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Chapter Eight
Rosabel truly tried not to be conceited, but she was more than certain of her own appeal. She had been cosseted and admired since she’d made her debut three Seasons ago. It was hard to believe that was just a little over two years in the past. It felt like a lifetime. She had thought it would be so easy to find the love of her life. Or rather, she had expected him to find her. Clearly, the fairy tales their nanny had read to them had been highly misleading.
But in all that time, she had never witnessed a gentleman calling while they were at home who did not even glance in her direction. In fact, the gentlemen were usually falling over themselves to be presented to her. It made for the occasional awkward experience, to be sure. But Rosabel had never been in a position to experience the sensation that was currently assaulting her. She was quite certain it was pique. Perhaps even envy. The Duke of Wexford had called and only spoke with her mother and her little sister. She didn’t think he had even glanced at her.
There were several people vying for her attention right at that very moment, but Rosabel couldn’t even hear them, despite them being uncomfortably close. All she could process was the fact that Wexford had come and ignored her. That had never happened to her before. It was enough to stir anger in even the most understanding of hearts, she was sure. But she was uncomfortably aware that hers was not the most understanding. Not by a long distance.
In an effort to shake off the unusual feelings, Bel blinked and smiled at the men and women surrounding her. Thankfully, no one had seemed to notice that she had mentally left the conversation temporarily. The buzz of conversation swirled around her, and she slowly took a deep breath, allowing the anger to dissipate, at least enough for her to get through the rest of their visits. She was able to smile and nod in all the appropriate places, adding enough to the conversation that no one remarked upon her lack of attention, but all the while, in the back of her mind, thoughts of Wexford buzzed like a pesky bug that wouldn’t be swatted away.
She took particular care with her toilette that evening, nearly driving her maid to tears. Guilt ate at her, but so did her angry confusion with Wexford. Vicky had related the entirety of the conversation with the duke after all the guests had finally left. Hilaria had been typically perplexed and annoyed that Wexford had once again paid attention to one of her sisters rather than her, but Vicky had been quite clear about his request for them to entertain his sister. Of course, they had all agreed and been distracted with discussing various ideas for possible excursions with the girl. But as Rosabel chose her gown she couldn’t ignore the thought that Wexford had asked where they would be that evening. Vicky hadn’t thought anything of it, but Bel was certain the man never spoke without intention.
“I do apologize, Sally, I know my dithering has been frustrating for you, and I cannot even explain my behaviour.”
“No need to explain, my lady. I already know the reason.”
Rosabel stared at her maid’s reflection as the servant’s skilled fingers twisted her hair into a complicated design.
“How could you possibly know when I do not?”
“Phillips was full of importance when he was explaining to everyone that Wexford came around for the second day in a row. Who wouldn’t be atwitter after that?”
“But he didn’t come to see me.” Bel tried to keep her tone light, but even she could hear the plaintive note, which frustrated her further. She didn’t want to be interested in him. “He only spoke with Mother and Vicky.”
“All the more reason to be a little stirred up this evening, wouldn’t you say?”
Finally, Rosabel laughed. She was being ridiculous. Even the servants knew she was being ridiculous. They were just too kind to say so.
“Thank you, Sally, you’ve worked wonders as usual.”
“You’re right beautiful, my lady. If anyone ever thinks otherwise, they would have to be blind.”
Bel smiled at her maid, grateful for the other woman’s loyalty, but she knew that beauty was only skin deep. Wexford was obviously not swayed by a pretty face or form. And she didn’t want to sway him, she reminded herself. Imagining being a duchess caused her stomach to plummet.Keep your focus on finding a pleasant mister to love. Perhaps a baron. Most definitely no higher than a viscount.
With one last critical glance into the mirror, Rosabel accepted that she was ready for the evening and stepped back from the dressing table. Sally had placed sufficient pins in her hair that it wouldn’t move in the slightest until they were removed much later that night. As long as she didn’t spill anything at supper with Grandmother Sherton, she would do nicely for the entire night, including the ball to follow. She wouldn’t see the inside of her room for several hours and felt as though she had donned her armour for the night ahead.
Once she reached the foyer, everything passed in a blur. The younger girls had arrived just ahead of her, both eager in each their own ways for the coming entertainments. Vicky was nearly bouncing with her excitement. Hilaria was, of course, much more subdued in her displays, but Bel knew her sister to be eager to depart, as she didn’t complain even once as the carriage made its way to Lady Sherton’s townhouse.
Rosabel sternly bade herself to remain in the moment, as her mind was eager to drift to speculations about the ball. Should she seek out Wexford? Should she ignore him if he were to seek her out?Forget it, she mentally hissed to herself while offering a slight, polite smile to Lord Seely, the viscount from the Leicester region that all the debutantes were cooing about. Grandmother had seated her beside him. Rosabel had always suspected the old bird was a secret matchmaker. But she was going to be disappointed in her efforts, Rosabel was afraid.
While the nobleman was pleasant to look at, he was a wee bit too aware of that fact. It was most disappointing. Rosabel had heard it mentioned that they would make an exceptionally handsome pair, but while she didn’t obsess over her own good looks, Lord Seely wasn’t so restrained. If one did not remark upon it, he would do it for you. Rosabel found that amusing on occasion, but she didn’t think the man would be a comfortable companion for life. Bel was afraid his good looks wouldn’t last, and she couldn’t imagine what a boor he would become then. She didn’t care so much about the appearance of her potential mate, although she would appreciate that he not be an eyesore, but she didn’t think the too pretty Viscount Seely was for her.
All that being said, though, she could still appreciate being his dinner companion for the evening. Once he got past his oratory on his attire and the pains he had taken with his valet, he was more interesting. Bel enjoyed his tales about his sessions in the House of Lords as well as his complaints about his encroaching relatives and incompetent servants. The way he told the stories was always amusing. It was as though the man lived to entertain. If he hadn’t been born into the peerage, the man would have succeeded on the stage.
By the midpoint of the dinner, Bel was having trouble sitting still.
It was Lord Seely’s fault. Or perhaps it was just Rosabel’s newfound concern for the feelings of others. But that evening, Lord Seely’s wit was more cutting than usual. And he didn’t keep his remarks to just his own affairs.
“I say,” he began in his voice that was clearly for the benefit of others. “Have you heard about the skirmish in the House between Lords Heatherington and Prescott and the Duke of Wexford?” The sly glances thrown her way let Bel know this particular conversational gambit was for her edification. She didn’t appreciate it in the least.
“I haven’t heard anything about it,” she murmured, hoping to turn the subject.
“That surprises me. I thought you were particular friends with several of the parties involved.”
Rosabel had had her fill of the overconfident young viscount. She lifted her chin and fought the urge to slap the young man’s face. It wasn’t his fault he listened to gossip.
“Perhaps you have been misinformed. But I’m pleased to hear that you’re taking your duties toward the government so seriously. Thank you for your work. I see, though, that her ladyship is preparing to leave, so I shall leave you to enjoy your port.”
Filled with relief, Rosabel got to her feet to follow her grandmother and the other ladies from the room to leave the gentlemen to their port. It was a quaint custom, in Bel’s opinion. She had no desire to share the port herself, and she enjoyed the quiet conversation amongst the ladies while they sipped tea and awaited the gentlemen. On this night, since Grandmother’s invitation had not included anything beyond the meal, talk surrounded the entertainments everyone was pursuing afterward. They would see some of their fellow guests at Rose Park while others were going to the theatre, and still others were attending a rout or another ball. Bel found it amusing that no one planned a quiet evening at home. She supposed that was not a part of the Season. It was a good thing it didn’t last terribly long or they’d all be burnt to the socket.
