However, the guests seemed to be enjoying the first course more than Rose, as the gentle clink of silver spoons against china mixed with the low hum of conversation.
As the fish course arrived—salmon in a white wine sauce—Rose glanced up to see Honoria staring at her. Probably imagining the day when she would sit where Rose sat now. There was something much like a satisfied cat about the woman.
“Lady Rose,” Baron White said from the other end of the table. “I must commend you on the evening’s arrangements. It is clear you take great care in your role as hostess.”
Rose turned toward him, keeping her expression coolly polite as she placed her hands under the table to hide how they trembled. “Sadly, I’ve had much practice. Evenings such as this remind me of how much I long for my mother’s presence.” She would not let her father force her into marriage with an old, disgusting man, for example.
“A skill that will serve you well in your own household.” Baron White lifted his wineglass in a silent toast to what he clearly saw as an inevitability. “Speaking of which, I’ve been discussing with your father the matter of expediting our union. There seems little point in delaying what is already decided.”
Rose’s fork clattered against her plate. The sound seemed to echo in the sudden silence that fell over their end of the table. “Expediting?”
“Indeed. I see no reason to wait until spring when we could be wed within the fortnight. My estate requires attention, and I’m eager to return with my new bride.” His pale eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “Your father has agreed it would be… practical.”
Lord Wentworth nodded approvingly from his end of the table. “Baron White makes excellent points. No need for excessive ceremony when the matter is settled.”
Rose felt the walls of the dining room closing in around her. Two weeks. The blood rushed from her face so quickly she feared she might faint. “I… that is quite sudden.”
“Here, here,” Honoria said. She wore a ruby red satin dress that was as loud and gaudy as its owner. The gown had a fitted bodice with intricate black lace detailing, and the sleeves draped elegantly off the shoulder, revealing far too much décolletage. Her dark hair was styled in a series of polished curls, pinned with a garnet-studded comb. “If you wait much longer, you’ll be put on the shelf, dear. You really must take care not to become a spinster.”
Violet stiffened beside her and then, to Rose’s surprise, reached for her hand under the table, giving it a slight squeeze.
“I’ve been training for it all since I was eight years old,” Rose said, with a quick glance at her father. “’Twould be a pity for all my obedience to go to waste.”
Lord Wentworth watched her with a bland expression, as if he thought she were harmless. She was. Or perhaps powerless was the better way to describe it.
Baron White chuckled, a sound like grinding stone. “Your obedience will be quite appreciated, my dear. As will your other wifely duties.”
The implication in his tone made Rose’s stomach lurch. She gripped Violet’s hand beneath the table, drawing strength from the girl’s quiet support.
To distract herself from her dark thoughts, she glanced around thetable to see how her matchmaking was playing out.
Jonathan leaned slightly toward Daphne as they spoke quietly to each other. Dressed in a pale blue muslin gown with delicate lace trim at the sleeves and neckline, she looked exquisite. Her red curls, pinned up with tiny silk flowers, bounced slightly as she laughed at something he’d said.
Across the table, Lydia and Edmund also seemed to be enjoying each other’s company. She, too, looked lovely in a sage green gown made of soft, flowing cotton muslin. The sleeves were short, with sheer overlay fabric. Her blond hair was neatly braided and twisted into a bun, with a simple silver comb for decoration.
Arabella was engaged in animated conversation with Mr. Whitby about some philosophical matter, her intelligence clearly impressing the young gentleman.
The second course arrived—a beautifully roasted pheasant, golden and crisp, served alongside honey-glazed carrots and green beans.
Lord Wentworth, ever the composed host, gestured to Colonel Barrington. “You must tell us, Colonel, how fares the regiment? Are the younger officers any better than those of our youth?”
The colonel gave a gruff chuckle, carving neatly into his pheasant. “They are younger, certainly. Whether they are better remains to be seen.”
Honoria arched a brow. “And what, Colonel, would you say marks a true officer?”
The colonel considered for a moment. “Discipline. Resolve. A sense of duty that does not waver.”
Rose found herself thinking of Sebastian’s hands as he’d touched her cheek that morning, the way he’d spoken to her.
Lord Wentworth nodded approvingly at the colonel’s words. “Well said.”
Rose forced herself to focus on her guests, trying to push away thoughts of her rapidly approaching fate. Two weeks. She’d spent theday reeling over Sebastian’s confession about Mr. Hale and the private detective, but now that seemed like her only hope. Would it be enough time?
She shuddered at the thought.
“Are you quite well, Rose?” Violet whispered.
Rose glanced at the girl beside her, touched by her obvious concern. “I’m fine,” Rose whispered back. “Just contemplating my future.”
