Rose hesitated, not wanting to fight with Cecily’s insistent naiveté, not tonight. She laid her hand over Cecily’s. “I just wish I could have saved her. She was my best friend. I should have—” Rose’s words broke and she swallowed hard, all the regrets flooding her. “I should have been there. She is so unhappy now. Every day is a torment.”
Cecily eased away and took her gloves from the maid. “You did what you could. You were loyal. You defended her. I know how close you were. You still write her.”
“Yes. Two or three times a week.” Rose’s mouth twisted into a wry grin, and Cecily paused in her tugging on the silk sheaths that reached almost to the edge of the delicate puff sleeves at her shoulder.
“Rose? What are you plotting?”
“I suggested that she substitute her mother’s arsenic face cream for the whipped cream in his hot chocolate.”
Cecily stared. “Rose! You did not! They would hang her for murder!”
Rose shrugged. “Quicker than dying from misery.”
“Rose!”
“Anyway, now that she’s finally increasing with his heir, he has abandoned her and her mother at that country estate and returned to London and his mistresses. She hardly sees him anymore.”
“Small favors, I suppose.” Cecily finished with the gloves, and set about smoothing out every wrinkle, head to toe. “Sooo... when Mother says that you are quite capable of creating a scene, is this what she’s talking about?”
Rose almost smiled. “More or less.”
“Well, you are a bit of a sight when you get wound up. Like a lioness protecting her cubs. Are you planning anything like this for tonight?” Cecily didn’t bother to hide her amusement.
This time Rose did smile. She put her arm around Cecily’s shoulders, carefully avoiding her hairstyle. “Oh, I never plan anything like this. I do look for opportunities.”
“Then I’m glad you aremylioness.”
“I will not embarrass you.”
“An admirable goal. I’d rather not have my own sister derail my first season.”
“Then we will land you a duke before the summer solstice. It will save time and drama for both of us. And Mother would be so relieved.”
Cecily laughed as they headed downstairs, where their mother and the family carriage awaited. They could have easily walked the four blocks to the Higginbotham home, just off Grosvenor Square, but their mother insisted on the carriage. Its size, lacquer finish, and silver appointments spoke of their wealth, as did the family crest on the door. Lady Dorothea Timmons adored making an entrance.
Rose stood a little straighter as they entered the ballroom with her head high, as if she were a fresh new debutante herself, not a spinster who would spend most of the evening sitting against a wall with the other spinsters and chaperones. This euphoria had kept her coming, even though she knew she should have withdrawn from Society by now—as she would as soon as Cecily was settled. As much as Rose still enjoyed the events, it was time for her to stop watching the action from a safe distance, or hovering near the edge of the room, sipping weak lemonade, and pretending not to care whether anyone asked her to dance.
Because, despite her nonchalant words to Cecily, Rose did care. She basked in the thrill of being introduced at the receiving line, the elation of gliding into the room, absorbing the glow of the chandeliers and candelabra, and reveling in the elaborate decorations. And the Higginbotham affair definitely met Rose’s expectations, as Lady Higginbotham clearly aspired to hosting one of the finest events of the season as well as the first. The brightly lit ballroom—a two-tiered affair with chairs and refreshments on the tier where they entered—stretched along the rear of the house. The lower tier held the orchestra and dance floor, and the ceiling soared two stories over their heads, coffered with gold leaf and intricate medallions.
The lady always took extraordinary pride in staging some of the most remarkable décor, and this year she had given in to her love of all things Egyptian. Palm trees lined the walls and clustered in corners along with statues of the various gods. An oversized sphinx dominated a large swath of the upper tier above and behind the orchestra, and a champagne fountain overwhelmed a table nestled between its front paws. The refreshment tables held trays of dates and sliced citrus fruits as well as the usual lemonade, while liveried footmen wandered among the crush of people with silver trays with glasses of ratafia, sherry, and champagne. Incense burned in discreet sconces around the room, and the scent made Rose desperate to sneeze.My word, how I’m going to miss this!
After they passed the receiving line, Rose and Cecily followed their mother as Dorothea approached several clusters of her friends, making sure they knew Cecily was present and available. As men began to wander over with offers to fill her sister’s dance card, Dorothea gave Rose a significant look, then nodded at a row of seats where the chaperones had begun to gather. And the spinsters. Rose obediently headed in that direction. She took her time, though, pausing to pick up a plate of dates and a cup of lemonade, greet a few friends. After ten seasons, she knew most of the people on the floor. Many greeted her politely, but some ignored her entirely. Rose was not surprised or even offended. These events were about courtship, connection, and gossip, and Rose was no longer anyone of consequence.
She also could not stop herself from comparing her out-of-season gown with those around her. This seemed to be the year that plumes gave way to elaborate upsweeps and puff sleeves became fuller and longer. There remained a plethora of bows and flounces, however, and Rose loved seeing—and hearing—the sweep and flow of satins and silks, chiffons and organza, in a brilliant array of whites and creams, reds and oranges, blues and greens. Her emerald gown, despite its style, blended in marvelously.
As the first minuet began, Rose finally reached “Spinster’s Row.” An old friend of hers, Miss Ann Blackburn, welcomed her to the familiar territory as Rose set the now empty plate and cup on a nearby table and adjusted the slipping shoulder of her gown before sitting.
“One more season, eh, Rose?”
“For now. I see you wasted no time in claiming the most comfortable chair.”
“Absolutely. They always give us the most horrid chairs here. This one is not too bad. It’s also low enough that I don’t feel like a child with my legs swinging free.”
Rose grinned. Ann stood a whopping 4-foot, 10-inches, which Ann had always blamed for her lack of dance partners.“After all, what nobleman wants to look as if he’s escorting a child?”Ann had entered Society five years after Rose but had already planned her retirement at the ripe old age of three and twenty, following her brother’s wedding later in the year.
“Are you still heading for Scotland in August? The governess position?”
Ann nodded. “I heard through the servants’ gossip that the mistress was pleased to find an educated young woman who was so unattractive and calm.” At Rose’s annoyed look, Ann shrugged. “You know that governesses should never be attractive to the men in the house, especially the husband. At least I can relate to the children.” She paused, then gave Rose a wicked grin. “So who are our targets tonight?”
