A Touch Unexpected

25. A Moonlit Evening

25

A Moonlit Evening

This’ll be the one to do it, Rosalind thought as she pushed another pin into the coiled hair at the back of her head. Tentatively, she moved her hands away, and for a minute, the upswept coiffure held. Unfortunately, it was short-lived as one by one, locks of hair fell loose.

She glanced over at the clock on the far wall and sighed. She was running out of time. If only Valentina were here to help. That had been the intended plan; she and Valentina were to prepare for the evening together, but the afternoon hadn’t gone quite as anticipated.

After spending much of the day in the kitchen assisting Maria with last-minute food preparations, Rosalind offered to help Sylvia and Colby collect extra bottles of wine and champagne from the cellar. More guests had accepted invitations than initially anticipated, and they weren’t convinced the amount they had ordered earlier in the week would be enough.

Rosalind was looking through a crate of cabernets when she heard a commotion behind her. She turned around to see a wide-eyed Sylvia clasping her hand, stained in red. Moments later, the housekeeper fell limp. Thankfully, Colby had been nearby and caught her before she dropped to the floor.

As Sylvia faded in and out of consciousness, Colby and Rosalind carried her up the stairs and to her quarters. There, Rosalind dressed the wound, which wasn’t nearly as bad as it looked. Hands tended to bleed profusely, and poor Sylvia was inclined to faint at the sight of blood. Once Sylvia had regained color in her face, Rosalind returned to the cellar to clear things up. She found the crate containing the broken bottle that Sylvia had cut herself on and went about cleaning the small mess.

By the time she headed upstairs, dusk had fallen, and Valentina was no longer in her bedroom. Rosalind decided against seeking her out in case she accidentally bumped into someone else along the way. She knew Jonathan had arrived with the Masons because Louis had sought Colby out shortly after they brought Sylvia to her room.

So here she was, preparing for the ball on her own. She looked over at the door to her room, willing Valentina to appear before her. When nothing happened, Rosalind couldn’t help but wonder if Valentina was with Jonathan at this very moment.

She knew it was cowardly of her to avoid him, but she didn’t trust herself to maintain composure. Just the thought of him made her stomach churn. There was every chance she might cry, faint, purge, or smile at the mere sight of him. Whether out of dread or anticipation, she didn’t know. So when Valentina suggested she make herself scarce until she could ascertain the truth and report back, Rosalind didn’t argue.

Over the past week, Valentina upheld her conviction about Jonathan’s affections. As persuasive as she could be, Rosalind refused to give in. She couldn’t. Imagine if she did only to discover he didn’t feel the same. It would be heartrending. No, it was in her best interest to maintain a healthy measure of skepticism.

However, that wasn’t to say she didn’t hold out hope that what Valentina believed was true. Every doubt she had regarding his affections for her was shadowed by the question: but what if he does ? Though her memory of the last time they spoke was hazy, those that came before were vivid. How he looked at her that crisp, quiet morning in Ashwind. The way his hand interlaced with hers as they danced, the crowd falling away around them. The feeling of his arm wrapped around her as they drifted off to sleep. She had made a point of encasing those moments in amber.

She knew without a doubt he cared for her; she simply wasn’t certain as to what extent. A friend or something more? What if her own emotions had colored those moments she held so dear? What if they showed her things that weren’t true?

Rosalind shook her head and considered her reflection in the mirror. She needed to quit thinking about these things and focus on making herself presentable in a short amount of time. She eyed her unfinished hair. If she couldn’t get it to stay up, she would just have to settle for half up, half down, and pray the wind would be kind to her.

After finessing her tresses into a style she was content with, she dabbed some rouge onto her cheeks and lips, then turned her attention to the dress on her bed. Sitting atop it was a brief note.

Can’t ruin a dress with wine if it’s already the color of merlot.

