This brought another wave of crimson to her cheeks. Felix took pity. He draped the towel over his shoulders and inclined his head. “Come. There’s a sitting room beyond. It’s quieter.”
He led her through the crowd of stunned clubmen. Once inside the smaller room—booklined, wood-paneled, and mercifully cool—Felix closed the door and found the nearest decanter. He poured her a glass of sherry and, for himself, a healthy finger of whiskey.
She looked at the sherry as if it might contain gunpowder. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“You did, but I forgive you. Trentham has been insufferable all week. I relished the reprieve.” He sipped his whiskey and watched her over the rim.
She fussed with her gloves. “You’re bleeding.”
He glanced in the gilt mirror above the mantel and shrugged. “Scalp wounds bleed more than they ought. Are you squeamish?”
“No.”
He caught the lie for what it was. He crossed to her, leaning against the window seat. “Now, what did you wish to say?”
She hesitated. “I talked with my mother.”
He gave her his full attention. “And?”
“She suggests we hold a christening for Lizzie.” Rose said the words in a rush. “As soon as possible. To solidify her place. To put to rest any rumors before they start.”
Felix’s first reaction was a laugh. The second was an uncomfortable prickle at the base of his spine. “Your mother is a strategist. I’ll give her that.”
She blinked. “You don’t think it’s wise?”
“I think it is… ambitious. It will be the talk of the town. And it will invite every wagging tongue in London into our business.”
“Then it’s a bad idea.” She looked stricken.
Felix set his glass down. “No. It’s an excellent idea. We should do it. It will put the question to bed and make our arrangement seem more permanent. After a public christening in the hall’s own chapel, no one can deny her. Even Lady Rutledge will have to curtsy when she sees you in the park.” He reached out and tugged the edge of Rose’s sleeve. “You worry too much about the world. Let them worry about you for once.”
She looked up at him. “I don’t like being the center of attention,” she said.
“You’ll have to get used to that as well. It’s the only way forward.”
She considered this, then nodded. “Very well. I’ll begin with the invitations. You will come, of course?”
He laughed outright. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
They stood in silence for a moment, the kind that vibrated between possible futures. Felix considered, briefly, how easy it would be to kiss her at once—she smelled of roses and starch and some indescribable sweetness, and for all her iron, she was softer than anyone guessed.
Instead, he poured them both a second round and lifted his glass. “To Lizzie,” he said.
She clinked hers against his, her lips twisting into something dangerously close to a smile. “To Lizzie.”
Felix downed his whiskey, then reached for the bellpull. “We’ll need to buy you a proper dress for the ceremony. And one for Lizzie, as well. It is a joyous occasion, after all.”
She almost objected, but he saw the glimmer in her eyes.
“You don’t have to,” she said; a token effort.
He waved it off. “I insist. If there is to be gossip, let it be about your wardrobe, not your resolve.”
She surrendered with an exhale. “You’re impossible.”
“Frequently. That’s why it works.”
Felix’s eyes flashed when he thought of Rose in a gown, tailored to fit her perfectly.
