A Touch Unexpected

5. Welcome Dinner

5

Welcome Dinner

Rosalind stood behind Valentina at the vanity, weaving strands of her friend’s long, dark hair into delicate plaits and pinning them one over the other in a cascade atop her head. Valentina dusted rouge across her cheeks.

“I think we’ll use a softer pigment on you, love,” Valentina commented as she dabbed red crepe paper against her lips. “One that complements your dress.”

Rosalind gave a reluctant smile and continued busying herself with Valentina’s hair. She pulled a spool of golden thread from her pocket and carefully interlaced it through the intricate layers of plaits, securing them in place and adding a subtle glimmer to the elegant coiffure. It was a welcome distraction that kept her from fretting over the fact that she too had to get ready for the evening. Then she would be drinking and dining alongside the most powerful and influential people in Denaultian society. The thought made her stomach churn.

“Everything will be alright, you know,” Valentina offered reassuringly. She shifted around in her seat and took hold of Rosalind’s hands. “Jonathan won’t stand for any of DuPont’s antics, and neither will I. One of us shall be beside you at all times.”

But what of everyone else, Rosalind wondered. She knew what to expect from Lord and Lady DuPont as well as Lord Armory and his wife, but she wasn’t as familiar with the other members of the council. She had managed to avoid most society events in the past few years, with the exception of a rare ball or two that Valentina had dragged her to. Even then, she was able to stay largely unnoticed, settling against a back wall and fading into the background. She couldn’t do that as easily tonight.

“Now, now, there you go again,” Valentina said. “Getting lost in your own thoughts and worries. I won’t stand for it.” She pushed herself off the chair and made her way over to the wardrobe in the corner of the room, pulling Rosalind along with her.

“But I haven’t finished with your hair,” Rosalind groaned.

Valentina ignored her as she rifled through the wardrobe and pulled out a lilac gown. “This one.” She beamed and held it up for Rosalind to see. She thrust it into Rosalind’s hands and returned to the wardrobe, rustling around until she pulled out a silk dress in a deep violet. “Can’t attend an event hosted by my brother and not don the Rashford shade, now can I?”

The pair took turns helping each other dress, then stood side by side in front of a massive, ornate mirror that hung in the room.

Rosalind looked over at Valentina, whose striking gown clasped around her long neck and hugged the length of her lithe figure. Draped across her shoulders was a delicately crafted beaded bolero she had commissioned after seeing something similar in an Erdesian magazine. Tall and elegant with sharp features and even sharper wit, she was an enviable force to be reckoned with.

Leveling her gaze on herself, Rosalind was pleasantly surprised by her reflection, unkempt hair aside. Last year, Valentina had taken her to the modiste in town to have a set of outfits made to accommodate her fluctuating figure. This luscious gossamer gown was one of the finished pieces she had yet to wear. Enveloping the length of her arms were sheer, voluminous sleeves that cinched at her wrists. The dress’s stiff bodice laced behind her back like a corset, which allowed for some much-appreciated flexibility, though Valentina showed no mercy this evening. From her waist, the fabric loosened, resting gently against her hips before cascading to the floor.

Valentina sighed. “I wouldn’t have minded a few inches on my chest,” she remarked as she eyed Rosalind in the mirror. “But apparently, I only grew up, not out.”

Rosalind snorted. Her friend was being generous. True, she had a bit more on top, but not by much. In recent years, her once scrawny frame had filled out, gaining several inches all around, and then some at her hips and thighs. However, she had not grown much in height since early adolescence, making her a head shorter than Valentina.

“And I wouldn’t mind the ability to breathe,” Rosalind lamented wryly, tugging at her bodice.

“Overrated if you ask me.” Valentina gave a careless shrug. “Now, let’s have you put the finishing touches on my hair so we can focus on you.” She rubbed her hands together excitedly. “I have something fabulous in mind.”

The sun was low in the sky as guests began to arrive at Brighthall, and the time had come for Rosalind and Valentina to join in. They stood just beyond sight of the drawing room, and Rosalind felt her heart race so fast that she feared it might burst from her chest and leave her a heap on the floor.

A hand squeezed hers. “Are you ready?”

Valentina must have sensed her inner turmoil because when Rosalind looked up, she was met with a soft and encouraging smile.

“As I’ll ever be,” Rosalind said with a breathy laugh.