Rosalind smiled. Valentina was always looking out for her. Setting the note aside, she lifted up the first part of the dress. It was a strapless taffeta gown, corseted at the back. Once she loosened it enough to slip it over her hips, Rosalind was tasked with tightening it. Luckily, the laces were long and she was able to pull them taut and wrap them around her waist a few times to secure them in place.

On its own, the dress was far too revealing for Rosalind’s comfort. The bodice was fitted, and the skirt hung around her legs in a column. Because the fabric had little stretch to it, a slit ran along the side of her right leg, cut unnecessarily high. Luckily it was only the first layer.

Carefully, she slipped her arms into the outer layer as she might a robe. Sheer silk crepe clung to her arms and wrapped around her torso, held in place by discreet buttons on either side of her waist. The bottom half cascaded to the floor, weighed down by delicate beading that appeared to drip down the skirt of her dress and pool at her feet.

Last but not least were the pair of gloves on the bed. They were made of the same silk crepe as the dress. She slid the first one onto her hand and fastened the buttons at her wrist. She attempted to do the same with the other but struggled to work the buttons as they kept slipping through the grasp of her gloved fingers.

“I’ll just have to ask someone downstairs,” she muttered.

Quietly, Rosalind opened her door and peered out to see if anyone was there. She sighed in relief when she found herself alone. She crept to the stairs and, again, stretched her head over the banister to see if anyone was at the bottom of the steps. With no one in sight, she rushed down the steps and hurried to the kitchen.

A familiar face was there to greet her. “Rosalind,” Maria said warmly. “Don’t you look lovely.”

“You don’t think it’s too much?”

“Absolutely not.” Leaning close, Maria murmured, “Wait until you see some of the guests. You’d think we invited royalty with all the tiaras and diamonds out there. I can’t claim to know what is fashionable, but even I can see that money can’t buy good taste.”

“Maria!” Rosalind exclaimed before giving in to a laugh. Once she’d collected herself, she held out her hand. “Could you help me button this, please?”

“Of course.” Maria threw the cloth she was holding over her shoulder and began to do up the buttons of Rosalind’s glove. “There you go, dear.”

Rosalind smiled in appreciation. Her smile faltered as she saw her gloved hand in Maria’s. As beautiful as the gloves were, they weren’t fashionable these days. Someone was bound to comment on them, to her face or otherwise. Unfortunately, she didn’t have much of a choice. Though the risk of encountering a wielder in high society was low, it wasn’t zero, and she had to do what she could to prevent anyone from discovering her secret. Plus, she had already anticipated facing a number of furtive glances and reproving whispers this evening. What were a few more?

Keeping her tone as casual as possible, Rosalind asked, “Is there anything I can help you with? I’m sure you’re quite busy and could use an extra hand.”

The squeeze of Maria’s hand around hers indicated the older woman understood her intention.

“I’m sorry, love, but the answer’s no,” she said softly. “Your gown is far too nice. It deserves to be seen, and so do you.”

“It was worth a try,” Rosalind grumbled.

“Rosalind, if you don’t go out there, you’ll be giving them exactly what they want. You can’t let them win, not after all you’ve endured. Show them how resilient you are, my love. You are free from the enchantment; they can no longer hold it over you. You belong here as much as anyone else. And if that’s not reason enough for you to attend this evening, do so for Jonathan. Tonight is very important to him and he’s worked hard to make it happen.”

Rosalind eyed Maria questioningly. “You know what tonight is all about then? Is it what everybody—”

“I know he’s had Louis rushing about doing all sorts of things,” Maria interjected. “And that’s all you’re going to get from me. The rest I’ll leave to Jonathan. But don’t worry”—she patted Rosalind’s gloved hand—“you’ll find out soon enough. Until then, enjoy yourself as best you can. Valentina would be devastated if you didn’t give that gown its proper due. She put a lot of thought into it, did she not?”

Rosalind groaned internally, displeased with Maria’s non-answer, but there was no point in arguing as the housekeeper had already begun to shoo her toward the kitchen’s back entrance. “Now, off you go.”

