She’s not sure how she should phrase it, anyway.I’d really like to push you up against a wall and kiss you silly? Would you like that too?
“All of us,” she says instead, her stomach twisting. “We can get to know each other better. And Christopher wants to get to know you more, and make sure Mr.Dean is really good enough for... me,” Rosalie says haltingly. MissPine’s eyebrow goes up. Is it obvious Rosalie’s only telling half-truths? “You’re less pressure than Amalie or Henrietta with Mr.Dean and Christopher, really.”
MissPine snorts, the sound loud in the small back room. “MissLinet and MissRaught aren’t competing for his affections, so wouldn’t they bebetterchoices?”
“Are we, really, still competing?” Rosalie asks, unable to keep the words from spilling out.
MissPine’s eyes widen. “Do you want a détente?”
More than anything in life.
Rosalie opens her mouth—
And Madame Florent walks back into the room.
They spring apart, standing up awkwardly and smoothing down their dresses.
Madame Florent doesn’t seem to notice, bringing them into the front of the shop to package up Miss Pine’s jacket and Rosalie’s cloak. Rosalie hovers next to her, desperate to continue their conversation and unwilling to let the afternoon end.
MissPine was brave enough to ask. She can be brave enough to give them the time they need, can’t she?
Madame Florent bids them good day, and Rosalie haltingly follows MissPine out onto the street. They stand for a moment beneath the awning in the light afternoon drizzle.
“Would you like to come back to mine for tea?” Rosalie spits out, fast and too loud. MissPine looks over at her, surprised. “My mother and father went to a function, and Christopher is at the club. We could... talk more?”
“Yes,” MissPine says, her answer just as fast and overloud.
“Good, good,” Rosalie replies, gesturing for them to head back toward her house.
After a moment of walking, MissPine slips her arm through Rosalie’s. Their elbows lock tightly together. Rosalie can’t tell if she’s the one shaking, or if it’s MissPine.
Maybe theyareon the same page, after all.
They don’t look at each other, but Rosalie can feel every minute movement of MissPine’s body. It’s thrilling and terrifying, and by the time they get back to her house, Rosalie’s nearly sweating with nerves.
Her housekeeper, Mrs.Lowry, meets them as they come into the foyer.
“Mrs.Lowry, this is my friend, MissPine. We’ll take tea in the sitting room, please,” she says, her voice high.
But Mrs.Lowry doesn’t seem to notice, smiling politely at them both and hurrying off to the kitchens. Which leaves Rosalie to bring MissPine up and back to the sitting room.
She could have said, “I have something to show you in my room.” She could have said, “I need to show you the library”or “Would you like to see the study?” She could have proposed a million ideas other than forcing them into the sitting room, waiting to be interrupted.
MissPine looks around in fascination, while Rosalie paces into the sitting area. MissPine can peruse the bookshelves, stare at the paintings, consider the fabric Mother’s always saying she wants to change on the settees. But Rosalie just looks at MissPine, quietly panicking.
It wasn’t so complicated with Jane all those years ago. But then again, with Jane, Rosalie didn’t really realize what was happening until they were kissing. Didn’t understand herself so well. Didn’t know what or who she really wanted, so kissing Jane—admitting she wanted to kiss Jane—wasn’t so fraught.
Now, there’s this beautiful, lithe, clever, funny woman sitting down across from her, smiling like she hasn’t a care in the world, and Rosalieknows. She knows how dangerous a relationship like this could be, to her reputation, to her heart. She knows what it would feel like to be rejected.
Well, she knows how it felt when Jane got engaged and moved away. When Jane dismissed what they’d shared as a folly, a lark, when it had meant the world to Rosalie. She doesn’t know how much it would hurt for MissPine to rebuff her now. To tell her it’s all been in Rosalie’s head this whole time, again. It might destroy her.
“Does your father read as much as you do, or is he more of a collector?” MissPine asks.
Rosalie blinks over at her. “He does. Not so much novels, but he reads all the time. And brings me books every time he goes to London. Hopefully he brings a bunch back this time.”
Miss Pine has such a beautiful smile. “My father does the same.”
“That’s nice,” Rosalie says.
