Lady Evan Wins the Day: The Cousins, #2

By Bethany Swafford

Can love survive the scrutiny of society?

Rosalind's marriage to the charming Lord Evan Westwood was a love match, but it has not been what she expected. Going from being a poor relation to a lady should have been a dream come true, however, Rosalind struggles with the changes that have come to her life. Will her husband regret marrying her when he realizes that society doesn't accept her?

Ten years may have passed since the scandal with her father, but certain members of the ton have not forgotten what John Emerson did. Rosalind tries to hold her head up high and prove her reputation is above reproach. This becomes difficult when one of Lord Evan's schoolmates, Mr. John Rowley, tries to flirt with her every time they meet. Escaping to the countryside for a house party sounds like a good idea, but rumors and speculation follow them there. Rosalind finds her father's journal, but unraveling the threads of the past is difficult when the present is just as tangled.

 

Can Rosalind and Evan agree on how to dispel the rumors or will their lives be overshadowed by scandal forever?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bethany Swafford
• Release date: Jun 13, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201166939

Bethany Swafford

For as long as she can remember, Bethany Swafford has loved reading books. That love of words extended to writing as she grew older and when it became more difficult to find a ‘clean’ book, she determined to write her own. Among her favorite authors are Jane Austen, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and Georgette Heyer.  When she doesn’t have a pen to paper (or fingertips to a laptop keyboard), she can be found with a book in hand. To get notified about new releases and any news, sign up to Bethany's Newsletter here: https://bit.ly/2Hg7KJw

Book preview

Prologue

1808

Thirteen-year-old Rosalind Emerson unclasped her hands from her lap to curl her fingers into the cushioned seat she was on. The movement of the carriage was rough, and it was difficult to keep herself from tumbling into her companions who were seated across from her. Was it the constant motion or nerves that made her stomach twist so much?

Good heavens, child, can you not sit naturally?

Sorry, ma’am, Rosalind whispered. She kept her eyes on her lap and remained as she was, knowing that to lean back would only result in a scolding about sitting improperly. She’d already learned that she could do nothing right.

What was that? What did you say? Do not mumble and speak to the floor. I cannot hear you!

I meant no offense, Aunt Lawrence, Rosalind said, miserable at being forced to raise her gaze.

With a disapproving tut, the woman shook her head. You have been woefully brought up, she said in a mournful tone. I pray my dear niece might have a good effect on you, but I fear you will only corrupt sweet Emily. Mr. Lawrence has told me he has the same fears, did you not, Mr. Lawrence?

The thin figure who was seated next to the garrulous woman had nothing to say on the matter. He stared out the window at the passing scenery as though it had his fullest attention. In fact, Rosalind couldn’t think of a single word he’d said since she’d been compelled to climb into the carriage.

His wife easily filled the silence without any assistance.

You do realize the great honour that has been bestowed on you, do you not, Rosalind? the woman now said, fixing a stern gaze on the girl. It is not every penniless orphan who has a kind, generous uncle to take her in.

Mrs. Lawrence had nothing but praise concerning the mysterious uncle Rosalind was journeying to stay with. The girl couldn’t remember her mother’s brothers ever visiting in London, so she could only hope the words were true.

And a cousin! What would she be like? Would they be friends? She couldn’t possibly be as high and mighty as the other cousin from the Lawrence side of the family, Percival Ormund. All he’d done was look down his nose at her and ignored her altogether.

Rosalind Emerson, did you hear a word of what I just said?

Startled out of her thoughts, Rosalind shook her head on instinct.

As it was, Mrs. Lawrence didn’t seem to take notice of whether Rosalind answered or not. You will have to learn some manners quickly. Dear Mr. Lawrence has had too many trials in his life to be plagued with an ungrateful, ill-mannered child.

For a brief moment, anger rose up in Rosalind’s heart. She bit her lip to keep from arguing how her mother had spent many hours instructing her on how a young lady ought to behave. Mentioning her mother would only result in a scold about bad decisions and how easy young ladies could fall prey to unscrupulous men.

Mrs. Lawrence had already made such a speech immediately after she arrived to collect Rosalind. Given the woman’s tendency to use any topic to instruct a person, Rosalind wasn’t inclined to risk causing another one for no reason.

