“You’ve business in town. Make something up,” Rosalie says, turning them so he can see MissPine’s little gathering. “Now go.”
“Yes, captain,” Mr.Ebert mutters, releasing Rosalie’s arm to march around the perimeter and retrieve Mr.Rile.
Rosalie heads back to Henrietta and Amalie. “He’ll be with us presently.”
“What did you have to tell Mr.Ebert?” Amalie asks.
“Only that Laura’s nearly bursting with child and he’s here drinking and carrying on.”
Amalie snorts. “You didn’t want to go with him still owing you nearly five pounds off that game of whist?”
“I much prefer my bets paid in favors,” Rosalie says with a shrug. Money she has. Social capital—now that’s much more important.
“If he ever coughs it up, I’d take the money,” Amalie says archly.
“I’ll keep it in mind. But Laura will have your hide. I gave up that debt as a wedding present.”
Amalie laughs loudly. A few gentlemen turn around to look at them and Henrietta nudges them both. Amalie shrugs, still giggling, while Rosalie lets Henrietta force her back on task.
It only takes Mr.Ebert a minute to extricate Mr.Rile. Mrs.Pine looks bemused, but MissPine is busy talking to Mr.Finch, the account manager at the high street bank. Father mentioned Mr.Finch had cousins coming to town. The Pines must be his relations.
Mr. Finch is too old to truly tempt any of the girls, but maybe she ought to convince him into a dance with Amalie or Henrietta—make it clear that she’s calling the shots here.
Mr.Ebert and Mr.Rile approach their group, and Henrietta glances at Rosalie, gratitude bright in her large blue eyes. Rosalie squeezes her hand and then gently pushes her toward Mr.Rile.
“You promised MissRaught your first dance, did you not, Mr.Rile? How fortuitous Mr.Ebert has brought you by.”
Mr.Rile’s brown eyes go wide and he snaps to attention, ignoring whatever Mr.Ebert was just saying. He quickly steps forward, offering Henrietta his sturdy arm.
“Of course. You look lovely tonight, MissRaught,” he says.
Henrietta blushes and lets him lead her out onto the dancefloor for the next set. Rosalie watches them go, pleased. They look good together. Tall and burly, Mr. Rile towers over Henrietta, but he always touches her delicately, which only accents her bright, cheerful smile.
Amalie sighs quietly beside her, swishing her green dress and watching Henrietta out on the floor.
Rosalie withholds a laugh. “Mr.Ebert, we can’t waste your dancing prowess. You ought to invite MissLinet to dance, in Mrs.Ebert’s honor.”
Mr.Ebert quirks a brow, but gallantly offers Amalie his arm. Amalie grins at Rosalie, and Rosalie all but pushes her into him. They stride onto the floor, a graceful couple of friends, and Rosalie looks around for a drink.
She notes the drinks station has been moved to the far side of the room tonight and girds herself, preparing to take the entire four-dance set to make her way there and back. Perhaps she can even find her suitor along the way. Mr.Dean is certainly taking “fashionably late” to an extreme.
She smiles and nods as she’s approached and introduced, and makes her polite excuses. She notices her mother standing amongst a cluster of her society friends across the floor, all of them glancing down the room to where Mrs.Pine and MissPine are still holding court. They’re fresh meat, she supposes—a natural source of interest.
But in a few weeks’ time they’ll be old news, and some newer, possibly younger, woman will take MissPine’s place as the curiosity of the week. Rosalie, Amalie, and Henrietta will just soldier through until then.
Though Rosalie does note Mr. Sholle and Mr. Jenkins glancing down toward Miss Pine as well. She’d earmarked them asbackups for Amalie and Henrietta too, should Mr. Rile and Mr. Fortes, Amalie’s current suitor, prove disappointing.
Rosalie may not be at all eager to see her relationship—such as it is—with Mr.Dean progress any further just yet, but Henrietta is getting antsy for a match. And Amalie deserves someone who will make her happy, someone who will protect and support her like she’s protected and supported Henrietta all this time.
“She’s a pretty young thing,” Rosalie hears as she finally reaches the drinks station. She takes a waiting glass of champagne and turns, noting a group of older women loitering at the edge of the dance floor.
“The mother’s a jewel as well,” another woman says.
Rosalie follows their gazes across the length of the room to where MissPine is now chatting with Mr.Jenkins.
“I feel as if I’ve seen her before,” one of the women says. “The daughter looks so familiar.”
“Likely the spitting image of Mrs.Pine when she was young. But I can’t remember her maiden name.”