Reluctantly, Rosalind stepped out into the night. The air was warm, but a cool breeze from the east promised relief. She was in no rush as she crept along the shadows cast by the manor’s imposing form on her left. The hedges of the courtyard maze towered on her right. Eventually, the path in front of her gave way to light and sound and she found herself on the outskirts of the ball. She looked on in awe at the utter splendor of the evening.

Grand bouquets of blue, violet, and white flowers sat overflowing atop tall stone pillars scattered about the lawn. Draped between the pillars were handwoven garlands adorned with foliage and colored crepe paper. In the center of it all sat a spacious wooden floor constructed with an evening full of dancing in mind. At the far end sat a quintet of musicians whose festive and luscious melodies echoed into the night. And to ensure guests were never without refreshments, tables were strewn about, topped with an array of finger foods and what seemed like endless glasses of wine and champagne.

As impressive as the decorations were, perhaps the most remarkable display of the evening came courtesy of the night sky. Amid the cloudless starry expanse sat a bright, full moon, whose light bathed the grounds in an ethereal glow.

Rosalind nodded politely but largely avoided making eye contact with guests as she ventured over to one of the tables toward the rear of the soiree. She grabbed a glass of wine and downed it without pausing for breath. Then she picked up another and meandered to an unoccupied space nearby. She needed a bit of liquid courage to navigate the ball on her own for who knows how long. If she was lucky, she would simply wait here until Valentina found her. After all, she was accustomed to observing parties from afar .

As she sipped her wine, Rosalind surreptitiously scanned the scene in front of her. It wasn’t long before her gaze landed on the double doors far across the way that led out from the manor and into the evening’s festivities. She could just make out Jonathan’s tall, lean profile as he stood outside, receiving each guest as was customary. Rosalind felt a pang in her heart as she noticed who stood beside him. Ilora Mason held out a hand as she greeted guests upon entry. Across from them were Valentina and Padraic, who rounded out the elite welcome party.

Though she was too far to see the expressions on their faces, Rosalind could easily imagine the slight curve of Jonathan’s lips and the crinkle at the corner of his eyes as he warmly addressed the guests. If she closed her eyes, she could almost hear the rich timbre of his voice as he commented on their attire or inquired about their family.

“Beautiful night out, is it not?”

Rosalind jumped at the words spoken in a voice not half as pleasant as the one she’d been imagining. When she turned to see who had addressed her, she was at once surprised and dismayed. The man beside her had once seemed so imposing, but now he stood but a few inches taller than her. He wore a suit not unlike one Jonathan might own and styled his hair similarly, though none of it looked quite right on him. Perhaps it was the fit, a little too snug about his belly. Or perhaps it was the thin, dark mustache lining his upper lip that threw everything off.

“Mr. Trainor, good evening.” She greeted him with a shallow bow.

“Oh, Rosalind, surely we are more acquainted than that. We have known one another for over ten years, have we not? Call me Marcus, I insist.”

“Marcus,” she muttered with a tight smile. He may have given her consent to use his first name, but she hadn’t done the same, though that didn’t seem to matter .

“I think this might be the most magnificent Brighthall’s grounds have ever looked, don’t you agree?” Marcus remarked. “Difficult to imagine this is the same place we used to run about as children all those years ago.”

It was undoubtedly the most opulent it had ever looked, but Rosalind believed the grounds looked loveliest under the bright summer sun when the grass was at its greenest and all the flowers shone vibrantly. But perhaps Marcus couldn’t recall this, as his attendance at Brighthall had been limited since he had been cruel to her all those years ago .

Besides Lord and Lady DuPont, Marcus Trainor was the last person Rosalind expected to approach her this evening. Not only was he Lord DuPont’s nephew and so subscribed to the same spiteful notions about magic and those afflicted by it, but he’d also been especially sour toward her since being ousted from Jonathan’s inner circle.

“Not children anymore though, are we?”

Rosalind had to stop herself from visibly gagging as she felt his leering gaze sweep the length of her body.