One day, she would be in a position to defend her mother against any kind of aspersions.

She dared to glance at her uncle. Mr. Gerald Lawrence had been her mother’s younger brother. Rosalind had hoped the man would share fond memories from his shared childhood with her mother, but that had not happened. Maybe it never would, given the man’s subdued nature. As it was, he didn’t defend his sister.

The carriage shifted to the right as it made a turn off the road. Finally. We’ve arrived, Mrs. Lawrence declared with delight. Oh, if only we would have had room for Brutus. He adores being able to run free around the manor.

Lawrence Manor. The thought of seeing her new home drove away Rosalind’s repugnance at the reminder of her aunt’s spoiled pug. Suddenly eager to see what she could, she leaned towards the open window. All she saw were the trees lining the driveway.

Sit back, child! You are blocking the window!

Disappointed, Rosalind did as she was told. As the carriage slowed, she stopped clinging to the seat and instead clasped her gloved hands in her laps. Her palms were sweaty beneath the fabric, and her heart was pounding more than ever before.

What if Mr. Lawrence and his daughter didn’t like her? What if they thought she was not worthy of being associated with the family? Would they send her away? Where would she go if they did?

The carriage came to a stop, and Mr. Lawrence was the first to disembark when the door opened. He assisted his wife out and then held his hand out to Rosalind. For a moment, the girl thought she saw a bit of kindness in his blue eyes.

Rosalind! Do not dawdle! Mr. Lawrence, hurry the girl, would you? We don’t want to keep your brother waiting.

Feeling her cheeks heat up, Rosalind caught up her mother’s reticule and climbed out of the conveyance with her uncle’s help. Her breath caught in her throat as she had her first good look at Lawrence Manor.

It towered above her, the stone walls precisely as she envisioned a castle would look like. The windows seemed to sparkle even though the sun wasn’t shining. Before she could take in any more details, the front door opened.

Mrs. Lawrence caught her hand and tugged her forward. Come along, child. You mustn’t stare. It is rude. Oh, why couldn’t your mother have thought to teach you basic manners.

In the hall, the marble floors gleamed brighter than anything Rosalind had ever seen. The floors of the flat where she’d grown up had been dull wood. The room had also been small, a sharp contrast to the open space of Lawrence Manor.

Mr. Lawrence! How good it is to see you. Although, I must confess, these are trying times, are they not?

With a start, Rosalind pulled her gaze from the spotlessness of the entrance. To the right, a tall gentleman, his brown hair peppered with grey, was coming towards them. He was dressed in tan trousers and a dark brown tailcoat.

Gerald, Mrs. Lawrence, he said, his voice gruff. He paused to make a brief, formal bow. My apologies for not being on hand. We were not expecting you so soon.

Were you not? I know I sent a letter informing you of our intent to arrive today, Mrs. Lawrence said with confidence. She pushed Rosalind forward. Well, here she is—your poor sister’s only child. Well, go on, Rosalind. Greet your uncle and thank him for giving you a home.

Trying to hide her trembling hands, Rosalind made her curtsy. She forced herself to meet his gaze, worried to see the same disdain Mrs. Lawrence had shown from the start.

Instead, amidst a stern face, she saw the same eyes she was used to seeing in her mother’s face. Tears welled up in spite of her determination not to cry again. Crying wouldn’t endear her to anyone. Mrs. Lawrence had said as much from the start.

Welcome to Lawrence Manor, Rosalind, her uncle said, reaching out and taking her hand. I’m sure you’re eager to meet your cousin. Mrs. Lawrence, why don’t you take her up to the nursery. Emily ought to be in the middle of lessons with Miss Henderson.

For a moment, Rosalind’s head spun with so many Lawrences in the same room. How would she ever be able to keep them all straight?

At that moment, a laugh echoed and Rosalind caught sight of a figure sliding down the banister of the staircase. Good heavens! Mrs. Lawrence exclaimed. Emily Lawrence! Why, I never—!

Giggling with glee, the brown-haired girl hopped to the ground. Rosalind held her breath, expecting someone to scold or to get angry.

Well done, Emily. You didn’t fall off, Mr. Lawrence, who was still holding Rosalind’s hand, said with an approving nod. Come and meet your cousin. She’s going to be staying with us from now on. She will be your companion and, I’m sure, your friend.