Valentina winked at her, turned, and drew her shoulders back. She raised her chin high and let a polite smile settle over her lips. In the gentle evening light, the beads of the bolero gleamed like armor, and a relaxed and easy confidence emanated from her, reminiscent of the self-assured air Jonathan exuded. As soon as she stepped into the room, conversation stilled, everyone’s attention drawn to her like moths to a flame.

“Lady Valentina,” came a cheery voice from across the room.

“Lord Aston,” crooned Valentina as she swept over to where the handsome blond man and his partner stood.

In Valentina’s wake, Rosalind slipped quietly into the room. She peered around and let out a tentative breath upon noticing the DuPonts were nowhere to be seen.

The back of her neck prickled when she sensed someone was watching her. She peered up and her eyes met Jonathan’s. He stood with his arm resting against the wooden mantel of the hearth across the other side of the room, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. His eyes never left hers as he murmured something to a white-haired man with an impeccable mustache. Rosalind bit back a grimace as recognition sparked—Lord Armory.

Jonathan rested his drink on the mantel and pushed off the wall.

“You look positively divine,” he said as he approached.

Heat bloomed in Rosalind’s cheeks, and she silently thanked the dim light for concealing her deep blush.

“Th-thank you,” she stammered. “You look quite handsome yourself.” She congratulated herself on voicing the words aloud, as quiet as they were.

Jonathan wore a dark gray tailcoat, with breeches tucked into long black boots. Underneath he wore a white shirt with pearlescent buttons. Violet jewels adorned his cufflinks, and a matching pendant adorned the front of his tightly knotted cravat.

“Can I interest you in a drink?”

“Yes, please,” she replied a little too enthusiastically, but she needed a drink or two if she were to survive the evening.

Jonathan chuckled. He held out a hand in the direction of the bar cart. “After you. ”

Their path was soon interrupted by the mustachioed menace and his wife.

“Chancellor Rashford, this must be your lovely guest for the evening,” Lord Armory exclaimed after a passing glance at Rosalind. “I don’t believe we’re acquainted.”

“On the contrary, Lord Armory,” Jonathan remarked. “Both you and Lady Armory have had the pleasure of meeting my guest several times over the last fifteen years. This is none other than Miss Rosalind Carver.”

The older man stiffened. “Ah, yes.” The corner of his mouth twitched as he offered her a curt bow. His wife mimicked the cursory movement. “I do believe it has been some time since we last shared a room, Miss Carver. I did not recognize you.”

They had both attended a charity ball last year, but Rosalind ensured they didn’t cross paths. She had no intention of mentioning that now, of course.

“We thought you’d found living arrangements elsewhere; perhaps someplace more suitable for someone in your predicament.” The last words were uttered in a tone dripping with such mock sympathy it took everything in Rosalind’s power not to roll her eyes.

There were rumors of discreet locations where those affected by magic were, for lack of a better word, housed. That was the preference of most in high society: not to be burdened with the presence of tainted individuals. Out of sight, out of mind as they say.

“This is as much her home as it is mine, Lord Armory,” Jonathan was quick to say. “I daresay more so being as I’ve been away for several years. As she is a dear friend of mine, I appreciate your concern for her wellbeing.” He placed a hand on his chest. “I should like to allay your worries by affirming that Miss Rosalind shall continue to reside in Brighthall for as long as she so desires. Please do feel free to relay this to anyone who shares your concerns, as I wouldn’t wish to cause undue distress.” His mouth drew into a charming smile.

Both Lord and Lady Armory smiled too, though their smiles were exceedingly tight-lipped.

“Now if you’ll both excuse us”—Jonathan inclined his head—“I promised my guest here a drink. I do hope you two enjoy the evening; Maria has prepared an exquisite feast for us.” He bowed, and Rosalind reluctantly followed suit. Before parting with their company, he added, “I haven’t forgotten our earlier conversation, Lord Armory. I look forward to continuing it after dinner.”

The pair reached the bar, and Jonathan poured Rosalind a glass of Bordeaux.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Rosalind murmured as she took a sip.

“Oh, but I did,” Jonathan countered as he guided her to the spot near the hearth where he’d been standing earlier. He picked up his glass and downed the remnants. “Both he and DuPont have spent the past eight years with what was essentially carte blanche over Denaultian law. No Chancellor to answer to and no real opposition to contend with.” His voice was just loud enough so only she could hear. “Suffice it to say, they won’t be keen to relinquish control simply because I’ve been inducted,” he continued. “To gain the upper hand and restore balance to the council, I need to play my cards right. If I don’t assert myself early on, they may see fit to walk all over me. That won’t do if I’m to be at all effective at my duties.”

