“That’s exactly what I am,” she returned.
“Nonsense.” Poppy pressed her hand into Rosalind’s emphatically. “I have told you again and again. You’re charming and accomplished, and pretty in the bargain. I know there’s a man who will understand that you are a treasure, just as I know it and our family knows it.”
Rosalind stood still, wishing she believed her cousin. “I’m twenty, flawed, and without suitors.”
“So am I. Everyone is flawed.”
“But you have received offers of marriage.”
“I refused them as fast as I could! I didn’t care for Mr. Shankly,” Poppy said, speaking of the latest to dare to ask for her hand.
“But at least he cared for you!”
“Pfft. He just wanted a clever wife to manage his house.”
“Which is more than I could do. How can I be a suitable wife if I cannot be a good housekeeper?” Rosalind had some ladylike accomplishments, mostly having to do with music. But she lacked the ability to handle many household tasks on her own, due to her blindness, and she knew it was a major obstacle for a marriage.
“Marry wealth.” Poppy’s deadpan tone jolted Rosalind out of her gloom. “Then you’d have all the servants you need to carry out your instructions.”
Rosalind sniffed at the idea. “Now that’s the most absurd thing you’ve said all night. Where would I even meet a man so wealthy that he can employ an army of servants?”
“You could meet him anywhere! After all, we have firsthand knowledge that such things happen, or have you forgotten Daisy’s wedding already?”
How could she? Their schoolfriend Daisy had been married only a few months ago, in January, and they’d attended the wedding. And, yes, it was true that Daisy married well, for she was now a duchess…but more importantly, blissfully in love.
Rose sighed. “That was a good visit. I’m so happy for Daisy, and I was happy that we all got to be together again, if only for a few days. I fear that we won’t have that chance again.”
She missed her school days at Wildwood Hall. It had only been a few years since she’d completed her education there, and returned home to prepare for her advance onto the marriage mart. Not that either Rose or Poppy had very spectacular debuts. Rose’s parents hosted a party where both the girls were the guests of honor, and it was more or less announced that they were now available to court.
To put it mildly, Rose did not find herself besieged by suitors. She came of good family: her father, Dillon Blake, was a respected barrister in London, and she’d bring a tidy dowry to her marriage. But most men did not want the burden of a blind wife. Thus Rose was very much ignored at these sorts of parties, and she did not expect to ever be courted in the way that other young ladies on the marriage mart were.
Meanwhile, Poppy’s thoughts were on more immediate things. “Ooh, there’s a very striking man across the room speaking to our hostess. I don’t know him, but he’s got a good tailor, that’s certain.”
“You’ve got a funny way of evaluating a man’s worth,” Rose commented. Indeed, ever since Poppy’s mother had remarried, to a tradesman no less, Poppy had begun to participate in her stepfather’s business and learn rapidly about all aspects of fabric and sewing.
“Oh, I’m not saying the clothes make the man…just that it’s nice when the clothes fit the man. And that man is a picture. You should see how everyone is looking at him without seeming to look. I wish I knew his name so we could gossip more about him. His jacket is excellent. Cut just right and a very lovely blue-gray, not dandyish at all. Far better than Mr. Mustard’s choices.”
Rose smiled, thinking that having Poppy at her side was almost as good as seeing for herself. “We shall surely talk of Mr. Mustard for months to come.”
Poppy squeezed her arm. “Ha! I’m about to top it, because someone else just walked in.” She proceeded to paint a portrait of a dandy’s outfit so hilarious that Rosalind nearly doubled over with giggles.
“Oh, my,” Poppy finished, having dissolved into laughter herself. “I should stop. There’s a whole group of gentlemen watching us now.”
“More dandies?”
“Who else? Oh,” Poppy said suddenly. “Bother! One of them is coming toward us!”
“Which one? Not Mr. Mustard again?”
“No, a different man entirely. He’s dressed in a black velvet coat. He’s handsome,” Poppy added, almost as an afterthought.
The heralded man in black velvet did not turn away. Accompanied by the hostess of the party, he had almost reached Poppy and Rosalind before her mother noticed the likely meeting and managed to join the girls.
“Mrs. Blake,” their hostess began, “I wish to introduce to you a man I have known for many years.”
“Certainly. Any friend of yours…” Rosalind’s mother said easily.
“Well, he was quite charmed by the picture of three such lovely women, and begged me to arrange an introduction.”