Blue eyes bright with mischief and delight, Emily skipped over. She was shorter than Rosalind, so she had to tilt her head a little to look at her. Hello, Rose, she said, her tone cheerful. She bobbed a curtsy. I’m Emily.

Manners, Rosalind, Mrs. Lawrence said, her voice a hiss.

Slipping her hand free from her uncle’s grasp, Rosalind curtsied to her cousin. As she rose, Emily caught her hands. I’m so glad you’re here, the younger girl said with sincere earnestness. I just know we’re going to be the best of friends.

The tight bands that had constricted Rosalind’s heart for nearly three months relaxed. I think so too, she responded.

Chapter One

1817

Lady Evan Westwood! I am delighted you could make it tonight. I hear you are an excellent musician yourself. No doubt you will be able to give us an expert opinion on the musical selection tonight.

The woman’s smile was polite, but there was something about her tone that made Rosalind uneasy. How kind of you to say so, Mrs. Willis, but I hardly think my opinion will have any weight, she said with a forced smile.

Mrs. Willis continued to smile, though there was now a hint of disdain in her eyes. My dear, you are too modest. Now, where is that charming husband of yours? I must say hello to him.

Without waiting for a response, the hostess swept off, presumably to find Rosalind’s charming husband. Breathing out, Rosalind walked to the wall and made a pretence of admiring the painting that hung there while she gathered her wits.

Some days it was difficult to keep a smile on one’s face, especially now that she’d come to London. Everyone wanted to see Lord Evan Westwood’s new wife, who had been a poor relation. There were even those who remembered her mother and father. Those people made dinners and parties even harder to endure.

Is that her? Rosalind heard a young voice—no doubt meant to have been whispering—say only a few feet away. Lord Evan Westwood’s new wife? Well, she is prettier than I expected for a country nobody, I will give her that.

You’re too kind, Evelyn, a second voice said with a slight laugh. For my part, I cannot see why any son of a marquess would have married such a creature. Anybody can be pretty, but what could she have possibly brought to a marriage? I was told she had no connections, much less a dowry.

I suppose one might think it was a love match in that case.

An ill-advised match, you mean. A love match is all well and good, but everyone knows a woman’s background will always pull her down. I hear there are even wagers on how long before Lord Evan takes a new mistress.

Rosalind’s breath caught in her throat. New mistress. Not a mistress. A new mistress. She barely kept from shaking her head. Of course, she’d known West had lived the typical bachelor’s life before they’d met, but she’d never expected someone to talk about it when she was in the same room, let alone when she was so close.

Was this accepted behaviour of fashionable society? To whisper and gossip and look for ways to be hurtful? Is this what her mother would have done?

Hoping her smile didn’t show a hint of her true feelings, Rosalind walked away from the painting without really knowing what the canvas subject had been or where she was going. It had only been a few weeks since she’d attended her first event of the Season, and already she was longing for the safety of her rose garden at Darkhall.

The air was thick with perfume: rose, lavender, and some other unidentified scents. Separately, they might have been enjoyable, or if a few had been together it might have smelled like a spring garden. As it was, the cloying fragrances made it difficult to breathe at times.

Rosalind allowed her gaze to wander the room. A piano and harp were on display at the far end, ready for the young ladies to perform. The rest of the room was filled with chairs and the audience who would sit in them. Another event where she felt utterly alone.

If only Emily were here, Rosalind said under her breath as she failed to recognize any of her fellow guests. She wasn’t even sure where her husband had taken himself.

Her cousin had yet to return from her honeymoon journey. Last Rosalind had heard, the newlyweds were in Paris. She thought they intended to return to London for part of the Season, but she couldn’t be sure if they would make it. From everything she had seen, there was nothing about the social whirl that would appeal to Emily.

Now, why is the most beautiful woman in the room standing alone like this? her husband’s familiar voice came from behind her, making her heart skip a beat. He stepped beside her, bumping her shoulder with his.

I was just wondering where you were, Rosalind said, smiling up at him. The sight of Evan’s own smile was a comfort and a relief. Did our hostess find you?

Were you really, or were you wishing for your cousin’s presence? Lord Evan Westwood, the youngest brother of the current Marquess of Emberdown, asked as he raised his eyebrow. Because I could swear you were looking rather wistful and lonely just now.