“Come to think of it,” Marcus went on, “did you not recently celebrate a birthday? It was a rather significant one if I recall correctly.”

She bristled, knowing what he was not-so-subtly alluding to. “I did, yes.”

“And?”

The expectant look on his face irritated Rosalind, so she decided to feign ignorance. “And what?” she replied with a tilt of her head. The twitch of his brow indicated she had succeeded in irritating him in return.

“Is it gone?” he pressed. “Have you been freed of the curse?”

“Enchantment,” she corrected. “And if you must know, yes, it has lifted. ”

“Brilliant. Then you must do me the honor of a dance.”

Rosalind nearly choked on her own breath. “A dance? Oh, I don’t know about that… I think you’d find me to be a dreadful partner. My dancing abilities are rudimentary at best, and I couldn’t possibly subject you to such—”

“Nonsense,” Marcus cut in.

Without another word, he plucked the wine glass from her hand and pressed a hand to the small of her back, ushering her forward. He set the glass down on the tray of a passing server. Panic rose in Rosalind’s chest as the dance floor loomed closer and closer.

“Marcus, I mean it when I say I’m not well-versed in dancing. I’m really only familiar with a simple waltz, and even then, I have never attempted it in front of so many people…”

Marcus smiled and nodded at nearby guests as they swept through the crowd. Leaning in so only she could hear, he said, “Really, Rosalind, if I didn’t know any better, I might think you were rejecting me. But you wouldn’t do me the discourtesy, not when so many eyes are upon us now, would you?”

She glanced around at the handful of onlookers, who were watching them with a mixture of interest and surprise, and she couldn’t think of a single word to say.

“Take my hand,” Marcus instructed once they were opposite one another on the dance floor.

Rosalind stared down at his outstretched hand. She didn’t want to do this, but her moment to deny him had come and gone. It was too late to say no now, not without giving high society another reason to ostracize her. Tentatively, she placed her hand in his. Why had he even asked her in the first place?

“That’s it,” he said approvingly. He waited until she put her other hand on his shoulder before settling a hand on her upper back. “Now, follow my lead. ”

Marcus stepped forward in time with the music and Rosalind obliged. Trying her best not to mess up, Rosalind focused on the movement of their feet. She mapped out the steps in her head as they went. Right back, left sideways, together. Left forward, right sideways, together.

“Stop looking down,” Marcus snapped. “Look at me. Good.”

Rosalind complied but didn’t stop thinking through the steps. Right back, left sideways, together.

Marcus rolled his eyes. “I can see you thinking. And your movements are incredibly stiff. You’ll need lessons, there’s no doubt about that.”

Rosalind didn’t bother to answer. She just kept moving. Left forward, right sideways, together.

“And what's with the gloves?” Marcus went on. “Is there something wrong with your hands? Never mind, don’t answer that. I don’t wish to know. What I do know is they aren’t fashionable. If you must wear them, we’ll need to ensure everyone is too preoccupied looking elsewhere to notice them.” His eyes lowered, and Rosalind could guess precisely where he was looking. “Tonight’s dress is a good start.”

She had to look away to avoid making a face at him. This dance had to end soon, right? She hoped it was any second now.

“Let’s see, what else? You don’t seem much for talking, which works out quite nicely as the last thing I want is an incessant twaddler on my arm,” Marcus prattled on. Rosalind could hardly tell if he was speaking to her or aloud to himself. “Besides, when we’re out in society, I should be the one speaking for the two of us. The exception, of course, is when we’re with the Rashfords. You’ll need to speak well of me when the opportunity arises.”

The two of us ? Suddenly what he was saying no longer sounded like supercilious chatter.

“I’m sorry,” Rosalind said warily, “but I don’t believe I follow…”

Marcus huffed. “I don’t think it’s too much to ask that you make a few changes. If I’m to take you as my wife, I expect you to look and act the part, at least until I have restored relations with Jonathan. Then I suppose you can slink off to whatever quaint country cottage I set aside for you.”

