She shook her head slightly. ‘A request?’
‘Yes—would you please stop this charade?’
One hand shot to her stomach; the other covered her mouth to stop a gasp from escaping. This was a disaster. He could see it was all an act. He knew she wasn’t Arabella. Her plan was ruined before it had begun.
She looked out through the glass doors to the gardens. Could she escape? No, that was ridiculous. She was in the middle of the Devon countryside, many miles from London. What was she going to do? Walk? All the way back to the train station?
No, she was going to have to bluff her way out of this.
She scanned the entrance hall. Her mind spun with half-formed excuses and explanations.
‘Charade?’ she squeaked.
‘Yes—this play-acting. You may have been able to shock my mother but it won’t work on me, Miss van Haven.’
Rosie released the breath she’d been holding and slowly lowered her hand from her mouth. He didn’t know she wasn’t Arabella. All was not lost.
‘Oh, yes. I’m sorry about that...’ She gestured around the entrance hall, her hand twirling in imitation of her entrance. ‘Just my little joke.’
His dark eyebrows drew together. He frowned slightly. ‘Really? Are you in the habit of making fun of your hosts?’
‘No, I...’ She stopped.
Why make excuses? After all, she didn’t want Lord Ashton to like her. She had to be completely unlikable if she was to convince him just what a thoroughly unacceptable duchess she would make.
‘Well, yes. I do it all the time. I love making fun of people. Don’t you?’
His frown deepened. ‘No, I don’t. Everyone deserves to be treated with respect, no matter who they are.’
Momentarily chastened, Rosie was tempted to agree with him—but she couldn’t. The one thing she did not want was to be was agreeable.
‘I guess we just see things completely differently. I think everyone is here for my entertainment and I like to have as much fun as possible. If people get offended and think I’m laughing at them—well, that’s hardly my fault. Is it?’
He stared at her for a moment longer, as if observing a strange animal on display at the zoological gardens. ‘I’m afraid I can’t answer that.’
The response was vague, but Rosie could read his intent in his rigid body language. She had her wish. The Duke disapproved of her.
‘Well, don’t you worry if you don’t know the answer. I’m sometimes not that smart either.’
‘I don’t doubt that, Miss van Haven.’
Rosie smiled. That almost sounded like an insult.
He offered her his arm. ‘Mother would like me to show you the gardens. Shall we...?’
She placed her hand on his forearm and resisted the temptation to give the muscles a little squeeze, just to see how they compared to a marble statue.
They walked out through double French doors, down some sweeping stone stairs and into the gardens, which looked just as magnificent at ground level as it had when she had driven through it in the carriage, with an abundance of trees, lush grasslands and a stunning lake adorned with ornate fountains.
As they strolled along a tree-lined pathway the soft green spring leaves rustled in the light breeze and small birds chirped and flitted between the branches. Rosie breathed in deeply and savoured the fresh country air. She had loved every moment of her time in London, but it was a joy to be in such beautiful, peaceful surroundings.
‘I don’t know how much you know about Knightsbrook, but this garden was designed for my great-great-grandfather in the mid-eighteenth century, by the famous landscape gardener Capability Brown,’ the Duke said, playing the role of dutiful host.
Rosie nodded. When she had first arrived she had wondered whether the garden was a Capability Brown design, as it had the natural look the landscape gardener was famous for.
She gave a small cough. ‘Capable who?’
‘Capability Brown—he designed some of the most beautiful and highly regarded gardens in England.’
‘Did he always plant so many trees? Trees are quite frightful, don’t you think?’
He stopped, turned to face her, and frowned. ‘You don’t like trees?’
‘No—awful things. They shed their leaves, making an unsightly mess all over the place. Not to mention all the terrible birds they attract. And as for the mess those frightful creatures make—well, the less said about that the better. I think the world would be much better off without so many trees.’
He looked along the path, then back towards the house. ‘Then there’s probably little point continuing our walk along this path, as it leads to a woodland area that contains some of the most established specimens of English trees to be found in the country.’
‘Oh, no. I wouldn’t want to see that.’ Rosie gave a fake shudder. ‘Has this estate got anything other than trees to look at?’
He stared at her for a moment, his brow furrowed. ‘Perhaps you’d prefer to walk alongside the lake?’
She sighed, as if to say that if a lake was all he had to offer, then a lake it would have to be.
He led her to the gently curving serpentine lake that wound its way around the house. As they strolled slowly along its edge Rosie admired the centrepiece sculpture of Neptune, and the array of carved sea creatures that appeared to be frolicking in the waters. When the fountain sent water cascading high into the air, Rosie was tempted to clap her hands with delight at its playfulness.
‘Is the lake more to your taste, Miss van Haven?
She forced her face to remain impassive. ‘Lakes are all right, I suppose. But it’s a shame it’s got all those sculptures in it. Art is so distracting, don’t you think?’
‘You don’t like art either?’
She shook her head vigorously and scowled. ‘No—art is so wasteful, don’t you think? All those galleries, and museums...theatres and whatnot. I’m sure they could all be put to much better use. Don’t you agree?’
‘Miss van Haven, you’re...’ He paused and looked around, as if struggling to find the right words.
Rosie smiled and waited for an appropriately disparaging comment that would seal her fate as a completely unacceptable future bride.
‘You’re quite unusual—aren’t you, Miss van Haven?’
Quite unusual. It wasn’t nearly as insulting as she would have liked, but it would have to do.
‘Unusual? Me? No, I don’t think so. I think it’s the rest of the world that’s unusual. All those people who like culture...plays, books, art, sculptures... They’re the unusual ones.’ She shuddered, as if the mere thought of art was abhorrent to her.
‘In that case I suspect there will be little point showing you the family’s collection of Old Masters.’
Rosie abruptly stopped walking and screwed up her face as if in pain. No. She had gone too far. Nothing would please her more than to see the FitzRoy art collection. One of the few things she knew about the family was that they had been collecting art for generations and had one of the finest collections outside the national art galleries. And now she had deprived herself of the opportunity to view some of the world’s finest masterpieces.
She bit lightly on her tongue, to stop herself from crying out that she would give just about anything to see the collection. Anything, that was, except betray her promise to Arabella