, he balled one fist by his side, the other hand slipping into his jacket pocket.  His voice had risen in volume.

“Yes.  I suppose I am!”

“Fine!”  The hand came out of this pocket, clutching a small blue box.  This he slammed down on the table in front of her.  “There!  I meant to do this properly, as a surprise, before we left for your parents’ – as a real couple – in two days, but since you’re so ridiculously stubborn—“

But Rosamund had opened the box, her mouth open in awe and disbelief, then jumped out of the chair and into his arms.  “Shut up, you devil, and kiss your fiancée.”

Marmaduke’s expression changed immediately, his lips curved in a wide grin.  “Is that a yes, darling?”

“Of course it is, you bloody fool.  Now where’s my kiss?”

Wrapping his arms completely around Rosamund, Marmaduke did as he was bid, and kissed her until she sighed with absolute joy and contentment.

By request (and Pip picked the excerpt for the peek...):