“Forgive me,” I mumbled. “Are you leaving?” Did I sound too hopeful? I was so flustered, I didn’t know how to act.
Rowan folded his arms and shifted his weight to his right leg. He had grown so tall in all these years. No wonder I did not know him. “Your parents have insisted I be their guest.”
“Oh.” No other words came to my mind. Not a single descriptive one. What was this curse over me? Whatever it was, the name was Rowan Ashworth!
Rowan glanced at the drawing room door. “Congratulations on your engagement, Miss Delafield. An interesting plot twist.”
“It is not official . . . yet,” I squirmed. “And for the record, it’s obvious that I did not recognize you in Quillsbury.” I clasped my hands together in a casual attempt to hide my shame on that count. “I suppose this means you will no longer call me Miss Page?” I do not know what possessed me to ask such a question. We weren’t friends and never would be—not now that I knew who he really was. But I needed toestablish our new footing. One where I attempted to act like a lady before I politely asked him to leave.
Rowan shook his head. “No, I will not call you Miss Page. I know far more than a few paragraphs about you now. I know entire chapters.”
Some, he no doubt wished to permanently purge from his memory.
I tried to control my breathing, feeling unaccountably vulnerable. While he had been cruel to me, I had not been a passive actor in our childhood past. “Be that as it may, you cannot claim to know all of my story.” My voice was weak and without feeling, though the memory of him ripping apart my words had settled so deeply inside me that it had grown roots and sprouted branches of hurt that stretched to every corner of my frame. In that moment, he had killed my dreams of ever having a happy ending of my own.
I met his gaze head-on, desperately trying to hide my nerves that his presence brought. Gone was the soft gaze that I had become accustomed to this past week. This one was guarded and resolute. He clasped his hands behind his back and lorded over me. “No doubt we have both changed in all these years, but I find you have only altered in appearance.”
I had surprised him with Mr. Clodwick, just as I hoped. But was he really insulting me? “What exactly do you mean by that?”
He pointed to the drawing room. “That stunt in there. I find that I don’t have a taste for whatever genre that is.”
I pursed my lips. Horror? Comedy? Whatever it was, it was definitely not a romance. No thanks to him. So why did I feel absolutely horrible? Like this was my fault and not his?
“Excuse me.” Rowan frowned before my muteness could fade. “I am going for a ride.”
I stood pitifully in the corridor, wondering how he had rendered me so incapable of arguing with him. Wasn’t I supposed to have the last word?He was the man who thought he could waltz in here and marry me after twelve years of mutual loathing from afar. So why did I feel cold and alone in his absence? Was I confusing Rowan for Mr. Prologue again? They were not two different people. They were one and the same!
If I was going to survive two weeks in the same house with him, I had to draw clear battle lines between us. I couldn’t let my kind heart have any sympathy for him. There could be no guilt over my decision. Sure, he had come here expecting to finalize our engagement, but he wasthe enemy.
And I planned to come away the victor.
Chapter 9
Rowan
My ride had not been long enough to help me find purchase in my new situation at Elmhurst Hall. Neither had dinner. How quaint of Mrs. Delafield to sit Miss Delafield between Mr. Clodwick and me. We were a merry threesome, I assure you. And if I dared turn from her glower to my left, I met Miss Elizabeth’s sweet look of death.
Notwithstanding Mr. Delafield’s kindness all these years, if not for the bet, I would have left already. And if not for Mrs. Delafield’s constant compliments, I might think all the Delafield women a fearsome bunch, for even the eldest sister seemed to be shooting poisoned arrows from her eyes every time she looked at me. I wasn’t trying to ruin their sister’s happiness, whatever they thought. Marriage to me wasn’t the worst a woman could do—especially if Clodwick were the alternative.
I leaned slightly to my right so Miss Delafield might hear me. “Your sisters have been so welcoming. How am I deserving of such kindness?”
Miss Delafield’s smile was as fake as the waxed fruit at the center of the table. Her answer came in a hushed whisper. “Do not flatter yourself. You do not deserve anything from us.”
That much had been made perfectly clear. But I still had a bet to win, and win it I must. “Is Mr. Clodwick ill?”
Miss Delafield’s head whipped toward her other seatmate before turning back to me. “Of course not.”
“Oh.” I lifted my glass to cover my words. “So then he always looks that way.”
Her fork clanged against her plate, causing everyone’s conversations to pause and them to look her way. She picked up her fork as if nothing had bothered her and shoved a bite in her mouth. The conversations picked up again, and I had to stifle my laugh. It had been rude of me, but I had been behaving well for the entire day, and it had cost me a great deal. I was not vain about my own looks. I thought myself average enough, but I was certain I was younger and better looking than Clodwick.
What sort of name was that, anyway? A clod was a lump of earth. I leaned forward to steal a look at him. Indeed, a lump of earth was an adequate description. But didn’t clod also mean abominably stupid? I leaned forward a second time to look at him over Miss Delafield. Mr. Clodwick cut his mashed potatoes with a knife and ate his peas by stabbing them individually with a fork to eat them one at a time. It seemed both descriptions of the word fit the man quite perfectly. Not to mention that I had sworn that he had thrown salt over his shoulder a moment ago.
And she had chosen him over me?
Now that was a tough bite to chew.
My irritation simmered, rising with each hour as the night progressed. Moving to the drawing room after dinner, I sat on the end of the sofa directly across from Miss Delafield—some breathing room was needed—and had the unfortunate view of her pretty face as she pretended to be besotted with Clodwick. He gave her one-word answers, and she pretended to be satisfied with them.