Chapter Nine
Rosalie
“It’s not just that the poem was bad, Rose. It actually gave me a headache!”
Rosalie dabs her face with her lace handkerchief, which does very little to wipe away the sweat and humidity sticking to her
skin.
“Mother is dead set on another three outings with Mr. Fortes before she’ll allow me to change my mind, but I’m not sure I’ll
get through it,” Amalie says, nary an auburn hair or breath out of place as they tromp down the path through the budding woods.
Rosalie’s trying to listen, she is. Though this is the third such walk since the painting competition where Amalie has bemoaned
her mother’s continuing interest in Mr. Fortes. Amalie decided at the tea that he wasn’t for her. But convincing her mother
otherwise will take longer, and require more subterfuge and careful planning than Amalie generally likes to give any social
function, let alone her own courting.
“We’ll distract you,” Rosalie promises.
Rosalie needs a real distraction herself.
Every time she tries to think about Mr. Dean, her mind fills instead with Miss Pine’s inquisitive gaze, her pretty blush,
the way her willowy body looks in her beautiful dresses—how she might look beneath those dresses, in just her shift, or less . . .
Rosalie balls the handkerchief up in her fist. She can’t let her whole life fall apart because a pretty girl came to town. A very pretty girl, who is smart, and disarming, and witty, and sly and quick and—
“Are you listening at all?”
Rosalie looks over at Amalie, startled.
“Of course,” she says immediately. “Mr. Fortes writes atrocious poetry, and you’d like me to provide cover for you to distance
yourself from him on our walk with Aunt Genevieve.”
Amalie stops walking and stares at Rosalie. “I asked if you’d like me to order you a copy of The Shipwreck.”
“Oh,” Rosalie says, smiling guiltily at her friend. “Thank you. And I will also provide said cover on our walk.”
“All right,” Amalie says, eyeing Rosalie a bit too knowingly.
But she can’t possibly know anything about what Rosalie was thinking. Her stomach clenches guiltily as they hike back up to
her house. She should be giving Amalie her full attention. She should be thinking longingly of alone time with Mr. Dean. She
should be attracted to men is what she should be.
But ugh, men.
“Stay for tea?” she asks Amalie as they head for the solarium to shed their damp outer layers.
“Will there be cake?” Amalie asks seriously.
“There’s always cake when you come over,” Rosalie replies, equally serious.
Amalie cracks a smile and the two of them tromp inside.
When they come through the library doors, Rosalie longing to lie down, Amalie pulls her to a stop with a gasp. Rosalie looks
up and Christopher turns from one of the shelves along the back wall.
“Surprise!” he says, his voice deeper than it was even three months ago when he left for the winter term.
“Oh, how lovely,” Amalie says happily.
But Rosalie just stares. What is her brother doing home?
“You couldn’t have written?” she asks, letting go of Amalie. Christopher rushes across the room to sweep her up in a spinning
hug.
“Where’s the fun in that?” he asks as he puts her down.
“Mother’s going to kill you for arriving while she’s out,” Rosalie says, pushing him back to hold him by the shoulders. “You’ve
grown again.”
While no great height, he’s gained another half inch since Yule, making him frustratingly a full head taller than Rosalie.
She hates that her baby brother got taller than she did by the time he was twelve.
He has a bit of stubble on his cheeks, his brown hair has gone a bit curly, and he’s lost more of his baby fat, his heart-shaped
face narrower, features sharper. He looks a proper young man now. Almost dashing, just over nineteen—he’ll be the catch of
the late season.
How did that happen?
“I do keep telling myself to stop, but it rarely works. Miss Linet, you look lovely,” he adds.
Rosalie looks over her shoulder in time to catch Amalie’s bright blush.
Well, that’s interesting, isn’t it?
“Doesn’t she?” Rosalie agrees. She steps back from Christopher and ushers both of them into the sitting area at the center
of the library.
With tall bookshelves lining the walls, the space can sometimes feel a bit narrow, but in the center of the room, Mother smartly arranged two settees and two deep, comfortable armchairs, all in a pale blue that catches the light from the thin but enormously tall windows on the far wall.
The whole effect is cozy, and private, and inviting. A perfect place to sit her brother and best friend down and make sure
they end the day with at least two outings planned. Rosalie doesn’t know why she hasn’t thought of them together before now.
“What’s brought you back so early?” Amalie asks, beating Rosalie to it.
“Father called me back,” Christopher says. Rosalie stares; that’s certainly news to her.
“Is something the matter?” Amalie asks, looking between them.
“No, no, just another attempt to sway me to accompany him to London for part of the season so I may learn the ropes.”
