Seeing her like this now, he was glad her friends were watching out for her. Not many, ladies or gentlemen, could hold up against such a reception as she’d experienced today. Despite her good looks, she’d have difficulties finding a gentleman of thetonwho would marry her. He wondered if the plans Dev’s Duchess made might not all be in vain.
“Tell me about your family.” He wondered if she would comply. He knew so little about this woman who had stolen into his thoughts.
Those arms remained tightly clasped in front of her. “My father is French.” She didn’t sound overly fond of the man. A major revelation from her. “I have two younger sisters. Coleus is seventeen and Hollyhock two years younger. And yes, my mother has a fondness for flowers.”
Poor girls. Why would any parents choose to burden their daughters with such ridiculous labels?
“And they thought to name you—”
She sighed loudly. “Rhododendron.”
A pink flower, from what he could recall. Hearty for landscaping. “One of my favorite flowers.” He would not make a joke of it.
She chuckled. “Well done, my lord.”
Could he woo this prickly young woman? As the thought crossed his mind, he brought himself up short. He was not looking for a wife. Was he? And he certainly couldn’t take on a woman in her circumstances.
God, but she was a beauty though. And she tugged at him in a visceral way. His eyes searched her face; strong, high cheekbones; delicate arching brows, and lips, full, plump, the color of a pomegranate.
She watched him back warily, as though waiting for him to chastise her for such insolence. Behind her eyes lurked that combination of defiance and fear he’d begun to recognize. He quickly searched his memory for what he knew of various flowers. “The rhododendron is one of the heartiest of flowers, you know. It’s from the evergreen family. Why wouldn’t it be somebody’s favorite?”
She looked for a moment as though she might soften, but then straightened her spine. “You haven’t studied the language of flowers, have you?”
He hadn’t. He’d heard of it but considered it something frivolous, suited for lovesick swains with nothing better to do with their time. “I’m afraid not. Feel free to enlighten me.”
“But of course.” She pinched her lips and narrowed her eyes. “The rhododendron isn’t exactly a romantic flower. Whereas most flowers signify beauty, or devotion, or other such nonsense…” She bit her lip and twisted her mouth into that brittle smile once again. “The rhododendron leans more toward the macabre side of human nature. When you see a rhododendron, you ought to consider it a warning. In the language of flowers, it means caution. Beware. Danger.”
“That doesn’t mean it isn’t beautiful.” He nearly whispered the words. He’d not meant to say them out loud.
Her smile faded. He could swear her eyes welled up with tears.
And then the carriage rolled to a halt. Neither of them spoke as the driver pulled down the steps.
She blinked quickly and pursed her lips. “Good afternoon, my lord.”
Justin nodded, not wanting to leave her alone, but unable to think of a single reason to remain in her company. “Good day, Miss Mossant.”
Something’s Amiss
“It’s ruined, Miss Rhoda,” lamented the young maid shared between Rhoda and her sisters when she saw the condition of her formerly spectacular gown. “The fabric won’t ever be the same.” Lucy, a normally vivacious woman, had been with the Mossants for less than a year but had been as excited about the gown as Rhoda.
Rhoda stood in her chemise, goose flesh spread over her skin, awaiting assistance out of it. “It’s just as well.” Rhoda sighed. The afternoon had proven to be an utter catastrophe.
Not just because she’d fallen into the lake. Something was amiss. The female guests had pointedly ignored her. And the gentlemen… Well, they seemed to think they could say anything they wished to her, no matter how rude or insulting.
Except for dear, kind-hearted Mr. White—Lord Carlisle—that was. He actually seemed tolikeher. Which made no sense at all. Except that she’d never witnessed him showing anything but kindness, even to Miss Redfield.
He deserved somebody much like himself. Somebody equally good and smart. Somebody who could appreciate him for those very qualities.
Rhoda would steer him toward Emily. They would be a perfect match for one another. They were both kindhearted, pure, innocent, and undemanding. She’d do her best to help the two form an attachment next week at Eden’s Court.
She’d die if Emily’s mother sent her to Wales again. It was so far. And so desolate.
When Sophia had first mentioned the house party, Rhoda hadn’t caught on right away as to why on earth she’d hold one. But then it had struck her. Sophia surely was hosting it so that Emily might have better luck landing a husband. Sophia had invited a handful of eligible gentlemen to come away from the throngs of debutantes in London, and since she was a duchess, they could hardly decline. Of course! That had to be Sophia’s motivation all along. Nobody threw a house party at the beginning of a Season, especially when one’s family was in mourning!
Leave it to Sophia to devise such a scheme.
Rhoda towel dried her arms and legs while Lucy fetched her dressing gown. Her skin felt clammy and cold.
