“Perhaps you, light of my world who I am privileged to call wife, are taking it too seriously,” Mr. Blake said in a gentle tone. “It sounds as if this Norbury character livened up the party with an unusual appearance on the dance floor, with our Rose no less. But as that is hardly the level of scandal he’s better known for, it will be forgotten soon enough.”
“What sort of scandals is he usually known for?” Rose pressed.
“Not the sort that are suitable for your hearing, girls,” Mr. Blake said more soberly. “Over the years, Lord Norbury has dallied with more women than we have years together, and has had affairs that have truly shocked the ton, which takes some doing. Your mother never would have let you dance with him if he’d asked first. What am I saying? He’d never even be introduced to you!”
Rosalind protested, “He was a perfect gentleman.” Well, that wasn’t quite true. There was his stolen kiss, and the way he subtly caressed her when they said goodbye.
“I am gratified to hear it,” her father said. “But the fact remains that his behavior is the talk of the ton, and he seems to relish thumbing his nose at society. This is not an acquaintance I would condone for either of you girls.”
“I can’t imagine why Lady Herbert invited him,” Mrs. Blake said.
“He said she likes the notoriety when he appears,” Rose told them. “And obviously it works, for her party is over, and here we are still talking about it.”
Mrs. Blake sniffed in disapproval.
Rose’s father pushed his chair away from the table with a scraping sound. “Well, I must get moving. The Marberry case is proving to be even more convoluted than we feared, and I have considerable work to do before I’ll feel ready to argue it with any hope of winning.”
“You’ll triumph, Papa,” Rose said. “You always do.”
“Would that all judges were so sympathetic.” Mr. Blake kissed Rose on the forehead as he passed, then said to his wife, “Tru, I’ll likely be late home tonight. Don’t hold the meal, or else you ladies might starve.”
“Yes, dear,” Mrs. Blake said. “I’ll tell Cook to have a cold plate ready for you when you do come home.”
After he left, Mrs. Blake reminded Rose and Poppy that she had a meeting at church, where she chaired the committee on aiding the poor. In the years since Rose lost her sight, Mrs. Blake had gone from a rather flighty person to someone who took a keen interest in the world around her. It started with her growing obsessed with the obstacles Rose faced. She cataloged everything from muddy, potholed paths to the severe lack of books for girls in Rose’s situation—for a long time, the only materials available to the young Rose were some books of the Bible, the words printed above deeply embossed symbols on paper that Rose could run her fingers over and sighted people could read along with. Night writing (as it was known) was a godsend, but Mrs. Blake felt that more was needed. She even wrote to publishers to demand more be printed.
From there, her interests had moved beyond her own daughter (who was well-cared for and in actuality quite able to negotiate the world around her). Now Mrs. Blake worked through the church to fund efforts to help the poor and elderly, the insane and the disabled. Rose was proud of her mother, though she never told her so, for it might bring up the painful past when Mrs. Blake had temporarily given up in the face of Rose’s disability, instead sending her away to school.
“What’s on the agenda for the charity work today?” she asked her mother.
“We’re bundling wood and fuel for the poor in the parish. Thank goodness the spring is finally here, for the cold is the worst thing to fight. We can supply people with food, but no one can stop the winter.”
Not that Mrs. Blake hadn’t tried. She directed the knitting of blankets and somehow managed to have a huge shipment of firewood—not coal—sent to the church to be distributed to those in need. However, even that massive supply had been depleted by last month, and Mrs. Blake had grumbled at every day with bad weather since.
She left for church, promising that she’d be back in the afternoon. “Do stay out of trouble, girls,” she said by way of goodbye.
Rosalind wondered if she would share her horror story of the previous evening with the other matrons. If Lord Norbury was that bad, she might hold her tongue––unless she wanted to risk another attack of nerves. On the other hand, it was the most exciting thing to happen to the Blake family in years.
Since Rose’s piano instructor was expected this morning, the girls changed into outfits suitable for such an event. After Rose’s lesson, however, the girls could lounge in the parlor at leisure, since social calls to the Blake house were quite rare.
As she and Poppy were in the parlor, each enjoying a bracing cup of tea, the maid came in with a card on the tray. She glanced at Rosalind, but brought the tray over to Poppy. “A caller for Miss Blake.”
Poppy nodded as she took the card. She sounded a little confused when she read the name. “Mr. Evans. He spoke to us at the ball last night. Oh, Rose!” Without a parent figure to guide them, the next step was not at all clear. “I suppose we must say we’re not at home?” she asked Rosalind tentatively.
“Oh, why wouldn’t we let him in?” Rosalind said a bit impatiently, her tone masking the excitement fluttering up inside her. The notion of a gentleman calling was so unusual, and Rose craved the novelty. “We’re both here, and the servants are here as well. What could possibly happen?”
“Very well,” Poppy said. “Alice, give us a moment to look presentable. Then show him in.”
“Yes, miss.” The maid nodded and hurried out.
Mr. Evans was the first to call that day, but not the last. Rose found herself suddenly beset with callers, nearly all gentlemen whom she scarcely knew.
Alice was kept busy bringing tea, and Poppy and Rose suddenly found themselves hosting a veritable salon, summoning up every scrap of news and on dit to keep the conversation going with these near strangers. Luckily, talk did not devolve to discussion of the weather.
The men were all polite and deeply interested in Rose, telling her that it was such a pleasure to meet her before, and they hoped to gain the favor of her attention soon. One asked her if she liked opera and would like to attend a performance (she loved it, but demurred to say so, not certain if this was an actual invitation). Another asked how often she went to Vauxhall Gardens (quite often in spring and fall, as her whole family enjoyed it). Oh, her whole family, he’d echoed, disappointed.
Mr. Evans, the first caller and the one who stayed longest, had told her that he’d very much like to take her for a ride in the park one day soon, which was honestly the most reasonable suggestion she heard. She told him that sounded very nice, just as Poppy was herding all the visitors out of the parlor, strongly hinting that they were close to exceeding the time limit of polite visits.
“There must be some mix-up,” she said, after Poppy had looked at the cards of three more gentlemen who were waiting in the foyer, and reported their names to Rose. “They are all complete strangers to me. Do you know any of them?”
