She waits, but he doesn’t offer anything else. “Is grouse particularly hard to hunt?”
“No, but we do spend a good portion of the day tiptoeing through the woods.” He’s still not looking at her, but he looks pleased to be talking about it, at any rate.
“It sounds as if you might enjoy coming home to a well-planned meal,” she says, wondering if she could entice an invitation for herself, Henrietta, and Amalie. They could... wait at home for their men to come back from the hunt. Ugh.
“Mr.Laghtley’s cook is excellent. Always puts together an impressive feast.”
“Well, perhaps some sparkling conversation after the meal could—”
“We’ll want to get a very early start. I’ve heard there might even be wild boar, which would be exciting.”
Rosalie curls her free hand into a fist. Sometimes she just wants to punch his stupidly handsome face. Would it be so heinous to have her along? She wouldn’t interfere.
“Oh, I’ve a question about the Laghtley hunt,” Rosalie hears Mr.Sholle say.
And suddenly he’s on Mr.Dean’s other side. Mr.Dean squeezes Rosalie’s hand, and then lets her go, falling into step instead beside Mr.Sholle. Which leaves Rosalie and MissPine watching the two men bend their heads together and amble ahead, without them.
Rosalie stands still, seething. The fact that Mr.Sholle abandoned MissPine equally quickly is no balm at all. Rosalie is not supposed to get left behind for talk of hunting, or anything, for that matter.
“Have you ever killed anything?”
Rosalie blinks, turning to find Miss Pine now standing next to her and looking down at her with honest curiosity.
“What kind of question is that?” Rosalie asks, laughing a little, the anger in her chest lessening just a hair.
“Would you rather discuss needlepoint patterns?”
Rosalie glances behind them, where their mothers are walking as far apart as possible, glaring at the backs of the boys’ heads. At least they’re united in that.
“I’ve done some gruesome needlepoints, actually, but no, I’ve not killed anything,” Rosalie says, looking to MissPine.
She giggles, the most utterly charming sound. Goodness. Rosalie breaks eye contact and starts walking again, MissPine falling into step with her.
“Have you ever killed anything, then?” Rosalie asks.
“Father and I used to trap rabbits. I didn’t... directly kill anything, I guess. But I was still responsible,” MissPine says, rather contemplatively.
“Did you like it?” Rosalie asks, allowing her guard to come down a bit.
The men seem to adore killing animals—the thrill of the hunt clearly more important than conversation with a potential life partner.
“I liked spending time with my father,” MissPine says softly. “And he would... check that the rabbits weren’t suffering before I saw them. I don’t relish the idea of causing pain.”
Rosalie glances over at MissPine, whose eyes are far away. She has the absurd urge to make her giggle again—to wipe the melancholy from her face. But that’s not why they’re here.
“Outside of trapping game, what kind of more... appropriate pastimes do you enjoy?”
Miss Pine huffs a laugh. It’s no giggle, but charming all thesame. “The usual, I suppose. I paint, I draw, I read, I play the pianoforte, as I mentioned at the ball. And you? You must be prim and proper all the time.”
Rosalie rolls her eyes at the little smirk on MissPine’s face. She wonders what MissPine would say if she told her about her dirty limerick competitions with Amalie, or that she used to climb trees until she was fourteen and ruined her mother’s favorite dress. Would she giggle again? Raise an eyebrow? Ask more questions?
“I also enjoy the pianoforte,” Rosalie begins. She’s made up some rather scandalous lyrics to an old madrigal. Maybe MissPine would—
“Lady Rosalie is most accomplished on the pianoforte. She’ll be performing a piece at the concert on Friday,” Mother says.
Rosalie and MissPine jump. Their mothers have snuck up on them. Mr.Dean and Mr.Sholle have gotten at least fifty feet away from them, already up the hill and over the bridge that crosses the small stream at the back of the park. She’d hardly noticed.
Rosalie withholds a glare. She’s not at all excited about playing for their guests, especially after a professional performance. But Mother is insistent that it will endear her to Mr.Dean. She’s been getting increasingly desperate to cement Rosalie’s courtship, even before the Pines arrived in Bath. A year without a proposal, something must be afoot.
