“How ghastly! And I had thought Mayfair such a safe neighborhood. The best in London,” Lord Hazelshire’s voice was laced in outrage.
“Indeed. It was a messenger who was attacked. I was able to fend off the attackers…”
“With help of our coachman, Mister Thorpe,” Henry threw in, glaring at Christopher once more for taking too much of the credit.
“Yes, yes, Mister Thorpe. Brave man he is. In any case, together we were able to fend off the attackers. The messenger had run off with his horse the first chance he had and, well, he left this behind.”
Christopher opened his hand and held it out to the Earl who gasped.
“By Jove, there it is!” He took the necklace from Christopher’s palm and held up the necklace. A loving expression appeared on his face. “I had this made by my trusted jeweler back home in Hertfordshire and expected it days ago. I feared it lost. What good fortune. And just in time, for my daughter will arrive in London today…” He retrieved a handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and folded it around the necklace. “There wasn’t a letter with it, I suppose?”
Christopher shook his head. “If there was, it is lost. Once the attackers had fled, I found the necklace on the ground. Thorpe and I looked for a letter or anything to identify the owner but were unlucky.”
“My brother was determined to find the owner. Hope against hope, we decided to comb the streets once more, in case the letter had flown away.”
Christopher cleared his throat and crossed his legs. “It was sheer luck that my brother spotted the three-headed rose on the columns outside your house and remembered that the same symbol was on the necklace.”
The older man broke into a soft smile, his eyes sparkled.
“Ah yes, the roses. A design I created myself, many years ago.” He rose, pocketing the handkerchief containing the necklace. He walked around the table and past the brothers. “It symbolizes them,” he said. Christopher followed his gaze and saw he was pointing at a painting behind them.
The breath got caught in Christopher’s throat when his eyes fell upon the painting. It showed three women, one slightly older, with blonde hair, and another, younger, who looked almost identical. And then there was the third woman. Tall and slender, her hair dark as ember and her eyes just as deep and dark, she peered down from the painting as if looking directly at Christopher.
Without meaning to, he rose from his chair and stepped beside the Earl, unable to take his eyes off the woman in the painting. She was ethereal.
“My wife, Emma, and my daughters, Catherine and Rowena,” he pointed first at the two blonde women, and then the dark-haired one.
Rowena. What a beautiful name for a beautiful woman.
“I created the symbol of the roses for them. My three roses, each an individual, but each of the same strong root. I am fond of roses. I should mention that I dabble in the arts, thus the rose.” The Earl chuckled but Christopher hardly heard him.
“What a beautiful family you have,” Henry’s voice drifted to Christopher’s ear, but he hardly took note.
“Indeed. This is my son, Charles. Viscount Dorset. He is the one dealing with the vineyard most of the time, and beside him is his wife, Margaret. The painting was created shortly before their wedding, two years ago, at the same time as that of my three roses here.”
“A beautiful family. May I ask, which of your daughters was the necklace for? Excuse me if I am too forward in asking.” Henry’s voice said.
“Not at all. Indeed, it was a gift for–”
The woman’s eyes seemed to speak to him. There was a depth in them, as if she had many tales to tell, tales he longed to hear. He knew if he was opposite her in real life, he would get lost in those eyes. He imagined what her voice might sound like. Soft and kind, her words chosen carefully. He found himself wondering how she might smell, like a rose perhaps? Or a summer’s day?
“Christopher?” Henry’s voice carried an undercurrent of alarm which drew him out of his daydream.
“Yes, Henry? What is it?”
His brother glared at him and Christopher noted that both his brother and Lord Hazelshire were once again seated at their respective chairs. Embarrassed, he quickly joined them.
“I am sorry, I have not slept well since the attack. I am fatigued.”
“Lord Hazelshire has just very graciously invited us to his daughter’s upcoming coming-out ball,” Henry said.
“Indeed? That is very considerate of you, Lord Hazelshire. My brother and I gladly accept the invitation.”
Lord Hazelshire clapped his hands together in delight.
“Very well. The party is to be held in two weeks’ time, at the Worcester Ballroom. Do you know it?”
Christopher nodded, his thoughts already at the party. He wished he had paid closer attention to the conversation between Henry and Lord Hazelshire. Then he might know which of the two daughters was having her coming-out party. In any case, certainly both sisters would be at the party and he was bound to be able to meet her there.
