The rose must come.
She spun around to face the door when there was a light knock, and schooled her voice to calmness as she called to whoever was on the other side of it to come in. Jasper’s head appeared.
“Are you decent, Em?” he asked. “I’ve got something for you.”
She felt her whole body sag with relief. “What is it?” she asked.
He whisked his hand from behind his back and held out a long white box to her. “This,” he said, “from a certain gentleman who wishes to remain anonymous.” He grinned cheekily.
“Oh,” she said, “already? It is only early afternoon yet.”
“See you later, Em,” Jasper said. “I have to go and hide. Grandmama has this strange notion that my hair needs cutting.” He was gone.
Emily scarcely noticed his leaving. She opened the box with trembling fingers. Oh, it was exquisite. Quite exquisite. One large golden bud nestled among dark green leaves. She lifted it almost reverently from the box, thinking to take it to the washstand and stand it in the water jug until the evening. But she paused. There was a card in the box.
That large, bold handwriting again:
My fair golden rose,
Wear this for me at the ball if you have a care for my happiness. I anticipate a night to outdo all other nights.
She smiled and held the card to her heart. Oh, it was so very romantic. Surely the man must have depths of feeling that she had not seen on casual acquaintance. Surely tonight and in the coming days he would reveal that hidden side of himself and she would feel with him what she felt now merely holding his rose in one hand and his card in the other.
She continued to hold the card after she had put the rose in water. If only, she thought, wandering to the window and gazing sightlessly out on the sweeping circle of tall houses surrounding the central garden of the Circus. If only it could have been from someone else. And if only that someone else could have been a different kind of man. And if only she could have been someone of more social significance, not just a lady’s companion.
How silly she was to have fallen in love with him, to have come to live for those almost-daily and all-too-brief sights of him. How very foolish and rustic of her. For if she had only had a little more experience of town and society, surely she would not have done something quite so naive as to fall in love with a libertine.
But no matter, she thought with a sigh, turning to prop the card on the table beside her bed. At least she was acting with good sense even if her heart was going its own foolish way.
Golden Rose. She must concentrate on that. She was going to be Mr. Harris’ golden rose that evening. And now it was certain. She did not have to feel any more anxiety. His rose had arrived and was even now standing in water on her washstand.
Emily twirled into a sudden pirouette on the carpet and then laughed self-consciously at herself, just as if she had an audience.
Lady Copeland was always a punctual person. She and Emily were almost the first to arrive in the ballroom at the Upper Assembly Rooms. Emily felt fit to bursting with suppressed excitement. She was wearing her dark blue domino over her gold-colored evening gown, and the matching blue mask. Lady Copeland’s maid had styled her hair, piling it high on her head and allowing curls to trail along her neck and over her temples.
The rosebud, now just beginning to open, had been threaded into her hair. There had been a discussion in the downstairs salon about what she should do with it. It would be too awkward to carry it, since there was to be dancing. When pinned to her domino, at Lady Copeland’s suggestion, it weighted down the fabric. Everyone had a good laugh at Jasper’s suggestion that she carry its stem between her teeth. Finally it was decided that she would wear it in her hair.
She felt pretty for the first time in a long while. For four years, since she was sixteen, she had been much admired at home. And there had been those two marriage proposals. But somehow when one became a lady’s companion, at least in Bath, one became virtually invisible. She had not once felt pretty until this evening.
There was very little danger of being a wallflower at one of the Bath assemblies. The Master of Ceremonies was meticulous about his job of finding partners for all the young ladies. So Emily danced with Julius Caesar and with a Cavalier and a Viking warrior.
She noticed Mr. Harris’ arrival—he was not dressed in any costume—and looked eagerly across the ballroom toward him. But he did not immediately approach either her or Lady Copeland. There was no hurry, though. The gentlemen were not to reclaim their favors or unmask their ladies until much later in the evening.
In the meantime it was entertaining to look around at the other ladies to see what favors they had about them. Some were obvious—lace handkerchiefs, peacock fans, posies of flowers. Others perhaps wore earrings or brooches or necklaces sent by their valentines.
Mrs. Langtree carried a single long-stemmed red rose in her hand. It looked too perfect to be real. Emily had not been close enough to see if it was. But she felt a dreadful stab of jealousy, especially when Mr. Bradshaw arrived.
He was quite unmistakable, dressed all in black—long black domino with black knee breeches and waistcoat beneath, black mask, the only relief the white lace over his hands and his white stockings. He was standing in the doorway looking about him when Emily noticed him, tall and slim and broad-shouldered. He looked long and intently at Mrs. Langtree.
Emily felt a terrible sense of desolation and gave herself a mental shake. This was one of the most exciting evenings of her life, and she was not going to spoil it by sighing for a man she should have been looking on in scorn. She was Mr. Harris’ golden rose and wore his favor in her hair. She had his letter and his card to prove that he cared for her, even if only for this evening. She must be happy with what she had and not dream of the impossible.
She smiled brightly when Mr. Harris bowed before her and Lady Copeland, asked her if he might dance the next set with her, and proceeded to converse with her employer until the set began to form.
He looked at her appreciatively as they began to dance. “May I compliment you on your looks, Miss Richmond?” he said. “You are all blue and gold.”
“Thank you,” she said, looking into his eyes and watching them stray to the rose.
“The flower is lovely,” he said, “but quite outshone by your hair.”
