Chapter 1 #2
The work that had been done in the conservatory was quite possibly the most impressive of all.
Large, waxy leaves created a veritable cathedral over them, dispersing an emerald-green hue across a curving, river-stone path.
A heavenly September breeze flitted through the open windows, rustling the scent of plumeria, jasmine, and freesia into the dew-dampened air.
Six white wrought-iron tables with matching chairs had been arranged amongst the foliage, with three-tiered ivory curate stands holding finger sandwiches and pastries dotting their centers.
Gold-rimmed Wedgwood teacups and saucers painted with pink peonies and lilacs—which would be included amongst the party favors awarded to the wedding attendants, and which Rose had helped Calliope pick out in London—completed the place-settings.
It was nothing short of paradise, and yet it was currently the bane of Rose’s existence, for the vegetation was so lush and the shadows so deep that she could not tell who had arrived and who had not.
The path snaked its way around shrubs and lily-padded koi ponds in such a way that she could only see those few attendees who had remained close to the entrance, which was really not very helpful at all when one was looking to run into a specific person.
“Rose?”
It was possible the duke had not yet arrived, but he could also be hiding around a curve in the path, his frame concealed by a giant shrub, and she wouldn’t know it.
“Rose?”
Was there a clever way to excuse herself from her friends and adventure around the turn to see for herself?
Or would they ask where she was going and join her?
That wouldn’t do. If she was going to convince the Duke of Tanley that she was the woman he should spend the rest of his life with, she’d rather not have an audience.
“Rose!”
Startling, Rose turned. “What?”
A coil of honey-colored hair sprang loose from Daphne’s pins. “Mina is over here speaking sacrilege, and you haven’t said a word!”
“It isn’t sacrilege,” Mina argued, tugging at the wrist of her lace glove, her expression as bored as usual. “I merely pointed out that the institution of marriage doesn’t really feel necessary in the dawn of the twentieth century. What does a modern girl get out of it, anyway?”
“Here we go,” Daphne muttered with a shake of her head that was most unadvisable, as Rose could already see a few more ringlets attempting to escape her coiffure.
It didn’t seem to matter how much Daphne’s maid wrestled with her thick coils of hair, nor how many combs and pins she managed to stuff into it, the entire configuration was always seconds away from bursting with all the force of a loaded spring.
Rose did what she could to help her friend under these circumstances, but to attempt a repair when Daphne was still shaking with annoyance would be a waste of everyone’s time.
“All I’m saying,” Mina continued, “is that marriage made sense as an act of protection for women in ages past, when they had no means to support themselves, but the world is changing. These days a sensible woman can take care of herself without need of a husband.”
“And if I were to say the woman in question might want to marry for love, as our dear friend is doing?” Daphne argued, emphasizing her remark by gesturing to Calliope.
This allowed Rose the excuse she needed to shift a few inches to the left to better spy the entrance, where Calliope stood next to her fiancé, Edward, the dowager countess, and Mr. and Mrs. Hart, all of whom were waiting to greet their final guests.
“That’s a different matter entirely,” Mina replied, tilting her already-tanned face up to the sun as if wishing to soak up a few more of its rays before autumn hid them behind rain-soaked clouds and thick blankets of fog.
“They are a good match, and I think they will have many happy years ahead of them. I’m just speaking in general terms.”
“Well, can you save those ‘general terms’ for when we aren’t celebrating our best friend’s upcoming nuptials?
” Daphne asked, annoyance dripping from every syllable.
She spun quickly back to Rose, her cheeks flushed and three more coils of hair springing from their clasps.
“Are you really going to remain silent through this?”
Rose did a double take, only half-listening as a flash of fabric appeared in the doorway. “Oh, um—”
She turned too late to see the gentleman’s face, blocked as it was now by Edward, who had stepped forward to greet the newest arrival, but the man’s frame was tall and trim, his suit impeccably tailored.
Could it be the duke?
“Rose?” Daphne implored.
Rose couldn’t blame Daphne for her indignation toward her; she was the one who usually took up the mantle against Mina’s more outlandish remarks, while Daphne played referee between them, but all Rose could think about right now was the duke and whether she should have picked a different gown for their second meeting.
She’d chosen one with a mint-green hue that she thought would match the theme of the event but now wondered if it made her fade into the background.
Would he even be able to distinguish her amidst the explosion of philodendron and alocasia surrounding her?
Would she just be a head floating in a sea of green?
Butterflies swirled up Rose’s stomach, pushing and fluttering their way into her very throat as Edward began to move to the side, allowing the guest to greet Calliope with a kiss on her cheek. Rose craned her neck to see who the mystery man was, and then—
Every single butterfly inside of her dropped down dead.
It wasn’t the Duke of Tanley.
It was the very opposite of the Duke of Tanley.
It was August Shaw, the Marquess of Holbrook.
The last man on earth Rose wanted to see.