Rose’s eyes snapped open to see his filled with mirth. “You are a scandal, sir.”
“Without a doubt.”
“Has my father spoken to you?”
Thomas paused, straightening. “You know about my request?”
“Yes. He’s going to respond tomorrow in writing but said he hoped to speak to you tonight.”
Thomas’s chin dropped a bit. “Tonight? I thought your father no longer attended these events.”
“Mother persuaded him. Something about this being Cecily’s and my last ball as unmarried women.” Rose watched as the words registered and his eyes widened a bit. A smile spread across his face as touches of red bloomed over his cheekbones.
“So you have accepted—”
She held up a hand. “Nothing is certain until the two of you meet. I have known far too many of these arrangements that went awry at the last moment.”
“This one will not.”
“It has before.”
“Because I was a fool.”
“I am going to remember you said that. Most likely for the rest of your life.”
“Truth never varies.”
“But minds and hearts do.”
“Not if they recall the real truth that lies within.”
Rose studied his face, watching his eyes close. “What real truth?”
His voice dropped, his words so soft Rose barely heard them over the growing din of the crowd around them. “That I never want to be without you. No matter what happens to us or around us. I want to be with only you.” His gaze focused so intently on her face that she thought he might kiss her at any moment.
Silver. The man’s tongue was made of pure silver, brilliant and glittering and smooth.Even though the thought raced through her mind, Rose still found her breath lodged in her lungs. Around them, the notes of the first dance skirled through the air, pulling her from the mesmerizing look in his eyes. She swallowed hard. “We should walk around a bit, and at least appear somewhat proper.”
He grinned, slipped the head of his cane up under the sling, and hooked it on his elbow, pressing it against the side of his body. He offered her his left arm. “My lady?”
Rose took his elbow, but kept peering at his sling. “How do you do that? Just hook it in there like that and it stays?”
“Practice. It’s pretty much a part of my arm at this point. I feel incomplete without it.” He led her toward one of the outside walls, where a gallery of portraits extended up toward the ceiling. Rose spotted a Gainsborough and a Romney, and Sir Joshua Reynolds’ portrait of the Countess of Harrington, but the others blurred together in her scant memory of the teachings of some long ago governess. She thought briefly of the portraits in her own home, numerous visages of Timmonses gone by. “Do you think all families have endless walls of portraits in the homes?”
Thomas thought about it a moment, studying one of the paintings before them. “The ones who can afford such a thing. I suspect we humans like being remembered after we’re gone. One reason we strive so hard to leave a legacy.”
“I think the men more than women. Our lives seem to matter so little beyond the here and now. I always thought that’s why so much pressure is put upon young women to be perfect, flawless, in these few short years around courtship, marriage, and children. It never occurred to me that, other than children, I would leave anything behind other than as a faint memory for a few people, soon to fade. And now not even that.”
Thomas turned Rose to face him, his brow furrowed in consternation. “Lady Rose, I know more than a few people who will remember you, and what you have done for them, for the rest of their lives.Neverimply that you do not matter after these few years have passed.”
His strident words caught Rose off-guard. “Thomas—”
“Never.”
The one-word declaration hung between them. Rose tried to gather her thoughts, but a decisive tug on her elbow drew her attention away from him. Cecily and their father stood next to them, looks of pure curiosity on their faces. Cecily gave a quick curtsey to Thomas, which he acknowledged with a dip of his head.
She flicked a finger at a feather in her hair that had become dislodged. “Rose, can you please help me fix this annoying thing?”
“Of course.”