To avoid having to answer, Rosalind just shook her head at him. You didn’t answer my question, Evan. Did Mrs. Willis find you? She seemed eager to speak to you, though she didn’t say why.

Her husband shook his head. She did not, and don’t think you can avoid my question so easily, Rosalind. He slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer. If you’re not feeling well, we can make our excuses and leave.

I’m fine. Though her husband’s touch made her feel safe and reassured, Rosalind glanced around and hoped no one noticed her husband’s affectionate gesture. It was highly improper in such a public setting. It would be rude to leave before the music has even begun.

Well, then it’s a good thing it appears the first young lady is taking her place, her husband said, focusing on the front of the room. I’m certain no one here can compare to you and your musical talent.

Lower your voice. Another glance showed that no one appeared to be close enough to have overheard her husband’s bragging statement. The last thing she wanted was to have another conversation such as what she’d just had with Mrs. Willis. I am no more talented than any other young lady who has taken the time to practice.

You are far too modest. One of these days, Society will see you perform and realize what a treasure you are. Evan removed his arm from around her waist and held it out to her. Shall we take our seats?

Rosalind allowed him to lead her to the chairs. She breathed out a sigh of relief at being at the end of the aisle. The lady beside her was speaking quietly to her companion, removing the need for polite conversation. Trying to shake off her nerves, Rosalind focused on the pianoforte and prepared to enjoy herself.

HALFWAY THROUGH THE musical program, there was a pause for refreshments. Along with most of the men who had sat through the sonatas and arias, Evan offered to bring his wife a drink and then hurried off to do so. Keeping a polite smile on her face, Rosalind allowed her gaze to move across the room.

In the chair beside her, the brown-haired woman shifted slightly. Their eyes met. The musicians are certainly ambitious tonight, the other woman said, her tone uncertain. Are you enjoying the program?

Indeed, Rosalind agreed, thinking of the Italian aria that had been sung by a young lady who honestly didn’t have the correct range for most of the notes. I applaud their courage to perform in front of everyone, though I do believe a few of them have been overly confident in their abilities.

I try not to hold out high expectations for musical soirees, but I always find myself surprised by the pieces chosen by the ladies. They are eager to impress.

Rosalind tilted her head, intrigued by the honest statement. Are you a musician as well?

Me? Oh, no! the lady said with a laugh. I enjoy music, but I am no expert. I did not mean to intimate I am an expert on the matter.

Understanding, Rosalind smiled at her companion. Then, the musical talent displayed has been worse than I imagined if a casual observer can notice the deficiencies.

I take it you are a musician yourself?

Only for myself and my husband. Forgive me for not introducing myself. I am Lady Evan Westwood. Surely it was the correct step. No one Rosalind knew was nearby to make the introduction for them.

The other woman did not appear offended or surprised. And I am Mrs. Landon, she said with a smile. How have we not met before this?

This is my first London Season, Rosalind said hastily. And before my marriage, I spent many years in the country.

Mrs. Landon’s brown eyes lit up. Oh, how I envy you! I grew up in London, and I dearly love the country. She gave a soft laugh. My husband claims he has to drag me to London every year, even though he loves his estate as much as I do.

The love for her husband shone in her eyes. I confess, I did spend my early years in London, Rosalind said, unsure why she felt she should tell her personal history to this stranger. It was only when I was twelve that I went to the country to live with my cousin and uncle. I thought I would be happy to return to the city, but I find I’ve become something of a country mouse since I left. I do not fit into polite society.

That is not such a bad thing. Polite society is not as polite as they claim to be, Mrs. Landon said, nodding in understanding. In fact, some can be cruel.

If I’d behaved as some society ladies have or had conversations on certain subjects, my mother would have sent me to my room and never let me out.

And my governess would have made me write a hundred lines of how I ought to improve myself, Mrs. Landon agreed with a laugh.

Out of the corner of her eye, Rosalind saw the approach of an older matron. Mrs. Landon, how kind of you to make Lady Evan feel welcome tonight! the woman exclaimed as she drew near. I am unsurprised that you two have found each other.

There was an odd note of amusement in the woman’s tone. Rosalind searched her memory, trying to determine whether she’d met her before.