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Rosabel’s face was beginning to ache from the effort it took to maintain her politely pleasant expression throughout the rest of the interminable night. She could have pled a headache, but she didn’t want to spoil the night for her sisters. And even the countess seemed to be enjoying her evening spent with her cronies as they sat in a corner gossiping while simultaneously keeping their eyes trained on the goings on of the gatheredton. The only time Bel saw her mother leave her clutch of friends and other matrons was when her father had claimed his wife for a waltz. It was also the only time she had felt her face relax into its first genuine smile that day. After almost twenty-five years of marriage, her parents still enjoyed dancing together. It nearly brought a tear to her eye. But it fully filled her with envy as well as determination to achieve that for herself.
She could not allow Wexford to intimidate her into compromising herself, thus ruining her sisters’ chances as well as her own. She would have to figure out how to fob him off. But her mind was running around in circles. Perhaps, if they could ever leave this wretched ball, she could think it through calmly. Rosabel comforted herself with the thought that she could at least confide in Sally. Her maid had helped her talk through her issues before. Sally would certainly be earning her wages tonight, Rosabel thought with a guilty wince as she realized she would need to keep the other woman up into the wee hours to help her with her thorny problem.
If she were asked, Rosabel didn’t think she would be able to account for who she danced with that night, aside from Wexford, of course. Her mind couldn’t stop circling around the problem of what to do about him. So much so that she only went through the necessary motions for the entire evening. Luckily, those motions were very familiar, and she was reasonably sure no one was the wiser. That was until the family was all finally in the carriage going home.
“You are very quiet tonight, Bel. Are you feeling unwell?”
Rosabel was surprised by her mother’s words. Not that the woman was cold toward her children, but she rarely expressed concern. Lady Sherton expected a certain standard of behaviour from her daughters, and they knew they would hear from her if they didn’t reach it.
“Bel is always quiet,” Hilaria remarked before Rosabel could respond. Bel almost smiled over her sister’s words.
Their mother didn’t offer much of a reply, but Rosabel could feel her watchful gaze.
“Perhaps you ought to stay in bed tomorrow,” the countess finally said when it became apparent that Rosabel wasn’t going to comment.
This finally goaded Bel into speech.
“I’m feeling fine, Mother, I assure you. There is nothing in the least wrong with me.”
It was a bit of a lie, but only in the mental sense. Rosabel was certain she wasn’t ill, merely stressed. But she wasn’t about to explain that to her mother. She added a bit of a smile as she watched her mother examining her.
“I will monitor how I feel and take some time for myself if I should start feeling less than ideal, I promise.”
That must have been the right thing to say, as the countess finally turned to the other girls.
“Hilaria, I noticed you weren’t dancing very much this evening. Why was that? You didn’t refuse someone did you?”
“Hardly, Mother. There weren’t so many applicants for my hand that I found it necessary to decline any.”
Rosabel’s heart hurt for her sister despite that one’s caustic attitude.Had she not been asked to dance?That was most unusual.
Their mother obviously thought so, too. She heaved a heavy sigh.
“I suppose I’ll have to bestir myself at the next ball to introduce you to appropriate partners. I thought you girls would be able to arrange these things for yourselves.”
Rosabel could almost feel her sister’s discomfort filling the carriage. “That probably won’t be necessary,” Hilaria said, turning her head toward the window so her face and expression weren’t visible. Rosabel stared at Hilaria’s profile. Her sister’s reaction was unusual for her temperament of late. Stifling her sigh, she tried to make a mental effort to keep an eye out for her sister. She wasn’t sure how she would do it with her own concerns taking her attention, but surely if she could get Wexford to cease his questions, she could turn her focus to the other matters at hand. Namely, ensuring she and her sisters were wed happily and appropriately.
Fighting a grimace, Rosabel acknowledged that she hadn’t proven to be successful at that. Seeing as this was her third Season, she clearly didn’t know how to accomplish a happy and appropriate wedded state. At least, not for herself. But perhaps if she could manage to arrange successful matches for her sisters, she would be in a better position to find one for herself. Vicky, at least, should be easy, as she hadn’t set an impossibly high standard like Hil had.
If she could stop thinking about Wexford, she should be able to find Vigilia a suitable mate. Of course, then Hilaria would be even more difficult. If she didn’t like that Rosabel was still unmarried, then she would probably find Vicky’s marriage before her to be an offence as well. But that couldn’t be avoided. And since it was more likely to help Rosabel and Hilaria find husbands of their own, Bel wouldn’t allow Hil’s potential dismay to deter her. But first, she needed to deal with the Wexford problem.
Sooner rather than later, it would seem, since he had claimed he would be calling for her in just a few hours. They had remained dancing for so long and he was planning to collect her before the fashionable hour so, she wouldn’t have much time to spend abed. Rosabel could feel her mother’s eyes upon her once more, so she too averted her face. She had become skilled at hiding her feelings, but Bel had the notion that one could hide nothing from one’s mother.
Rosabel’s feet were aching, and she heaved a relieved sigh as she slumped against the door as soon as it closed behind her.
“Oy, my lady, seems to me you didn’t have the best night. Was Lady Sherton’s supper not to your liking? You still look as pretty as a picture, so I know it can’t be your appearance that’s got you down.”
Rosabel smiled at her maid’s words.
“You’re quite right, Sally, I did not have the best night. And no, it had nothing to do with my appearance, nor Grandmother’s supper. In fact, the supper was delicious. I think my sisters enjoyed the company more than I did, but it was fine enough.”
“So, what seems to be the problem, then?”
By now, Bel had come away from the door and Sally was helping her out of her gown. Once she was in just her chemise and other underthings, she flung herself across her bed.
“Wexford is demanding to know what I know about Prescott.”
The gasp from Sally somewhat mollified Rosabel’s lacerated nerves. At least someone understood the difficult position she was in.
