But finally her cousin stepped back with a satisfied smile. “There.” Sheschnickedthe shears once more for emphasis. “Finished. You lookamazing, darling.”
Rosie bolted, throwing herself from the stool and rushing to the dressing table where the mirror stood. When she caught sight of her reflection she gasped and grabbed the edge of the table, twisting her head this way and that to study her new look in awe.
Chic. That’s what Merida had called her, and that’s how Rosie felt.
“I look…adorable,” she whispered.
Behind her, Merida chuckled. “You look arousing, Rosie. Liberated. Wild. A modern woman. Like I should start calling youRoseand buy you a bicycle and trousers.”
“Trousers,” Rosie whispered in awe, still staring at herself in the mirror. “Withpockets. Do you think women might one day hope for such a thing?” Her hand cautiously raised to run her fingers through the much-shorter hair at the back of her head. Goodness, that was her nape—and it was open to the air! “Nice, comfortable trousers with pockets, made of plaid wool that we might snuggle up on the sofa with a good book and a mug of cocoa and?—”
“A platter of assorted cheeses?”
Rosie glanced at her cousin’s reflection, which shrugged.
“As long as we are dreaming of an ideal evening in front of the fire, I am including cheese.”
Fair enough.
Rosie straightened, then shook her head just to get a feelfor the new length of her hair. “I love it. It looks fabulous. New. Grown-up.”
Her cousin had begun to brush the discarded hair into a heap. “And what will your parents say?”
“Whocares?” Rosie whirled to study herself in the mirror again, excitement bubbling. “As of midnight, it is officially the year nineteen hundred, Meri! The dawn of a new century, a new beginning! I am twenty-one years of age, my parents no longer control me?—”
“Just you wait until they start discussing marriage contracts.”
Rosie stuck out her tongue.
Marriage contracts. Feckwobble.
Da had been born Baron Endymion and preferred not to leave the estate; the reason everyone, even Mother, called himDemonwas because of his title. He’d become the Duke of Lickwick quite unexpectedly, the title without lands or estate. Rosie might be the daughter of a Duke, but he was a Duke who had no need to worry about marrying his daughter off to gain alliances or income or whatever antiquated reason betrothal pacts were usually made. In fact, since her parents were still ridiculously in love with one another—and never missed a chance to prove it, embarrassingly so at times—they’d openly urged both of their children to marry for love.
Love. Hah.
I suppose I shall not be marrying then.
Because there was only one male who Rosie Hayle hadever consideredloving, at least in that way, and he had made it clear he wanted nothing to do with her…
A voice cut across her thoughts. “You know, speaking of Bull?—”
Rosie growled—actuallygrowled—to interrupt her cousin as she planted her hands on her hips. “We werenotspeaking of him. Why would we be speaking of him? I will not be marrying him, nor anyone else. I will be devoting myself to my studies of art history, I will write a book on the Impressionists as I have always dreamed, and Iwill not be marrying.”
Merida smirked. “You said that already.”
Really, was there anyone as frustrating as a best friend and cousin who could see completely through one?
Rosie didn’t stomp her foot, but only just because she remembered she was supposed to be grown and mature. She fingered her deliciously short hair again. “Anyway,Iwas not speaking of Bull,” she muttered as she crossed to the mess they’d made by the hearth. “Here, use this paper to scoop the hair into the bin.”
As they worked, Merida hummed. “Youwere not speaking of Bull, butIwas.”
Rosie refused to seem interested, and her cheeks were not going to betray her. “Wellbravafor you. I am certain he would be flattered anyone was speaking of him.”
Her cousin snorted. “Youarein a snit, are you not? Just because the man took one look at you—all grown up and beautiful—and refused to say boo to you?”
“I amnotin a snit, and if Iwerein a snit, it would not be because some—somemanrefused to give me the time of day.” She dumped the last of the hair in the wastebin.
“It is three-forty,” Merida supplied helpfully. “And your snit has nothing to do with what I wanted to say.”