Rosalind stumbled. Frankly, it was a miracle she didn’t end up on the floor. Surely, she must have misheard him.

“Focus, Rosalind,” Marcus bit out while his hand dropped to her waist. With a firm grip, he maneuvered her back into position. “I know this must come as a bit of a surprise, but I’m not keen to repeat myself, so listen up. This would be a marriage of convenience, of course. One that is mutually beneficial.”

“How so?” Rosalind asked incredulously.

“As mentioned, I wish to repair my friendship with Jonathan. Being as you were the reason for my falling out of his good graces, you shall be the one to remedy it,” he explained. “Your close relationship with him and his sister will be my way back in. Our union will show him I’m a changed man, that there is no longer a need for ill will between him and me. In return, I will offer you a secure and comfortable future.”

Rosalind scrambled for something, anything to say. There’s no way he was being serious. He despised her nearly as much as Lord DuPont did, which led her to the only thing she could think to ask at that moment. “What of your uncle? I can’t imagine he would ever approve of such a thing.”

“On the contrary, he was the one to suggest it.”

His words rang in her ear so loud she hardly noticed the quieting melody. It was Marcus who stilled their dancing and stepped back. With unnecessary flourish, he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. Then he tucked it into his arm and whisked her off the floor.

“You see,” he explained in a low voice as they made their way through the crowd, “my uncle has no children to inherit his trade empire, so he must look to relatives. He has all but promised it to me, but before he can name me his successor, he has tasked me with re-establishing myself within Jonathan’s inner circle. Seeing as he is to be Denault’s Chancellor for the next twenty-odd years, it’s crucial I foster close ties with him. The influence it would afford me would all but ensure the success of the business under my charge.”

Rosalind couldn’t care less about the future of the DuPont Trading Company. Marcus was a fool to think divulging his motivations would help to plead his case. Since approaching her, he had done nothing but insult and intimidate her, and she was beyond irritated now. What aggravated her most was how he assumed she would acquiesce.

As soon as they had cleared the crowd and returned to the same unoccupied spot they had met earlier, Rosalind yanked her arm from his. “What makes you possibly think I would accept?”

“Frankly, I don’t think you have it in you to say no. We both know you’ve never been one for confrontation. But I see now you have a little more spirit than I remembered.” Marcus took a step closer. “A quality I appreciate in certain situations,” he added as his eyes raked over her lasciviously.

Rosalind took a step back, making no attempt to hide her contempt.

“Now, now, let’s not make a scene,” he remarked, taking another step toward her. “Consider your circumstances. Regardless of your newfound normalcy, your history will always precede you in Proper. No one here would deign to associate with you unless they were desperate. Lucky for you, I am that desperate. Besides, I daresay your time is running out, what with tonight’s impending announcement and all,” Marcus continued. “I can’t imagine Lady Ilora will be in favor of having an unmarried woman of no relation sharing a home with her husband. ”

His words felt like a punch to her gut, and she struggled to catch her breath. Simply put, she hadn't thought that far ahead. She had been so preoccupied with uncovering the truth behind tonight's announcement that she hadn’t even considered what might happen if the rumor proved true.

Her reaction had undoubtedly been palpable, as evidenced by the triumphant smirk on Marcus’s face. But to her surprise, he didn’t respond right away. Instead, he made his way over to the nearby refreshments table and picked up not one but two glasses of champagne. Then, with that peeving little smirk still plastered across his lips, he strolled back to her and held out a glass.

“So what do you say? Shall we cheers to it?”

Rosalind stared at the glass in Marcus’s hand, wide-eyed and unmoving. Champagne had never looked so unappealing.

“Celebrating something, are we?” A voice said behind her.

“Certainly not,” Rosalind remarked without a second thought. When she turned to see who had joined them, she was greeted by a familiar but unexpected face.

Marcus shot Rosalind a scathing look before dropping into an exaggerated bow. “Lady Ilora, what an honor.” He wore an artificial smile as he straightened and added, “Your ears must have been burning as your timing is impeccable. We were just discussing the pleasure of being in your company this evening and how thrilled we are to be celebrating such a momentous occasion.”

