“Good morning, my dear.” His tone was measured, cold. When he finally looked up, his thin-lipped smile conveyed nothing but disinterest. His sharp features and ice-blue eyes had always reminded her of a predator evaluating prey.
Had her mother loved him? Or had she merely endured him?
“I’ll be meeting with Mrs. Blythe this morning about the house party. Is there anything in particular you wish me to do?” Rose settled into her chair.
“Excellent. You have much to prepare for. I’ve asked her to include Baron White as our special guest.” He folded his newspaper with crisp precision. “I trust you’ll make a better impression this time. I have high hopes for your marriage.”
Rose’s fork stilled halfway to her mouth. So it was to be stated as fact, not discussed. “May I know who else will be attending?”
“Mrs. Blythe has the complete list. I’ve included your friend, Lady Daphne.” His tone suggested he’d granted her an enormous favor.
At least there was that. Daphne would be a comfort, and perhaps her shy friend might finally find someone who could see past hernervousness to her wit and kindness.
“You’re also to plan the theme for the masquerade ball,” her father said. “I expect it to be the finest of the summer.”
“The ball? We’re having a ball?” She stared at him, flabbergasted. They had not had a ball since her mother’s death.
He nodded, as if he’d included her in his plans all along. “Your mother excelled at such things. The last ball we held was her celestial theme—a thousand stars, she called it. She had the ballroom ceiling painted like the night sky.”
Rose leaned forward, hungry for any detail about her mother. “She loved the stars?”
For a split second, what could be regret flickered across his face before he said, “She did. She wore silver that night, like starlight herself.” His voice softened, then hardened again. “By midnight, she was dead.”
By midnight, she was dead and Rose was left without a mother. Rose remembered sneaking from the nursery that night, watching her mother glide down the hallway in that shimmering gown, beautiful as an angel.
“Why are we having the ball again now?” she asked quietly.
“Honoria wishes me to announce our engagement sooner rather than later. She has grown rather impatient.” He picked up his coffee cup, his movements precise and controlled. “It is time I remarried.”
“I see.” Rose forced herself to keep eating, though the berries now tasted like ash. “And when is this to happen?”
“Our engagement will be announced at the ball. As will yours.”
Rose’s cup rattled against its saucer as she set it down. “Mine?”
“Baron White has asked for your hand. I’ve accepted.” Her father’s blue eyes were as cold as the winter sky. “You’ll be married within the month after that.”
The room seemed to tilt. Rose gripped the edge of the table, her carefully constructed composure cracking. “You’ve already accepted?Without speaking to me?” This was even worse than she’d anticipated.
“Dearest, you had two Seasons to secure a better match and failed. Baron White is willing to overlook… certain circumstances. It’s more than generous, considering.”
“Considering what?” The words came out sharper than she intended. “What circumstances?”
He gave her a withering look. “Considering how awkward you are. As much as it pains me to say it, you embarrassed me. Seeing how you faltered and stumbled brought shame to our reputation. I would have thought you to have more charm and wit, given the education provided you. Alas, it is not so. Instead, you made a fool of yourself at every turn.”
She flushed with shame. It was true. Her dance card had remained empty. She had sat with the other wallflowers at every ball. There was no other explanation. She was undesirable to men, despite her healthy dowry. There was no worse failure for a young woman of her class. If only she could understand what she was doing wrong. Or was she so unattractive that men would pass her over, even though her father was rich?
“Your choices are clearly lacking. Perhaps Baron White does not seem the right choice, but in time, you’ll grow to care for him. He will look after you, Rose. Which will give me peace of mind.”
And Honoria in his bed.
She kept that thought to herself.
“Baron White arrives in three days for the house party. You’ll be the perfect hostess, and by the time he leaves, the engagement will be settled.”
Rose stood slowly, her breakfast barely touched. “If you’ll excuse me, Father, I believe I’ll walk in the gardens. The roses are particularly lovely this time of year.”
“Those damned roses,” Lord Wentworth muttered under his breath. “Always the roses.”