Rosalind watched as he raised his glass and smiled at someone across the room. Even as he divulged the precariousness of his situation, he maintained an air of easy confidence.

Aware of how duplicitous Lord DuPont and Lord Armory could be, she asked, “How does one play their cards right when their opponents do not play fair? ”

Jonathan met her gaze, a sly glint in his eye. He leaned toward her and murmured, “By beating them at their own game.”

Half an hour after dinner was intended to begin, the DuPonts’ carriage finally came to rest in front of Brighthall. Louis informed Jonathan, who encouraged everyone to make their way into the dining room.

Rosalind was last to exit the drawing room, not wanting to chance triggering the enchantment by getting too close to any of the gentlemen. She was partway through the foyer when a familiar voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Jonathan,” bellowed Lord DuPont as he strode casually through the entryway doors. “It is so good to see the golden boy back in Denault. My apologies for the late arrival—I was in an important meeting and couldn’t break away earlier. It was with the Chancellor of Meridian, Lord Mason. An old friend of mine—great businessman, very successful. I presume you two are vaguely acquainted?”

Jonathan’s back was to Rosalind as he welcomed the DuPonts. His hands were clasped behind him, flexing open and closed in silent agitation.

“Lord and Lady DuPont,” he said as he lowered into a courteous bow. “How good of you both to make it in the midst of what sounds like a very involved day. And to your question, Lord DuPont, I am indeed acquainted with Chancellor Mason, having attended multiple gatherings of the High Council during my time at the capital. I also studied alongside his son, Lord Padraic Mason, and consider him to be a close friend.”

“Ah yes, Padraic. Eccentric, that one,” Lord DuPont commented disparagingly. “Quite prone to whimsy, is he not? Difficult to imagine someone so young and untested assuming one of the most prominent positions in the country. At least he’ll have his father to provide him with sage counsel. Lessons in a book can’t compare to years of experience, I always say.

“Between you and I,” he said in a conspiratorial tone, “Lord Mason would be better off seeing the chancellorship through until the end. He’s got, what, six years left? Things are running well as they are. I see no need to force such responsibility on the boy when he’s not ready. In six years, Padraic will be older and wiser and better prepared to assume his father’s seat on the regional council.”

Though he never once mentioned Jonathan directly, the implication was acutely apparent. There was something deeply insidious about the manner with which Lord DuPont spoke. It was practiced and deliberate, the way he would say one thing and mean another.

“I am inclined to agree with you,” Jonathan replied to Rosalind’s surprise. “Lord Mason should remain as Chancellor. That would allow Padraic to dedicate more time to learning the family business, where his true interest lies.”

Jonathan tilted his head in thought. “You know,” he started again, the words leaving his mouth slow and steady as if an idea were coming to fruition as he spoke, “I think a tutelage under a prominent figure in Sauvign’s trade industry, like yourself, could prove quite valuable to someone like him. I understand the Masons are sea traders and you deal primarily with land routes, but surely there is common ground. And now that I’m here, you’ll have fewer council matters to attend to and more time to dedicate toward such endeavors.”

Her head downcast, Rosalind smiled to herself. Jonathan had said he planned to beat Lord DuPont at his own game. In this instance, with sweet words that concealed thorned intimations. When she looked up, she found Lady DuPont watching her. The older woman leaned over to whisper something into her husband’s ear .

Rosalind felt Lord DuPont’s icy gaze land on her. He said nothing, but the curl of his upper lip spoke volumes. Turning his attention back to Jonathan, he voiced his disdain. “Really now, Jonathan, please tell me you don’t intend to pollute such pleasant and upstanding company with her presence. How are we to enjoy dinner in the presence of something so distasteful?”

The words stung, but they were hardly the worst she had heard him say. Evidently, he didn’t feel the need to disguise his slights when they were directed at her.

“Lord DuPont,” Jonathan warned, but before he could continue, the older man pressed on.

“I had hoped you would come to your senses during your time away. But alas, it appears she still has her claws in you. Your sister as well, though I suppose it can’t be helped, seeing as you left her alone with”—Lord DuPont waved a hand in Rosalind’s direction—“for all these years. If we had known she was to attend this evening, perhaps my wife and I would have made different arrangements. The Chancellor did ask us to stay…” He trailed off.

Jonathan straightened and let out a measured breath. “I am sorry to hear that,” he began. “As you have not yet greeted the others, you’re free to part company, though I’d hoped to discuss a few pressing matters with the council later this evening. Perhaps I can have someone take notes and share them with you at a later time?”

