When it came time to leave the park, Rose was reluctant, but she could hardly remain for an indefinite period of time in the hope of finding the dog again. There was no sign of it, and she could only hope it had found a warm and comforting place to stay. Maybe a kind person had taken it into their home and filled its stomach with hearty portions of meat.
However, she could not shake the feeling that it might have limped away to a cold, dark place, curling up in an attempt to stay warm, whimpering helplessly because, for some reason, it could not trust others. She put her head in her hands and quietly wondered why Lydia would ever want to fall in love.
If Rose felt this sad over an animal she had only briefly met, how much more torn would her heart be by the chaos of romantic love? No, it was better and safer to stay away from it entirely. Being alone was the only way to keep herself safe.
And being together with Edmund was dangerous.
She vowed that she would not be charmed by him again, and she would never again let him get too close to her. Whatever theirnext promenade was to be, she would keep as far from him as possible, and he would just have to cope with the distance.
Chapter Eleven
“Thank you, Jenny,” Rose said.
Jenny gave a small nod. “Of course, my lady.” She had just finished helping Rose into her dress and was now brushing Rose’s hair. The strokes were rhythmic and relaxing, and Jenny was adept at working through knots without causing Rose any pain.
She finished brushing Rose’s hair and then gathered it together and tied it with ribbons. Rose had her hands in her lap. She was still unsettled about the fact that she had been unable to find the dog, but tried to put the matter out of her mind as best she could.
She had other things to worry about now, of course, like Edmund.
When the carriage arrived, Jenny accompanied Rose.
“I am sure he’ll meet us there again,” Rose commented as she stepped into the carriage. “At least he let me know where we’re going this time.”
“I wanted to make sure you were dressed appropriately,” he said, wearing an impish grin. He doffed his hat and tilted his head toward her. Rose pressed her lips together and glared at him, annoyed that her prediction had been wrong.
“I hoped I would enjoy some moments of peace before we met today.”
“Why delay the inevitable?” Edmund said. Rose shuffled along the seat, and Jenny followed.
“Good morning, Jenny,” Edmund said. Jenny blushed and smiled before smoothing her skirt beneath her legs. “I do hope you enjoy art. It’s said that the Royal Academy has the finest collection in the world.”
“I fear that Rome may disagree, but that is a matter for others to contest,” Rose replied.
“Alas, I fear the horses do not have enough stamina to take us to Rome,” he said, and at that moment the carriage began to move at a steady rhythm to make the short journey to the Royal Academy.
Rose directed her gaze to the window because she wanted to make a point not to look at Edmund. She could feel the weightof his gaze upon her, though, and this only made her more determined to maintain her discipline.
“How is your hand?” he asked. Her hands were currently covered by thin gloves. He made no move to take them, but she anticipated that one was coming and so drew them closer to her. Then, she felt a little foolish for being scared of such a thing.
“It is feeling much better now, thank you,” she said, daring to meet his gaze since his concern for her seemed sincere. “Actually, I have something for you.”
She nodded to Jenny, who produced the handkerchief, now cleansed of blood.
“I thought you might want it back,” Rose added.
“Oh, marvelous. You did take care of it, just as I asked,” Edmund said, not bothering to examine it for blood. He simply folded it and put it in his pocket. Rose had thought she was being kind, but now she wondered if it was a little foolish to return his handkerchief. Being a duke, he must have had dozens and probably wouldn’t have missed one at all.
They reached the Royal Academy and stepped inside. The rooms were quiet. A solemn silence filled the air. It was punctuated with the soft shuffle of footsteps and the occasional murmured conversation. It might have been a public place, but there was an air of secrecy about it that made it feel clandestine.
Jenny dropped a few paces behind them, while Edmund gestured for Rose to walk beside him.
“I must admit that I have never been one to analyze art too deeply,” he began.
“That shouldn’t surprise me. Lydia has told me about your opinion of books.”
Edmund smirked. “Indeed, indeed. But I wanted to say that my opinion of art is fueled by instinct. I am sure there is a lot to be said about the various techniques an artist deploys, but surely the most important quality is how a painting makes you feel. And that can only be defined by the observer.”
“Perhaps, although I believe it is important to understand the intention of an artist so that we can better interpret the painting in context. Only when we understand something fully can we properly appreciate it.”
