Worse, what if his only conviction is asking her to marry him?
Chapter Nineteen
Rosalie
In any other world, if a man spoke to her the way Mr.Dean did last week, she’d never see him again. And yet here they are in her parents’ foyer, smiling stiffly.
She’d entirely forgotten about the concert her mother agreed to nearly two months ago. Lord Dean has paid for an afternoon of music at the Upper Rooms with a small string ensemble and a few opera singers. Father says it should be very good.
Which would be nice, after the bitter ending to the concert last week, if Mr.Dean wasn’t the one who ruined the afternoon, and if he didn’t look so thoroughly unhappy to be escorting her today.
She should be celebrating the demise of his affections, but she can’t. Mother’s been worrying all week. Amalie’s mother and two other society matrons swore that Mr.Dean has made nearly daily house calls to the Pine residence since the concert. He’s gotten to be there every day, and Rosalie and Catherine haven’t so much as seen each other in the last week.
All she’s gotten are two rushed letters in Catherine’s tidy script. And no matter how lovely, and frankly dirty, they’re no substitute for real time spent together.
If nothing else, the time apart and the constant yearning feeling that’s almost like a physical ache is proving to Rosaliethat what she feels for Catherine is real, and lasting, and fervid. She thinks she’s feeling the way you ought to feel about your betrothed.
Which is wonderful, and terrifying, and altogether very confusing.
To be one hundred percent sure, she’d need to have time to spend with the woman, instead of being ferried about by Mother, shopping and primping and listening to her constant worry about the betrothal Rosalie absolutely doesn’t want.
Mother was so excited about the concert today. About Rosalie’s big, important opportunity to win back Mr.Dean’s favor after her deplorable behavior on the punting outing. Father even came back from London to attend.
Mother thinks Mr.Dean writing to confirm he would escort her to their previously agreed-upon outing is a good sign, but one look at his pinched face and blank eyes proves otherwise. But a gentleman doesn’t go back on his word, so even if it’s clear to everyone in the room that there won’t be another outing after this, here they are.
“I hear the ensemble your father has assembled is the best of the season,” Mother says, her voice unnaturally high.
“Father does have excellent taste,” Mr.Dean replies. Rosalie thinks he’s not even meeting her mother’s eyes. “He unfortunately won’t be able to attend, however. He’s taken ill.”
“Oh, I do hope it’s not serious,” Mother says.
“No, no, the doctors are optimistic, but, given that he cannot attend, we should—”
“Quite right,” Father says, gesturing to Mr.Dean to lead the way out of the house.
The carriage ride is a stilted nightmare. And standing at the doors to the dance hall in the Upper Rooms, her arm loopedthrough Mr. Dean’s as they bow and curtsy to an endless line of acquaintances, is somehow even worse than she imagined.
“What a lovely couple you make,” Lady Hanting says, smiling as she steps up to them.
Mr.Dean doesn’t even acknowledge the statement, merely bowing his head.
“Thank you, Lady Hanting,” Rosalie says softly, hoping her voice comes out calm and polite. “We hope you enjoy the concert.”
“Oh, I always enjoy an event thrown by the viscount. So sorry to hear he won’t be in attendance. But I’m sure he’ll be very proud of his son, and his potential new daughter-in-law.”
“Thank you, Lady Hanting,” Mr.Dean says curtly.
Lady Hanting blinks, glancing between them, before she gives Mr.Dean her own false smile. “Yes, thank you, Mr.Dean. Lady Rosalie,” she adds, her eyes a bit narrowed, as if in pity.
Rosalie watches Lady Hanting walk away, feeling a weight come off her shoulders. For so long, she’d been preparing herself for a calm, vaguely disinterested life with Mr.Dean. To find that the only emotions beneath his apathetic façade are ugly and rude, abrupt and mean-spirited—she has more to thank Catherine for than she realized.
“Mr.Dean, may I borrow my daughter for a moment?” Mother asks, appearing at Rosalie’s elbow.
How many people has she greeted while thinking about Catherine? Lovely, beautiful, just-arriving Catherine. She can see her at the end of the receiving line, wearing a lovely green dress with lace gloves, her hair braided delicately over the top of her head, tendrils falling against her sharp cheekbones.
“Are you intentionally trying to lose his favor?” Mother hisses, yanking Rosalie away from the doors.
Rosalie tears her eyes away from Catherine. Mr. Dean’s still greeting people as if she hasn’t moved. Like she was nothing but a column beside him this whole time. Rosalie turns to Mother, pushing confidence to the front of her mind.Yes.