A tight smile formed. “No, that will not be necessary,” Lord DuPont said through gritted teeth. “The others have surely heard us arrive and we wouldn’t want to disappoint them. No doubt Lady Armory is very much looking forward to my Mary’s company.” He patted his wife’s arm. “We shall stomach the evening with your guest as best we can,” he added grimly.

Without affording Rosalind another glance, he and Lady DuPont turned and made their way toward the formal dining room .

Jonathan stared ahead quietly for a moment before turning to Rosalind, flashing her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Shall we?”

Rosalind followed Jonathan to the head of the table and settled into the seat on his left. Though she had expected as much, she was still relieved to feel Valentina’s comforting presence at her other side. Once seated, Valentina introduced her to Lady Condry, and though the widow greeted her politely enough, Rosalind could sense she was eager to get it over with.

Seated across from Rosalind was the handsome blond man Valentina had spoken with earlier. Jonathan introduced him as Lord Thomas Aston, who was relatively new to the council, having inherited the role only two years ago. To his right sat his partner, Dr. Benjamin Tremblay, a recent graduate of Sauvign’s prestigious Orion College. Both regarded her warmly and engaged her in pleasant conversation. They were so cordial, she wondered if perhaps they didn’t know of her enchantment.

She leaned over to Valentina and murmured, “Are Lord Aston and Dr. Tremblay aware of my enchantment?”

“Oh yes,” Valentina replied under her breath. “In fact, I was supposed to ask if you’d be willing to spare them a few moments later this evening. Dr. Tremblay is quite keen to witness the enchantment in person. For scientific purposes, of course.” A sly smile tugged at her lips. “Can’t say I would be all that bothered if he wanted to poke and prod at me all day for the sake of science.”

Rosalind bit back her laugh long enough to bring her napkin to her mouth in a poor attempt to conceal her amusement.

Soon, dinner began in earnest, with Maria, Charlene, and Sylvia taking turns serving guests course after course of delectable dishes—oysters, leek soup, pheasant, potatoes, and green beans, to name a few. Louis made the rounds with bottles of wine in hand, ensuring no one found themselves without a drink.

As expected, Rosalind caught Lord DuPont, Lord Armory, and their wives throwing disdainful looks her way from the opposite end of the table. Seated between their lot and Dr. Tremblay were Lord Sene and his guest. The pair spoke little with their tablemates, seemingly content with conversing amongst themselves. Only once did Rosalind feel their gazes linger in her direction but they looked away before she could glean their sentiment toward her.

Rosalind savored the last bite of raspberry tart. Not only did the dessert taste fantastic, it also marked the end of dinner. It had been a daunting affair, but she had survived it without incident. And what’s more, she’d actually found it rather enjoyable, unkind words and nasty glares aside.

Following dinner, members of the council were escorted to the drawing room while the remaining guests were to make their way to the adjoining conservatory. Rosalind jumped at the opportunity to be the first one to settle into the other room, itching to leave her seat. She expected the others would join shortly, but she hoped to give herself a brief moment of respite.

Her jaw dropped as she entered the room. Candles of all shapes and sizes adorned the windowsills, tables, and shelves, basking the room in a warm glow. Panels of delicate chiffon fabric draped from the ceiling, adding to the ethereal ambiance of the space. Maria and the rest of the household had really outdone themselves tonight, Rosalind mused. She would be sure to sing their praises in the morning .

“It must be difficult,” remarked a cool voice from behind her. Rosalind whirled around to find Lady DuPont eyeing her from the doorway. “To be the only pebble in a room full of gems.”

The older woman took a sip from her glass and then proceeded toward Rosalind, hips swaying with each languid step. Every muscle in Rosalind’s body protested as she dug her heels into the ground, fighting the urge to step back in silent retreat. She refused to give the other woman the satisfaction. Rosalind even went as far as to incline her head.

“Lady DuPont,” she muttered under her breath.

It didn’t surprise her to receive no such acknowledgment in return.

“What is it about you that has the Rashfords so thoroughly wrapped around your finger?” Lady DuPont wrinkled her nose as she looked Rosalind up and down. “My husband wonders if perhaps you have bewitched them. That the magic from your pathetic curse has ensnared them in some way. But I think there is a much simpler answer.”

Rosalind braced herself for whatever biting words were to come next.