Ilora returned his smile. “As am I.”

“I know I already mentioned as much during our earlier acquaintance, but you truly are a beacon of beauty this evening, my lady.”

Rosalind may not have agreed with Marcus on most anything, but there was no denying he was right about this. Ilora looked as if she were born of the night sky itself. Her dress was the color of deep cerulean, matching that of the Mason crest. Panels of silver-embroidered velvet clasped high around her neck and cascaded down the front and back of her figure. Underneath was a layer of chiffon that rippled like waves as she moved, and a silver rope was tied snugly around her middle, emphasizing her narrow waist. Her hair was held up by delicate diamond-encrusted pins, which sparkled under the moonlight, and somehow, so did her skin.

Ilora nodded graciously. “That’s very kind of you, thank you.”

“You are most welcome. I realize you have spent much of the last hour greeting countless guests. Surely too many to remember all by name, so please allow me to re-introduce myself. I am—”

“No need,” she interrupted. “I know who you are. You are Marcus Trainor, nephew to Lord Hamish DuPont, proprietor of the DuPont Trading Company, and the most senior member of Denault’s regional council. If I recall correctly, you have long been acquainted with the Rashfords, though I must admit it curious as I have heard little mention of your name in passing conversations with Jonathan.”

“Y-yes, you are correct,” Marcus stammered, seemingly caught off guard by her forthright assessment. “Admittedly, I did not maintain correspondence as well as I should have while he was away. Now that he has returned to Denault, I have every intention of making up for lost time. In doing so, I also hope to better acquaint myself with you should I be so lucky.”

To that, Ilora only smiled. Then her attention shifted to Rosalind. “Apologies for the interruption, but I was rather hoping I could have a word with you, Miss Carver.” Her gaze darted back to Marcus as she added, “Privately.”

“But of course,” Marcus replied. “I’m certain you two have much to discuss. ”

His smug insinuation wasn’t lost on Rosalind, and she had to walk away from him before she did something unbecoming or, worse still, cried.

“Shall we?” she asked Ilora, indicating the path that led far away from the despicable man.

The pair had only taken a few steps when Marcus’s voice again grated on Rosalind’s ears.

“Ros,” he called out cheerily, “seek me out when you’re done, won’t you? Oh, and don’t worry, I’ll hold on to this for you until then.”

Against her better judgment, she turned back to find Marcus raising the champagne glass she’d refused earlier in her direction. With a sly smile, he added, “I have a feeling you’ll be wanting it after.”

Rosalind stood frozen in place. He had called her Ros. Ros . The absolute nerve of him. There had only ever been three people to call her that—her father, Jonathan, and Valentina. The thought of adding Marcus to the cherished list made her want to retch. Never again did she wish to hear it from his lips.

She let out a steadying breath before politely asking, “My lady, will you pardon me for just a moment?”

“By all means,” granted Ilora.

With that, Rosalind marched right up to Marcus. She couldn’t quite meet his eye as she spoke aloud the single word that had been echoing in her mind over and over.

“No.”

“No?” Marcus echoed in question.

“No,” Rosalind reiterated. “That is my answer. I will not marry you.”

“Let’s not be hasty now,” Marcus said with a slight edge to his voice. “You have yet to hear out Lady Ilora. Once you do, I suspect you’ll be singing a different tune. Fortunately, I’m feeling quite amenable at the moment and am willing to disregard your senseless rejection.” He leaned in close and added icily, “But I may not be so forgiving again, so think carefully before you answer me next.”

Rosalind clenched her hands into fists to keep from shaking. With a resolve she didn’t know she possessed, she spoke as steadily as she could so as not to attract the attention of nearby guests.

“Mr. Trainor, please understand this. I would sooner seek out the enchantment again than spend even a single day in abject misery at your side.”

She turned to leave, not daring to give him a chance to respond.