Chapter Three #2
Rosalie withholds her own eye roll and turns back to the Pine women. Mrs. Pine still looks like she’s swallowed something unctuous. Which, given the way the waters taste, is fair. Miss Pine looks down at Rosalie curiously.
Her gray pelisse is even more fetching up close, and while Rosalie’s hair gets frizzy with all the humidity, Miss Pine’s still
looks sleek beneath her bonnet, her few pin curls perfectly round. How does she do that?
Rosalie needs to think of something winsome to say. She interrupted, but she hadn’t exactly anticipated all three men ignoring
them.
Men.
Miss Pine glances back at the men, her eyes narrowing, before she turns back to Rosalie. “It was a lovely dance you and Mr. Dean
did after we returned from the cloakroom. What is it called? I forgot to ask and wanted to find a set of instructions.”
Rosalie’s surprised she doesn’t already know it. “It’s a variation on a quadrille out of London from last season,” she says.
“Are there variation pamphlets? Perhaps I could borrow one from you?” Miss Pine asks, looking perfectly earnest.
Too earnest. Too beautiful. Too polite.
Miss Pine’s easy regard and curiosity put Rosalie on edge. Her mother is far more open with her emotions, easier to read.
Miss Pine can play it close to the chest, apparently.
Or she really does just want to learn a dance, which would be disarming in its own right. Rosalie needs to be disarming right
back.
“I could teach you” comes out of her mouth before she can really think through the implications.
“You would?” Miss Pine asks, surprise clear on her face. Her mother is a moment away from gaping.
“You could come early to the concert,” Rosalie suggests quickly, trying to play it off like a premeditated idea, rather than something that just fell out of her head. “We could have one of the musicians play and practice to it.”
“That sounds lovely,” Miss Pine says slowly. “Mama?”
They both turn to look at Mrs. Pine, who’s watching them with wide eyes. “Of course, dear, as long as Lord and Lady Tisend
don’t mind our imposing early.”
“Oh, Father would love to show you and Mr. Pine his art collection. He’s very much looking forward to seeing Mr. Pine again.”
Mrs. Pine’s eyebrows almost seem to climb into her hairline, but she gives Rosalie a tight smile and then turns back to the
men, pretending to listen to their conversation.
“We’d be delighted, then,” Miss Pine says.
“Wonderful,” Rosalie replies.
They stand there in strained silence while the men continue talking beside them. It’s Rosalie’s turn to find something banal
to discuss.
“Your pelisse is lovely,” she says, falling back on her mother’s favorite topic: fashion.
“Thank you,” Miss Pine says cheerfully. “I chose the color because it reminded me of a stormy sky. I’ve gotten very into gothic
novels and was feeling a bit moody at the modiste, I’ll admit.”
That’s . . . actually very interesting. “What are you reading right now?”
Miss Pine takes a step closer, leaning her neck down to whisper, “I just finished The Mysteries of Udolpho.”
Rosalie doesn’t know what’s more surprising, the book or the way the scent of Miss Pine’s lilac perfume momentarily stuns
her. “Oh?” she manages, feeling ridiculous.
She doesn’t get flustered like this. She doesn’t let herself get . . . caught up in people. Men. Women. She’s resigned to her life of machinating other happy endings and staying comfortably out of the way of attraction and intrigue and anything . . . complicated.
Otherwise, it’s just too painful.
“It’s fantastically scandalous,” Miss Pine continues. “Have you read it?”
Rosalie stares at Miss Pine’s pretty face, words caught in her throat. Rosalie has read it. A year ago. But none of her friends
ever have. And Mother doesn’t like to read. With her brother, Christopher, off at school, she hasn’t had anyone to discuss
it with, and of all the people in the world, Miss Pine is the first who—
“I’m so sorry, my dear.”
Rosalie blinks, ripping her gaze away from Miss Pine to look up at Mr. Dean, now at her side. He leans down to take her hand
and kiss the back of her glove.
“Might I take you on a walk tomorrow, to make up for my deplorable manners?”
Rosalie hesitates for a beat, pushing herself back into the present moment. She came over here to distract Mr. Dean from Miss Pine,
and she has succeeded. She got distracted herself in the meantime, but no matter.
“I’d like that,” Rosalie says, smiling up at him.
He smiles back, and then stands there, saying nothing. Rosalie turns her smile on Miss Pine and her mother, pretending to
be disappointed they can’t join. She just couldn’t impose on Mr. Dean, you see. It’s nothing personal.
Miss Pine looks lightly amused, but there’s a glint in Mrs. Pine’s eyes that doesn’t bode—
“Miss Pine so loves to go walking,” Mrs. Pine says, a little too loudly.
Mrs. Pine is looking at Rosalie pointedly, and when Rosalie turns back to Miss Pine, she’s blushing, but there’s a slight
tilt to her lips.
“I do,” Miss Pine agrees. “It’s invigorating.”