“Pity.” The older woman let the word hang heavy in the air before continuing. “Do us all a favor and relieve them of this burden. Wouldn’t it be nice to find a quaint little pond full of pebbles just like yourself? Somewhere you fit in; somewhere you belong. How might they shine without you there to muddy their waters?”

Her words weighed heavily on Rosalind’s chest, and she found it growing harder and harder to breathe.

“Take, for instance, this evening. Had another been in your place, we may have all been able to enjoy ourselves a little more—the Chancellor included. Yet instead, we must all be on guard lest you get too near any of the men and hurt and humiliate them .

“And were it not for you, I’m certain we would have been seated closer to the Chancellor. Without his father around, the poor boy is in need of guidance, and my husband can offer that to him. But you complicate things because you are the one thing they don’t see eye to eye on.”

Rosalind bit back her protest. Somehow she doubted her existence was the only thing they disagreed on.

“Perhaps they’re having fruitful discussions as we speak, now you’re not there to test the Chancellor’s compassion. If only I could be free of you as well,” lamented the older woman. “I am certain I am not the only guest who feels that way. But what can be done?”

Lady DuPont gave a small shrug. Out of the corner of her eye, Rosalind glimpsed the careless tilt of her glass, but by then, it was already too late. She looked down at the front of her dress, which was drenched in wine so dark that it appeared nearly black under the candlelight.

“Oh, clumsy me,” Lady DuPont remarked with feigned remorse.

Rosalind felt tears prick the corners of her eyes and she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to shout or cry. Then she remembered something the late Lady Rashford had once said to her.

There are those who thrive on the sorrow of others. To react to their barbs is to grant them power over you. Better to give them nothing and to soothe your wounds in private.

With measured breaths, Rosalind blinked back the tears and rose to meet the other woman’s gaze. She forced her lips into a tight smile.

“If you’ll excuse me,” she muttered and rushed out of the room.

Not watching where she was going, Rosalind bumped into Louis. “Is something the matter, my dear? ”

“It’s nothing,” she muttered. “I just need to grab something from the kitchen.” She continued past him, not waiting for his response.

Relieved to find the kitchen empty, she quickly sought out a washcloth and began to scrub vigorously at her wine-soaked dress, knowing full well it was pointless. A stain like this would require a good long soak and Maria’s special touch. Even then, there was a chance it wouldn’t be enough.

She should have listened to her instincts and left the room as soon as Lady DuPont entered. The very first words out of the woman’s mouth were cruel, so why did she continue to stand there and let the vindictive woman berate her further? It was foolish of her; she was foolish. She shouldn’t have been there—in the conservatory, at the dinner, all of it. It was as Lady DuPont said. Had someone else been in Rosalind’s place, everyone would have enjoyed themselves more. Rosalind herself would have much preferred to spend the evening tucked into bed with a good book.

“Ros.” The sound of her name pulled her out of her thoughts. She turned to see Jonathan standing across the room.

“Louis mentioned you seemed upset. Said I might find you here,” he said as he approached her.

Rosalind frowned. “He shouldn’t have bothered you. I’m fine.” She found she couldn’t quite meet his gaze.

“You don’t seem fine.”

“Well, I am fine,” she reiterated. “Spilled a bit of wine, that’s all.”

“Seems a bit clumsy, even for you.”

Rosalind shot him an indignant look. Jonathan simply arched a brow.

She sighed, her frustration waning. “It doesn’t matter who spilled the wine, only what I’m to do about it now,” she said despondently. She let her hands fall to her sides, revealing the stain.

Jonathan’s brows narrowed. “Is it who I think it is? ”

Rosalind shifted uncomfortably as she tried to decide the best way to respond.

“Right,” he muttered, straightening his jacket. “Well, I’ll just have to give her a piece of my mind.”

“No!” Rosalind blurted. “Please,” she added hurriedly, “I would rather you not.”

"Why not?"

“I…” She hesitated. “I don't wish to cause a scene.”

“But you wouldn’t be causing a scene,” he answered. “I would.”

Rosalind shook her head. “I don’t think it wise, Jonathan. If you go out there upset, imagine how they might use it to their advantage. Claim you are young and reckless or something. This is your first night hosting the council as Chancellor; first impressions are crucial. Please,” she implored. “It isn’t worth it.”

He held her gaze for a long moment and then let out a small huff. “If that’s what you wish, I won’t speak of it.”

“Thank you,” she replied softly.

“At least, let me lend you my coat.” He shrugged off his jacket and held it out.

