As her second day at Alcott Hall unfolded, Rosalie found herself falling into a sort of rhythm with the other house guests. After a few quiet words and smiles, Lady Madeline was warming to her. The Swindon sisters hadn’t quite forgiven her for receiving a book from Lieutenant Renley…and she avoided Lady Olivia and her mother at all costs.
The only other young lady in attendance was Blanche Oswald. From what Rosalie had gathered, her father Sir Andrew only recently received his knighthood. While some in society might look down their noses at a tradesman, Rosalie appreciated the ability of a man who could rise based on the merit of his work, rather than the polish of his family name.
Rosalie wanted desperately to like Blanche for it too…but she couldn’t. Blanche was, if possible, even sillier than Mariah. The party was terrible short of men, so when Rosalie found herself seated between the girls at dinner, she wanted to choke on the bones of her guinea fowl and expire right there at the table. Anything to avoid engaging in one more debate about quartered versus capped sleeves.
By the time dinner ended, a headache throbbed just behind her eyes. The ladies left the gentlemen to their port and made their way over to the drawing room. Rosalie slipped away from the others, seeking the blessedly awkward silence of Madeline, who sat in the far corner of the room.
“May I join you?”
The girl jumped slightly at being addressed but nodded and scooted over to the far end of the small sofa.
Rosalie didn’t know why her first impulse to pity the girl still held true. Madeline was a viscount’s daughter. But there was something sweet about the girl. It made Rosalie feel protective. She reminded Rosalie of a rabbit, all quivering nose and blinking eyes. Rosalie couldn’t imagine a worse match for George Corbin.
“How do you like Alcott?” Rosalie said, taking the small glass of sherry offered to her by a passing footman.
Madeline declined hers with a shake of her head. “I find it’s all rather grand,” she replied as soon as the footman was safely out of earshot.
Rosalie smiled. “My aunt and I have a small flat in Town. Our drawing room is the size of an Alcott water closet.” She took a sip of her sweet sherry, grasping for a topic of conversation more appropriate than water closets. She ought to ask at least one more question so as not to appear rude. “Do you have any hobbies, Lady Madeline?”
“Violin,” the girl murmured. “And I sew…and draw.”
Rosalie sat forward. At last, a topic worth discussing! “I sketch too. What do you like to draw?”
Madeline blushed. “Flowers and landscapes and…sometimes animals.”
“Did you bring your sketchbook?”
Madeline nodded.
“We should sketch together one morning,” Rosalie offered.
Before Madeline could reply, the drawing room door opened, and the men entered to coos of welcome. His Grace and Lord James were the first through, followed by Sir Andrew. Burke and Lieutenant Renley brought up the rear. It felt strange to call him ‘Burke,’ even in her own head. Rosalie pushed past the awkwardness as he caught her eye, dragging the lieutenant behind him.
She realized with a start that Burke had set Madeline as their target for the evening. The protective feelings the girl stirred in her began to boil over. Shamelessly flirting with the lieutenant in front of Madeline was bound to go disastrously wrong. Madeline was no such game player. She wouldn’t recognize Rosalie’s flirtations as a call to battle. Instead, she’d move into immediate retreat, white flag billowing behind her.
Another dangerous thought crept in: Rosalie didn’t want to watch the lieutenant fall for Madeline. She swallowed that thought and the accompanying jealousy deep down into the pit of her stomach. This was the game she’d agreed to play. She didn’t seek him for herself, so she couldn’t bat an eye when he pursued another. The last thing she wanted to become was a modern-day Circe, luring this charming Odysseus into her arms, only to see all his hopes dashed upon the rocks of her unsuitable shores.
“And what makes you smile, Miss Harrow?” Burke said, coming to stand at her side.
Her smile widened as she took in his broad shoulders, cut so fine in that black evening coat. If she was the Lieutenant’s Circe, Burke was hers. “A lady cannot be expected to reveal all her secrets,” she said, taking another sip of her sherry. She turned her attention to Lieutenant Renley. “Lieutenant, have you met Lady Madeline?”
“Aye,” he said with a tip of his head. “We met yesterday.”