Rosalie pushes her tongue against her teeth. Oh, so it’s like that? She wants to fight this in close quarters? Fine.
Rosalie looks up at Mr. Dean, but he’s still just staring off out the windows. She leans toward him, trying to get his attention,
and slowly his head turns back to her. She glances at Miss Pine.
He just stares at her.
She inclines her head, just slightly.
But he’s blank behind the eyes, nothing there, no one home.
God, but men are useless.
She looks back up at Miss Pine, whose smirk of amusement has grown. Rosalie’s tempted to roll her eyes in response. Instead,
she looks past Miss Pine to Mr. Sholle, who’s still locked in intense discussion with Mr. Pine. She can make this interesting.
“Mr. Sholle, would you like to accompany Miss Pine to Sydney Gardens?” she asks, interrupting. “The two of you could join
Mr. Dean and myself on a walk.”
Mr. Sholle’s long face lights up. “I would be most pleased to accompany you, Miss Pine. As long as it’s permitted, of course,”
he adds, looking to Mr. Pine.
“Of course. I’d join you myself if my knees were less swollen. As it is, I’m sure my lovely wife will gladly go along as chaperone,”
Mr. Pine says jovially.
Mrs. Pine looks distinctly dourer. She exchanges a look with Miss Pine that’s brimming with meaning. And not particularly
subtle.
So mother and daughter are in cahoots. Rosalie can work with that.
Mrs. Pine nods with a tight smile. “Of course,” she says.
“Lady Tisend always joins us as well, so you’ll have good company,” Mr. Dean says easily.
Of course, now he’s engaged in the conversation.
Rosalie will have to prep her mother to help ensure Mr. Sholle and Miss Pine stay back from her and Mr. Dean. To give them
time to get to know each other. Mr. Sholle certainly looks eager.
Miss Pine is watching Rosalie, sucking on her cheek. Rosalie gives her a broad smile.
“We’ll meet you at the Great Pulteney entrance tomorrow at ten, then,” Rosalie says.
“Looking forward to it,” Miss Pine says, turning her face toward Mr. Sholle, her eyes never leaving Rosalie’s.
Challenge accepted.
Mother is ten minutes away from a fit of hysterics.
Mr. Dean promised to meet them at the Great Pulteney entrance to Sydney Gardens, but he’s nowhere to be found. He’s not exactly
late, but for the first time in a while Mother was so anxious, they actually left with more than enough time to spare. Which
leaves them loitering outside the gates to the tall, Bath stone Sydney House in a light drizzle, seagulls cawing overhead.
“We’ll need to make sure the napkins match the ribbons,” Mother says, her voice tight as she fiddles with Rosalie’s pin curls.
Rosalie jerks her chin back and takes her mother’s hands. “It’s just a walk,” she says softly.
“I know that,” Mother says, pulling her hands back to fuss with her own outfit. “Lists keep me calm.”
“But there’s nothing to be nervous over,” Rosalie insists. “Is this about Mrs. Pine?”
Mother avoids her gaze. She toys with her gloves, going for aloof and failing terribly. “No.”
“Did you know each other well? You must have been in the same season.”
Mother hesitates, meeting Rosalie’s eyes. Rosalie raises one of her brows, waiting.
“We were friends, long ago, before she married Mr. Pine and left Bath. That’s all,” Mother says.
“Oh,” Rosalie replies, a little miffed.
Mother no longer speaking to an old friend doesn’t seem so odd, really. She rarely writes letters to anyone. Stands to reason
Mrs. Pine might feel slighted if Mother stopped corresponding once she had moved away. Doesn’t seem like a good enough reason
for Mother’s panic, though.
But there isn’t time for further questions, because here come Miss Pine and Mrs. Pine, before either Mr. Dean or Mr. Sholle,
of course. Miss Pine is wearing a beautiful blue spencer jacket over another gray gown, while Mrs. Pine is in a dark brown
that highlights her beautiful hair.
They’re a striking pair, and Rosalie ignores her mother’s sharp intake of breath to prepare herself. She’s going to help Miss Pine
see that Mr. Sholle is the perfect match. And hopefully Mrs. Pine will be happy with him. The son of a baron isn’t a future
viscount, but it’s still a title.
This walk will be a success. There’s no other choice.
Though when Mrs. Pine and Miss Pine reach them, Rosalie wonders if there’s more to Mother’s story than a faded friendship. Mrs. Pine is staring at Mother with much more than disappointed feelings. But there’s hardly time to focus on that, not when Miss Pine is curtsying and smiling down at Rosalie.
“Hello. Beautiful day, isn’t it?” she asks slyly.
Miss Pine’s hair frames her face perfectly beneath her bonnet. Rosalie has to stop herself from reaching out to move a stray
piece back behind her ear.
Oh, God. Where did that impulse come from?
“It’s certainly atmospheric,” Rosalie says, meeting Miss Pine’s eyes. It’s time to reestablish her position. “I’m looking