“Mr.Sholle, would you like to accompany MissPine to Sydney Gardens?” she asks, interrupting. “The two of you could join Mr.Dean and myself on a walk.”
Mr.Sholle’s long face lights up. “I would be most pleased to accompany you, MissPine. As long as it’s permitted, of course,” he adds, looking to Mr.Pine.
“Of course. I’d join you myself if my knees were less swollen. As it is, I’m sure my lovely wife will gladly go along as chaperone,” Mr.Pine says jovially.
Mrs.Pine looks distinctly dourer. She exchanges a look with MissPine that’s brimming with meaning. And not particularly subtle.
So mother and daughter are in cahoots. Rosalie can work with that.
Mrs.Pine nods with a tight smile. “Of course,” she says.
“Lady Tisend always joins us as well, so you’ll have good company,” Mr.Dean says easily.
Of course,nowhe’s engaged in the conversation.
Rosalie will have to prep her mother to help ensure Mr.Sholle and MissPine stay back from her and Mr.Dean. To give them time to get to know each other. Mr.Sholle certainly looks eager.
Miss Pine is watching Rosalie, sucking on her cheek. Rosalie gives her a broad smile.
“We’ll meet you at the Great Pulteney entrance tomorrow at ten, then,” Rosalie says.
“Looking forward to it,” MissPine says, turning her face toward Mr.Sholle, her eyes never leaving Rosalie’s.
Challenge accepted.
Mother is ten minutes away from a fit of hysterics.
Mr.Dean promised to meet them at the Great Pulteney entrance to Sydney Gardens, but he’s nowhere to be found. He’s not exactly late, but for the first time in a while Mother was so anxious, they actually left with more than enough time to spare. Which leaves them loitering outside the gates to the tall, Bath stone Sydney House in a light drizzle, seagulls cawing overhead.
“We’ll need to make sure the napkins match the ribbons,” Mother says, her voice tight as she fiddles with Rosalie’s pin curls.
Rosalie jerks her chin back and takes her mother’s hands. “It’s just a walk,” she says softly.
“I know that,” Mother says, pulling her hands back to fuss with her own outfit. “Lists keep me calm.”
“But there’s nothing to be nervous over,” Rosalie insists. “Is this about Mrs.Pine?”
Mother avoids her gaze. She toys with her gloves, going for aloof and failing terribly. “No.”
“Did you know each other well? You must have been in the same season.”
Mother hesitates, meeting Rosalie’s eyes. Rosalie raises one of her brows, waiting.
“We were friends, long ago, before she married Mr.Pine and left Bath. That’s all,” Mother says.
“Oh,” Rosalie replies, a little miffed.
Mother no longer speaking to an old friend doesn’t seem so odd, really. She rarely writes letters to anyone. Stands to reason Mrs.Pine might feel slighted if Mother stopped corresponding once she had moved away. Doesn’t seem like a good enough reason for Mother’s panic, though.
But there isn’t time for further questions, because here come MissPine and Mrs.Pine, before either Mr.Dean or Mr.Sholle, of course. MissPine is wearing a beautiful blue spencer jacket over another gray gown, while Mrs.Pine is in a dark brown that highlights her beautiful hair.
They’re a striking pair, and Rosalie ignores her mother’s sharp intake of breath to prepare herself. She’s going to help MissPine see that Mr.Sholle is the perfect match. And hopefully Mrs.Pine will be happy with him. The son of a baron isn’t a future viscount, but it’s still a title.
This walk will be a success. There’s no other choice.
Though when Mrs. Pine and Miss Pine reach them, Rosaliewonders if there’s more to Mother’s story than a faded friendship. Mrs. Pine is staring at Mother with much more than disappointed feelings. But there’s hardly time to focus on that, not when Miss Pine is curtsying and smiling down at Rosalie.
“Hello. Beautiful day, isn’t it?” she asks slyly.
