Oh, she did not care that he was dull Mr. Harris. She did not care at all. She would be going to the ball, and she would be carrying a gentleman’s favor. She must reply. But what would she say?
And what time was it? She was going to keep Lady Copeland waiting if she did not hurry. She folded the letter carefully and laid it inside her jewelry case. Then she lifted her brush again and pulled it ruthlessly through her hair.
Her golden hair. Golden rose. She smiled at her reflection.
Roger did not stay long in the Pump Room the following morning. Jasper, he was pleased to discover, was hiding away in his usual corner and extracted a crumpled note from about his person when asked for it. He held firmly to it, though, until Roger had paid him another half-sovereign.
“It’s a good thing I don’t intend to set up a clandestine correspondence with the lady,” Roger said. “I would be a beggar in no time. Have you been paid double, Jasper? Did Mrs. Langtree pay you too?”
“No,” Jasper said.
“Did she know you?” Roger asked. He hoped so, as he had no intention of allowing the lady to remain in the dark about his identity.
“Don’t know,” Jasper said.
“A word of advice, Jas,” Roger said. “Go home and back to bed, and when you get up later, get out on the other side of the bed.”
He missed Jasper’s smile of glee as he turned away. Roger strolled out into the Pump Yard and wandered toward the abbey. The game was progressing well, but he did not want to approach Eugenia Langtree until he had read her letter. He lifted it to his nose. Surprisingly, it was not perfumed. He had expected it to be. The paper was not sealed. He opened it and looked down at it. She had a small, neat hand—another surprise.
Dear Sir,
I was honored to receive your letter yesterday and will be even more honored to be your valentine at the ball next week and to carry your rose. I shall look forward eagerly to the occasion.
Golden Rose
Roger chuckled as he folded it again. What a strange, formal little note for the woman to write. Mrs. Langtree honored? And eager? The words did not quite ring true.
Of course, she had probably had a dozen such notes and was being cautious until she had somehow worked out in her mind just which had come from whom. It was time to enlighten her—without breaking any rules, of course. He reentered the Pump Room.
She was surrounded by her usual court. But this morning she went so far as to present him with a languid hand, which he raised to his lips.
“Bath becomes tedious, Mr. Bradshaw,” she said. “Will this ball liven our spirits, do you suppose?”
“I imagine it will be all we hope it will be, ma’am,” he said, looking very directly into her eyes. He reached out a hand and touched briefly with one finger the pendant on its chain about her neck. “A distinctive work of art,” he said, looking back up into her eyes. “A gold rose. You wear it always, ma’am?”
Something flickered in her eyes. “It is a pity it cannot be red, is it not?” she said. “But the goldsmith’s art does not extend to any other color.”
“But how could one improve on gold?” he said. “It is an exquisite rose, whatever the color.”
She smiled at him. He bowed and turned away. And saw Emily Richmond at the other side of the room, standing beside his aunt.
Ah, she wore dark green today. It suited her, though as usual the outfit was not in the height of fashion. Not that she needed to be in fashion. She would look quite exquisite in a sack. He looked at her with even more regret than he had felt two evenings before as he approached her. For although she was a virtuous woman, she was not a mute and a dull one as he had first thought. There was a sweetness and a brightness hidden only just beyond the surface of her demure manner.
He had seen it the day before when they had taken tea with Jasper. She had laughed and been genuinely amused at both Jasper’s stories and his own. He would have expected her to be disapproving. Of course, she had also made that comment the night before about Jasper having committed the unpardonable sin of getting caught in his misdeed. The stories she had told of her own family had been ones of mischief. And her face had been full of fun and animation—until that ass Jasper had spoiled it all by drawing attention to the cake crumb on her chin. He had been enjoying the mental image of himself leaning forward to kiss it off.
“Good morning, Aunty,” he said as he came up to them, raising a careless hand to indicate that he did not wish to interrupt her conversation with two ladies. “Good morning, Miss Richmond.”
“Good morning,” she said.
But she was her prim and demure self again, despite the becoming green outfit. He took his leave of her after just a couple of minutes.
Sweet little Emmy. It was a shame that circumstances had forced her away from her family. Some fortunate man should marry her one of these days and start giving her children of her own. He surprised himself with the stab of jealousy he felt for the unknown man.
Emily was out shopping two days later with her employer when, as often happened, Lady Copeland met some acquaintances and was borne off to take tea with them. Since they already had several parcels to carry, Emily was excused and left to return home alone.
She really did not mind, even though she had five parcels to stumble along with, two of them quite bulky. For one thing, one of the parcels was hers. When Lady Copeland had heard that she had received a valentine, she had insisted on buying Emily a domino and mask for the ball.
“There is no question at all of hiding one’s identity, of course,” she had said. “That is not the point of masked balls. The point is to look mysterious. What color would you like, dear?”
