MissPine looks up at them as they approach, her head tilting. Mr.Dean doesn’t even notice, too engrossed in whatever he’s saying to Mr.Pine. Mrs.Pine stares at them, her look bordering on a full-out glare.
But Rosalie’s never cowered from an unhappy mama before. She’s not about to start now.
“Mrs. Pine, Miss Pine, may I introduce my friend, Mr. Sholle,” she says, smiling brightly at both women.
Mrs.Pine dips in a curtsy with a sour look on her face while MissPine inclines her head. “Papa,” she says softly, cutting through whatever Mr.Dean was saying.
“Oh, hello,” Mr.Pine says, his narrow face splitting in a charming smile that puts both Mr.Dean’s and Mr.Sholle’s to shame.
So that’s where MissPine gets her sparkle.
“Mr.Pine, Mrs.Pine, MissPine, a pleasure to meet you,” Mr.Sholle says quickly. “Lady Rosalie has been singing your praises.”
So he can lie to charm, can he? That’s useful.
Mrs.Pine and MissPine both look at her, surprised, and Rosalie smiles brightly. “I thought he should meet our new lovely society members. And Mr.Dean, you know Mr.Sholle,” she adds as Mr.Dean finally looks up at them.
He blinks, as if just realizing they’re all standing there. God, he can be oblivious.
“Yes,” Mr.Dean says. “Been meaning to find you about the hunt, actually. You must come as well, Mr.Pine.”
Mr.Pine’s eyes crinkle. “That sounds marvelous, though I’m not sure my joints will allow me. But tell me of your plans.”
Mr.Sholle leaves Rosalie and squishes in next to Mr.Dean, both of them intent on Mr.Pine again. Would that these boys were ever so intent on ladies as they are on talk of hunting.
MissPine stands, allowing Mr.Pine and the boys to scooch down the bench more comfortably. Mrs.Pine rolls her eyes and MissPine shrugs, making Rosalie think of her own mother. She glances back and finds her white-knuckling the windowsill halfway across the room, watching them shrewdly.
Rosalie withholds her own eye roll and turns back to the Pine women. Mrs. Pine still looks like she’s swallowed something unctuous. Which, given the way the waters taste, is fair. Miss Pine looks down at Rosalie curiously.
Her gray pelisse is even more fetching up close, and while Rosalie’s hair gets frizzy with all the humidity, MissPine’s still looks sleek beneath her bonnet, her few pin curls perfectly round. How does she do that?
Rosalie needs to think of something winsome to say. She interrupted, but she hadn’t exactly anticipated all three men ignoring them.
Men.
MissPine glances back at the men, her eyes narrowing, before she turns back to Rosalie. “It was a lovely dance you and Mr.Dean did after we returned from the cloakroom. What is it called? I forgot to ask and wanted to find a set of instructions.”
Rosalie’s surprised she doesn’t already know it. “It’s a variation on a quadrille out of London from last season,” she says.
“Are there variation pamphlets? Perhaps I could borrow one from you?” MissPine asks, looking perfectly earnest.
Too earnest. Too beautiful. Too polite.
MissPine’s easy regard and curiosity put Rosalie on edge. Her mother is far more open with her emotions, easier to read. MissPine can play it close to the chest, apparently.
Or she really does just want to learn a dance, which would be disarming in its own right. Rosalie needs to be disarming right back.
“I could teach you” comes out of her mouth before she can really think through the implications.
“You would?” MissPine asks, surprise clear on her face. Her mother is a moment away from gaping.
“You could come early to the concert,” Rosalie suggests quickly, trying to play it off like a premeditated idea, rather than something that just fell out of her head. “We could have one of the musicians play and practice to it.”
“That sounds lovely,” MissPine says slowly. “Mama?”
They both turn to look at Mrs.Pine, who’s watching them with wide eyes. “Of course, dear, as long as Lord and Lady Tisend don’t mind our imposing early.”
“Oh, Father would love to show you and Mr.Pine his art collection. He’s very much looking forward to seeing Mr.Pine again.”