Rosalind nodded her thanks as she carefully plucked it from his grasp. She slid one arm into the jacket and then the other. As she did, the scent of Jonathan’s cologne, a subtle blend of amber and orange citrus, wafted over her. “I can have someone return it to you after I’ve escaped upstairs.”

“No need,” Jonathan said as he worked to undo his cufflinks. “I can retrieve it from you tomorrow.” He proceeded to roll his shirtsleeve to his elbow and then repeated the same on the other side. The entire time, Rosalind watched as the muscles in his forearms flexed with every twist and fold.

When she looked up, her eyes met Jonathan’s and the ghost of a smile flitted across his lips. Rosalind straightened and brushed wisps of hair behind her ear in a poor attempt to detract from her blush .

“I should probably be off,” she said. “I wouldn’t want to take up any more of your time. They will surely be missing you in the drawing room.” She opened her mouth to speak again but closed it after a second thought.

“What is it?” Jonathan inquired.

Rosalind hesitated, unsure of whether or not to repeat what Lady DuPont had mentioned to her. “You may already be aware of this, but DuPont has hopes to advise you. He seems to be under the impression you two share similar views in… just about everything.”

Jonathan scoffed. “He would hope that. And perhaps I’ll hear him out. Find something we do agree on and let him have at it. Distract him so I can attend to other matters that’ll require a bit more finesse.” Just as it looked like she might lose him to thought, he added, “Did she say anything else to you?”

“Oh.” Rosalind racked her brain for something else Lady DuPont said that wasn’t merely an insult. “Just something about pebbles,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. It wasn’t a lie—the woman had indeed mentioned something about pebbles. Multiple times, in fact.

“Ros,” he said gently, “whatever she said, it isn’t true.”

Rosalind flashed him a half-smile and looked away so he couldn’t see the doubt in her eyes.

“I’m sorry, but this just won’t do,” Jonathan said. “I know you don’t want to cause a scene, but perhaps I could just have a few words with her…” His voice trailed off as he turned toward the doorway.

“No, please don’t!” In a panic, Rosalind reached out a hand to stop him. It might burn him a little, but at least it’d draw his attention back to her.

Jonathan stilled. Rosalind was ready to apologize profusely when the words caught in her throat. She flexed her fingers and felt the resistance of something warm. Slowly, she shifted her gaze to her outstretched hand and was surprised to see it firmly clasped around Jonathan’s wrist. Eyes wide, she glanced up at Jonathan who stared back at her unblinking.

Dumbfounded, Rosalind let go of his wrist and pressed her hand to her chest. After a moment, she lifted it up in front of her face, turning it back and forth as if expecting to see something. Failing to find anything new or different, she looked to Jonathan. He, too, was examining his wrist.

How could this be? Her twenty-second birthday wasn’t for another three weeks, and even then, she doubted whether the enchantment would truly lift. But if what she had felt was real, then there was reason to hope. And she had felt something, or rather, someone. Right? She had felt him, hadn’t she?

Again, she looked over to Jonathan, hoping for some kind of answer. When their gazes met, she read the same question in his eyes. He said nothing, only held out a hand between them.

Rosalind’s hand shook as she slowly raised it until it hovered only inches above his. Just as she was about to graze his palm with her fingers, Valentina burst into the room.

“There you are,” she exclaimed. “Are you alright? You look like you might be sick. Are you going to be sick?”

Rosalind pulled her hand away from Jonathan’s as Valentina neared. “No, no, I’m alright. Just a little shaken up.”

Valentina sidled up next to Jonathan. She glanced between the pair with a skeptical eye. She opened her mouth as if to ask something, but closed it again.

“I’m not an idiot,” Valentina muttered after a moment, and the statement made Rosalind’s eyes widen.

“I didn’t think—” She began hurriedly but was cut short.

“No, not you,” Valentina said dismissively, “Lady DuPont. She acted as if she had no idea why you ran off. Funny thing, her glass was empty and here you are with your gown drenched in red. ”

“Val, please. I asked Jonathan not to say anything. And now, I ask the same of you.”

Valentina rolled her eyes and grumbled something inaudibly.

“Please,” Rosalind insisted, taking Valentina’s hands in hers and gently squeezing them.

“Fine,” she huffed. “But you absolutely cannot keep me from silently berating her with my eyes .”

Rosalind chuckled. “No, I suppose I can’t.”

Valentina smiled triumphantly and turned to Jonathan. “If anyone asks, Rosalind felt a headache coming on and thought it best to retire early.” She linked arms with Rosalind and shuffled her out of the kitchen before she could spare Jonathan another look.