Rose noticed that the woman avoided any mention of what might be taught, and decided she liked the headmistress more every minute.
“Would you like to meet some of the students?” Mrs. Bloomfield asked Rose, then answered herself. “Of course you would, after listening to grown-ups drone on. Let’s get you among your own kind.” She raised her voice, calling to a nearby group. “Daisy? Heather? Camellia? Come here, girls! Please introduce yourselves to our newest students.”
A moment later, Rose and Poppy were surrounded by a trio of friendly inquisitiveness, and parents and teachers were quite forgotten amid greetings and rapid-fire questioning about favorite colors and books and did they like to play hide and seek and did they know how to plait their own hair in that particularly fancy way, or did a maid do it?
Daisy (the aforementioned baron’s daughter) had a soft voice and tended to trail off before actually finishing her sentences. What pretty ribbons! Are they…silk…? Heather tended to jump on Daisy’s dwindling comments and finish them while hopping to the next question. Heather seemed like a wildfire waiting to happen. Oh, they look like silk! I say, do you girls like lamb? I think that’s what we’re having for dinner today. I know where Cook keeps the biscuits she makes for tea in case you ever need a treat, just ask me and we’ll sneak in, it’s easy! And then Camellia, or Lia as she instantly announced, would make a sharp observation that suggested she was very used to Heather’s antics. Last time you got your ears boxed when Cook caught you—is a sesame biscuit really worth it?
Thus, Rose did not hear when her father said to the headmistress, “So you’ll take her on, then? It won’t be too much inconvenience, if Poppy is here to help her?”
“I am confident both girls will be good students,” Mrs. Bloomfield said. “They are already fitting in, as you can tell.”
“Oh, I’m so glad,” Mrs. Blake sighed. “I wish I knew how to deal with things for her now that she’s blind, but I’m just making everything worse! I’m inadequate to the task. When I look at her now and I think of how little I seem to help her, it’s all I can do not to cry.”
“No call for tears,” Mrs. Bloomfield replied. “You have a bright young daughter who is interested in the world and has friends at her side. With those two qualities, one has all one could need.”
Chapter 1
Ten years later
The ballroom was crowded, loud, overscented, and overheated…all of which was to say that the party was a success. The din especially was terrific: musicians in one corner, groups of chattering guests along the edge of the dance floor, and the frequent peal of laughter as someone reacted to a particularly amusing joke.
As usual, Rose experienced all of this from the side of the room, with her mother and Poppy nearby. She was not exactly in demand as a dance partner, or even as a conversational partner. In truth, Rose didn’t know many people and thus was doomed to remain a wallflower at such events. Poppy was asked to dance three times by various gentlemen, and she accepted each time, but always hurried back to Rose, reporting that the excursion was not worth it.
The most recent dance partner fared the worst in Poppy’s estimation.
“I would say he’s a peacock,” Poppy whispered to Rose so Mrs. Blake wouldn’t overhear. “Except that he looks more like a rooster.”
Rose stifled her laughter, wishing with all her heart that she could see the person her cousin described. In fact, she wished she could see anything at all. But she was denied many of the simple pleasures her cousin Poppy took for granted…such as being able to survey the ridiculousness of a ton ball in London during the height of the Season. Fortunately, Poppy, both cousin and companion, was her invaluable compatriot in the world––and her eyes.
“What is he wearing?” Rose asked eagerly, tapping her walking stick in a rapid beat in her impatience to hear the details. She was young for such an accessory, but Rose didn’t use the stick to support her weight. She found it supremely useful to swing a few feet in front of her as she walked, alerting her to obstacles in her path. She’d chosen this particular stick (a slender rod of birch) for its light weight and finial of cool silver metal cast in the form of a rose.
“A bright yellow jacket––mustard yellow,” Poppy replied. “And his waistcoat is trussed up so tight I don’t think he can breathe, let alone talk. Which may be a blessing for his companions.”
Once more, Rosalind covered her mouth with her hand. Her inner vision was filled with the descriptions of the people at the ball that her companion colored in with such detail. She had only the memory of colors, but her imagination was robust, and she was amused at the scene her mind conjured.
“But Mr. Mustard was polite, surely?” she asked.
“Oh, yes, perfectly polite. And perfectly dull! How did you find the food, Miss St. George? Have you ever been to the Lake District, Miss St. George? Do you like to ride, Miss St. George? All of which tells me that he likes to eat and go to the Lake District and ride around himself. He didn’t really ask anything of me, because he wasn’t at all interested in me.”
Rose thought that a pity, because Poppy was such a fun and engaging companion, always interested the world around her and ready with a wise observation on what she found.
“Anyway,” Poppy continued, “I didn’t like his jacket. The wool was cut-rate.” (Poppy’s stepfather was in the cloth trade, and she had very strong opinions on fabric.)
“Are all the men like that tonight?” Rosalind wondered. “Trussed up in bright colors, I mean?”
“No, though many are. I wonder if they know how foolish they appear. Doubtless some of the ladies are impressed.”
“I take it you are not impressed by any of these fine gentlemen?” she teased her cousin.
“Indeed not!” Poppy said. “I prefer a man who doesn’t need to hide behind a fancy jacket. And he must be intelligent. Nor would it hurt if he were built like Adonis.”
“Shh,” Rosalind warned. “Mother will hear you and have an attack of vapors.”
“Aunt Gertrude thinks we’re both children still,” Poppy said with disdain. “But we’re not children, are we? Else why would we be standing at a ball, dressed up like dolls, and hoping to catch a husband before we reach old maid status?”
“You will find a match,” Rosalind said, “if you don’t frighten your potential husband away with your sharp tongue. But I’m selfish, since I secretly hope you do scare them all away. What will I do once you’re a wife?”
“Oh, don’t go on like that, Rose. You sound like a crabby spinster beyond the reach of men.”
