Rose peered over the edge of the gallery and onto the dance floor below. Violet spun about the room in a quadrille, her petite form twirling as she smiled cautiously at her partner. “I don’t think she would.”
“Then we simply postpone things. I’ll keep an ear out for any gossip that emerges, and if it happens, we can reconsider the engagement.”
Warmth spread through her chest. Perhaps someone was choosing her after all. “You’d really do that for me?”
Timothy chuffed her chin. “Of course, darling.” They watched the dancers swirling below them for a few moments longer. “Well,” he said, “I won’t get to toast you as my bride at the end of the night, but may I at least claim one dance with you?”
Rose gave a tremulous grin; how had she been fortunate enough to have friends who loved her so dearly? “I’d be delighted.”
The night had always passed in a blur whenever Rose attended a ball, as though her enjoyment caused time to disobey natural laws and skip ahead, cruelly denying her more pleasure. But tonight, despite feeling lighter with Timothy’s assurances and a plan for her future, she felt like her costume was tearing away and revealing her true identity. When the giant clock in the front hallway chimed the hour of two, she wished to be Cinderella, waiting to be exposed for who she truly was, a girl who belonged somewhere else with an entirely different life.
Unfortunately, that life did not have a place for her.
Rose lifted her chin and shook off the thought. She’d made a place for herself among the suffragists in New York; with the confidence and skills she had gained, surely she could do it again in London. The work would connect them, even from afar. Perhaps she could write, share ideas. Maybe someday she would visit New York again.
Violet approached and slid her arm around her sister’s waist. “I thought I was going to be welcoming a new brother-in-law tonight. What happened?”
Rose bit her lower lip and gave her sister a sad smile. “We’re waiting for a bit. I’m going to move to London, see if I can be of use in the suffrage movement there.”
Rose was not surprised to find her cautious sister eyeing her warily. “What will Mama and Papa say?”
“I think I will cause less trouble if I’m out of the eye of thetonfor a bit. I wouldn’t want to cast any aspersions on you.”
Violet’s brown eyes softened. “Ensuring my happiness is not your responsibility, Rose.”
“But without a season, you can’t marry, and Papa—”
“Uncle Edmund is funding my season.”
Rose’s mouth gaped. “Why?” she bleated.
“Apparently, he has reconciled with Abby. I was unaware there was a rift between them. Papa said she has not been living at home, but shortly after you left, she reached out to him.” She took Rose’s hands and squeezed them. “We’re not wealthy by any means, but he has bought us time. We’ll find a way. As will you.”
Timothy approached and twisted his face into a mock distressed expression, pressing a fist to his chest and twisting as though pulling a knife from his heart.
“I hear you are still unattached,” Violet said with a smirk.
“Alas, yes.” He sidled between the women and sighed.
“Was your mother terribly cross with me?”
“You? Never. She adores you. The dowager swore she would never forgiveme, but I expect the vow will expire sometime tomorrow when she requires a partner for backgammon.”
Timothy’s gaze caught something behind her, and Rose turned to see a liveried footman who appeared strung tight as a bow. “Yes?” Timothy asked.
The footman approached and spoke in a rush, too agitated to keep his voice low. “A man has arrived just now for the ball, but he…” The footman winced. “I don’t believe he is on your list. I told him to leave, but he insisted on speaking to you tonight. I asked him to wait in the gardens. Shall I have him escorted from the property?”
Timothy shook his head. “Did he give his name?”
“Yes, my lord. A Mr. Benjamin North.”
The parquet floor beneath Rose’s feet disappeared, and she was weightless, the terrifying sensation of having absolutely nothing to anchor her, nothing to suggest this wasn’t a dream. Except perhaps the ache in her toes from wearing heeled slippers for the first time in weeks, and the slight headache from lack of sleep and champagne.
“Rose…” Timothy’s voice pulled her back, grounded her, and she realized she was clutching his forearm as the footman stared at her in thinly veiled alarm.
“Ben,” she stammered. “Ben, he’s here?”
Timothy threw back his head and cackled. “The fates are smiling on you, dear girl.”