The gentlemen sat in the empty chairs to either side of the sofa, Burke nearest to Rosalie. Across the room, the young ladies howled with laughter as the duke said something funny involving vigorous hand motions. Lord James stood beside him, hand clenched around his glass of port. Rosalie had so far struggled to puzzle the man out. By all accounts, he was quite possibly the most amiable man here. He was the wealthy son and brother of a duke, a viscount in his own right, handsome and clever, and somehow still unmarried.
And yet, none of the ladies seemed to be flirting with him in the same way they did the duke, or even Lieutenant Renley. He was always holding himself apart. Even now, he stood amidst a group of people, yet no one sought out his smiles or shared laugh. He was as much above them as he was invisible to their eyes.
Rosalie suddenly had an urge to know him better, to learn why he felt he must keep his walls so high. For if Burke was a man walking through life in armor, Lord James was a fortress with thick stone walls. A handsome knight and his imposing castle. They were made for each other. Where did the lieutenant fit into this fairytale?
Her thoughts were distracted by Burke, who watched her with open curiosity, those grey eyes focused on her. “What do the two of you discuss so quietly here in the corner?”
“We were just comparing our many accomplishments,” Rosalie replied. In her musings on Lord James, she’d settled on a plan of action for Madeline too. Making her jealous was a fool’s errand. Rosalie’s time would be much better spent showing the lieutenant her merits. Rosalie’s very presence near him was enough to earn the jealously of the others. To test her theory, she leaned closer and smiled, casting an eye over Burke’s shoulder. Both Blanche and Elizabeth gave her disapproving looks.
What was the saying? Two birds, one stone.
She spoke directly to the lieutenant. “Lady Madeline is a veritable virtuoso on the violin, and she can sew and draw.” Madeline shot her a look of horror at being called a ‘virtuoso,’ which Rosalie ignored. “We were just making plans to do some sketching. Alcott’s grounds are spectacular. I believe you were often here as a boy, Lieutenant. Perhaps you can recommend some locations for the best views?”
He considered for a moment. “I’d never claim to have an artist’s eye, but Finchley Hill provides a nice view of the house with the river foregrounded. And perhaps the view from the far side of the lake. But Burke would know better than I.”
Burke crossed one leg as he leaned back in his chair. “My favorite view has always been from the roof,” he said. “You get no pretty views of the house to sketch, but the countryside seen an hour before sunset from that vantage point is nothing short of heavenly.”
Rosalie envied him his sense of belonging. She’d never felt at home anywhere.
“Do you do portraits, Lady Madeline?” Burke asked.
“Only of animals, sir,” Madeline replied.
Burke’s eyes took on a teasing glint. “Well, we shall have to snoop about the stables for a stray cat for Renley to hold. Then you may sketch them both.”
Rosalie hid her smile by taking a sip of her sherry. She dared to look at the lieutenant, which was a mistake. He too was trying to hide a laugh. She was relieved to see it. Those blue eyes caught and held hers. She narrowed hers in challenge. “Don’t tease her, Mr. Burke,” she said. “If Lady Madeline prefers only scenes of nature, we shall oblige her. I’m sure if the Lieutenant requires a portrait of himself to gaze at in wonder, one of the Swindon sisters would be vastly happy to serve as the artiste.”
Both men barked out a laugh.
“Shall I arrange it, Tom?”
“I have not now, nor do I ever intend to sit for a portrait,” Lieutenant Renley replied.
“You lie,” Burke said. “Why, you used to let Marianne sketch you by the hour—”
The mood between the men shifted so fast, Rosalie was left blinking in surprise. All Burke’s joviality was quite dissipated by his friend’s waring glare.
“Sorry,” Burke murmured.
“Leave it be.”
Burke turned to Lady Madeline. “So…when should you like for us to arrange your sketching party?”
Rosalie tried to listen as the other three made plans for a morning of sketching by the lake’s edge. She was too distracted to do more than nod and smile.
That odd exchange made her desperate to learn the identity of the mysterious ‘Marianne’ who so clearly haunted the lieutenant. All his melancholy moods and terrible attempts at flirting now made sense. He wasn’t determined to seek out a wife from amongst the ladies in this crowd, for his heart was clearly already set on another. Rosalie could only speculate as to whether the object of his affection was alive or dead. If alive, where could she be? For who could deny such a man her love if he ever dared to offer it?
