Chapter Nine #3
Rosalie watches them go before tearing her eyes away to look across the lovely small pond.
To the right sits the Palladian Bridge, a beautiful Bath stone–covered walkway with arched, open walls that casts part of the pond in shadow even at the height of midday.
The grounds across the pond are manicured and verdant, sloping gently up to tall, just-budding trees. It’s a lovely tableau.
“Good show!” Mr. Rile’s loud encouragement to Henrietta breaks the silence and Rosalie can’t help but laugh.
“Shall we?” Mr. Dean asks.
“Please,” Rosalie says, taking his arm and letting him lead her down the row to the other side of Christopher and Amalie,
who are bickering over the best stone to choose.
Amalie’s hem is muddy and Christopher’s standing in the water, but they look so happy. Rosalie watches in amusement as they
elbow each other for the best spot to throw. Meanwhile, down the line, Mr. Rile and Mr. Sholle are using this opportunity
to wrap their arms around Henrietta and Miss Pine.
Henrietta’s blushing grin is visible even at a distance. She and Mr. Rile make a good pair, his broad chest at her back, both
of them bright-cheeked. Miss Pine looks distinctly less comfortable with Mr. Sholle, though Rosalie thinks she’d step away
if she felt truly ill at ease.
Still, it niggles at Rosalie’s brain—maybe it’s a step too far to encourage Mr. Sholle. Maybe she doesn’t like the idea that
Miss Pine might not hate having him wrapped around her.
A massive plop pulls Rosalie from her spiraling thoughts and she looks down the line to find Henrietta pouting.
“It’s all in the wrist, I promise,” she hears Mr. Rile say, taking her hand tenderly to help her wind her arm in and then
throw another stone, which skips twice before falling gracefully into the water.
Henrietta positively beams while Mr. Rile whoops in congratulations.
Mr. Dean flicks his wrist, sending his rock gliding across the water. It skips three times before plopping into the lake.
“Well done,” Rosalie says.
Mr. Dean just hums and gestures for her to toss her rock. She manages a respectable two skips.
“More flick,” he says, before looking down to hunt for another stone, offering her nothing else.
“EIGHT!”
Rosalie looks over to find Aunt Genevieve jumping up and down as Miss Pine, Christopher, and Amalie congratulate her.
“What’s your secret?” Amalie asks.
“Height,” Aunt Genevieve says, winking at Rosalie, who huffs good-naturedly.
“Well, we can achieve that, can’t we?” Christopher asks, turning and encouraging Amalie to climb up onto his back.
Amalie hesitates, but Aunt Genevieve is giggling, and Henrietta’s watching her from Mr. Rile’s arms, grinning, so she goes
for it. Together, Amalie and Christopher rear back and throw their stones, Amalie clinging to his back with one arm, her legs
around his hips, with him scrabbling to keep her in place with one arm.
And of course both stones skip four times.
Christopher and Amalie cheer and Rosalie shakes her head. They are absurd. Perfectly absurd. And so right for each other.
As her brother and Amalie struggle to bend down to get new rocks without falling, Rosalie notices Miss Pine watching them
as well. The look on her face is wistful, even with Mr. Sholle standing beside her, a hand on her back, explaining the perfect
wrist flick without realizing she’s no longer paying attention.
Rosalie looks away before Miss Pine can notice her. She laughs when Aunt Genevieve steps in to steady Christopher before he and Amalie tumble predictably into the pond.
They’re falling for each other, just starting, she can tell. Christopher’s baby crush is growing into full adoration, while
Amalie’s seeing something in him she’s never noticed before. And Rosalie gets to watch it all firsthand. Take credit.
She glances back at Mr. Dean, who’s now just standing there, staring off across the pond.
What must it be like to actually fall for someone who falls for you back? To be so irrational and emotional and . . . infatuated?
To risk falling into the pond to make a pretty girl laugh?
She can’t help but look past Christopher and Amalie to Miss Pine again, and finds her staring back. She raises a slightly
glum shoulder and Rosalie wonders what’s on her own face. Miss Pine rolls her eyes in some kind of commiseration, and then
turns dutifully back to Mr. Sholle, giving him her attention.
Rosalie sighs and bends down, picking up a smooth, gray stone. She blows out a breath and tosses it across the pond, trying
to fling away all the confusion swirling in her brain with it. It doesn’t skip even once, landing instead with an enormous
splash.
Everyone turns to look and Rosalie feels her cheeks go pink. Christopher and Amalie seem dangerously amused at the frustration
on Rosalie’s face, but Miss Pine is giggling.
Rosalie’s stomach swoops. She has such a damn infectious laugh.
Maybe falling for someone feels like this. Unsettling in a way that’s rather addictive.
What would it be like to just . . . let herself fall? Enjoy the tingle of something real, even if it’s going to crash and burn later. Who would it hurt?
It’s not like Miss Pine would really be an option anyway, even for a short while.
But then her eyes catch Rosalie’s, so much there in her gaze. Miss Pine can’t be an option. She doesn’t feel how Rosalie feels.
She’s just . . . competitive, and sly, and witty.
But the look she’s giving Rosalie is the same one from Aunt Genevieve’s painting. The look that keeps her up at night. What
is she supposed to do with that?