“Oh, so you’ll be leaving soon, then,” Amalie says, sounding absolutely dejected, which makes Christopher perk up a little
in his seat.
How long have they been secretly interested in each other? And why has neither of them ever said?
“He’s asked that I attend. I haven’t yet said yes,” Christopher says quickly. “I’m not sure I want to miss the end of the
season here, when my sister might get engaged.”
Rosalie narrows her eyes. “What has Mother been telling you?”
“You don’t think he’ll propose?” Amalie asks at the same time.
Mother certainly thinks Mr. Dean will. But with Miss Pine, and her mother, and Rosalie’s generally waning enthusiasm for all
things subterfuge . . .
“Mother’s dead set on it, apparently,” Christopher says. “Says she and my sister have all kinds of plans to thwart a new threat?”
“Ah, Miss Pine,” Amalie says. “She really is very pretty.”
Christopher’s eyes cut to Rosalie and Rosalie intentionally doesn’t meet them. If anyone in the world could look at her and
know, it would be Christopher.
“Well, I never want to miss my sister putting someone in their place. She gets ever so bossy, don’t you think?”
Rosalie gasps while Amalie giggles. “I do not!”
“Oh, but you do,” Amalie says, grinning at Christopher. “But it’s always for the best. You’re the smartest of us by far, and
you see everything. We need your bossiness. You’re always right, after all.”
“You protest too much,” Rosalie tells her, shaking her head as the doors to the library open and Miss Wrigsby comes in with
one of the porters, carrying a ridiculous number of pastries along with their tea set.
Rosalie would be more insulted by Christopher and Amalie’s teasing, but she’s just so glad to have him home and, hopefully,
staying for the rest of the season. Everything else aside, they’ll get all his favorite meals every night, and more treats
with tea. Mother’s always focused on keeping Rosalie trim and healthy, but Christopher gets the goodies.
She loves him for it, and hates him for it.
“Thank you, Miss Wrigsby, Mr. Stone,” Christopher says around a mouthful of biscuit.
Miss Wrigsby shakes her head and smiles at him. She meets Rosalie’s eyes as she leaves, grinning, and Rosalie can’t help but
smile too.
“Do you have any plans while you’re in town?” Amalie asks.
“Not many,” Christopher says, pouring all of them tea. Such a little gentleman he’s become.
Amalie’s smile is wide when he hands her a cup. He’s not so little anymore. He looks like a man now. A man who could make
her friend happy.
“You’ll come with us on Thursday, then,” Rosalie says, ignoring the way both of them snicker. Fine, she’s bossy. It’s for
their own good. “Aunt Genevieve has organized a group walk.”
“I’d be delighted,” Christopher says at once. “I hope you’ll be there too, Miss Linet?”
“I will,” she says.
It’s perfect. Christopher can be another set of eyes. Help her determine if she can truly pair off Miss Pine and Mr. Sholle.
And he’ll be honest. He can tell her if Miss Pine is really as special as Rosalie thinks—as distracting as she thinks.
They’re a rowdy group as they clamber through the woods, heading for the Palladian Bridge in Prior Park. Aunt Genevieve has
insisted they step off the road and rough it through the underbrush as much as possible. Rosalie’s hemline will be ruined,
and her boots will need polishing for ages, but it’s been invigorating.
She’s walking with Mr. Dean and Aunt Genevieve, a bit behind Christopher and Miss Pine, who made the head of the pack almost
immediately. Henrietta, Mr. Rile, Mr. Sholle, and Amalie are behind them, which doesn’t do much for her plans for Christopher
and Amalie, but does seem to be providing Christopher with ample time to get to know Miss Pine.
He’s peppering her with questions Rosalie can’t quite hear. She wishes she could get the answers right away, rather than needing to figure out how to get them out of Christopher later without letting on that she’s developed this massive, inconvenient crush.
Though she supposes there’s always the off chance Christopher will fall for Miss Pine. Which she hadn’t considered, bafflingly,
until just now.
Why wouldn’t he? She looks so fetching in her green walking dress and brown spencer jacket. She’s taller than Christopher,
but bears it so gracefully. Her hair is curling more than usual with the humidity beneath her short brown bonnet, and it only
makes her whole face that much more welcoming.
What if Christopher falls for her? Surely Mrs. Pine wouldn’t allow her daughter to marry Rosalie’s mother’s son. Not with . . .
whatever animosity lurks between them. He may not have a subsidiary title now, but he will be an earl. That would be better even than a viscount.
What has she done? What about Amalie?
Mr. Dean coughs softly, nodding to something Aunt Genevieve’s saying. Rather playfully, Aunt Genevieve has been on a solid