Mrs.Pine’s eyebrows almost seem to climb into her hairline, but she gives Rosalie a tight smile and then turns back to the men, pretending to listen to their conversation.
“We’d be delighted, then,” MissPine says.
“Wonderful,” Rosalie replies.
They stand there in strained silence while the men continue talking beside them. It’s Rosalie’s turn to find something banal to discuss.
“Your pelisse is lovely,” she says, falling back on her mother’s favorite topic: fashion.
“Thank you,” MissPine says cheerfully. “I chose the color because it reminded me of a stormy sky. I’ve gotten very into gothic novels and was feeling a bit moody at the modiste, I’ll admit.”
That’s... actually very interesting. “What are you reading right now?”
MissPine takes a step closer, leaning her neck down to whisper, “I just finishedThe Mysteries of Udolpho.”
Rosalie doesn’t know what’s more surprising, the book or the way the scent of MissPine’s lilac perfume momentarily stuns her. “Oh?” she manages, feeling ridiculous.
She doesn’t get flustered like this. She doesn’t let herself get... caught up in people. Men. Women. She’s resigned to her life of machinating other happy endings and staying comfortably out of the way of attraction and intrigue and anything... complicated.
Otherwise, it’s just too painful.
“It’s fantastically scandalous,” MissPine continues. “Have you read it?”
Rosalie stares at MissPine’s pretty face, words caught in her throat. Rosalie has read it. A year ago. But none of her friends ever have. And Mother doesn’t like to read. With her brother, Christopher, off at school, she hasn’t had anyone to discuss it with, and of all the people in the world, MissPine is the first who—
“I’m so sorry, my dear.”
Rosalie blinks, ripping her gaze away from MissPine to look up at Mr.Dean, now at her side. He leans down to take her hand and kiss the back of her glove.
“Might I take you on a walk tomorrow, to make up for my deplorable manners?”
Rosalie hesitates for a beat, pushing herself back into the present moment. She came over here to distract Mr.Dean from MissPine, and she has succeeded. She got distracted herself in the meantime, but no matter.
“I’d like that,” Rosalie says, smiling up at him.
He smiles back, and then stands there, saying nothing. Rosalie turns her smile on MissPine and her mother, pretending to be disappointed they can’t join. She just couldn’t impose on Mr.Dean, you see. It’s nothing personal.
Miss Pine looks lightly amused, but there’s a glint in Mrs. Pine’s eyes that doesn’t bode—
“MissPine so loves to go walking,” Mrs.Pine says, a little too loudly.
Mrs.Pine is looking at Rosalie pointedly, and when Rosalie turns back to MissPine, she’s blushing, but there’s a slight tilt to her lips.
“I do,” MissPine agrees. “It’s invigorating.”
Rosalie pushes her tongue against her teeth. Oh, so it’s like that? She wants to fight this in close quarters? Fine.
Rosalie looks up at Mr.Dean, but he’s still just staring off out the windows. She leans toward him, trying to get his attention, and slowly his head turns back to her. She glances at MissPine.
He just stares at her.
She inclines her head, just slightly.
But he’s blank behind the eyes, nothing there, no one home.
God, but men are useless.
She looks back up at MissPine, whose smirk of amusement has grown. Rosalie’s tempted to roll her eyes in response. Instead, she looks past MissPine to Mr.Sholle, who’s still locked in intense discussion with Mr.Pine. She can make this interesting.
