A rustling of skirts and Polly was there beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder. “After the way thetonhas treated you, of course you want the security of a title. Of a marriage that would protect you.”
Rosie nodded, her sister’s words a balm to her spirit. She loosened her hold on Calliope, smoothing out the satin she’d crushed before returning the doll to the cabinet and closing the doors.
Facing her sister, she said tremulously, “Let me be happy in my own way, Pols. I know what I want. Please support me in following my own dreams.”
“Of course I will. And I’ll support you in any way you want me to.”
When opportunity knocked, only a fool ignored it.
Rosie eyed the other. “Anyway?”
“You know you can count on me,” Polly said.
“Excellent. Because I have a plan,”—Rosie clutched her sister’s hands—“and Idesperatelyneed your help.”
Chapter Four
The chill of the January afternoon vanished as Rosie, accompanied by the Revelstokes, entered the bustling warmth of the Pantheon Bazaar two days later. She felt a kinship with this mecca of extravagant goods—and not only because she adored shopping. Once home to lavish assemblies for thebeau monde, the grand building had gone through various iterations and owners, losing its reputation in the early part of the century. In recent months, however, it had undergone a radical transformation, reopening its doors to become a premier shopping destination.
Hope soared through Rosie.Like the Pantheon, I, too, shall rise from the ashes of disgrace.
Now everyone who was anyone flocked to the Pantheon’s stalls. The finest goods could be found within the colonnaded grand atrium, which was decorated with plaster moldings and topped with a coffered dome. In addition to the shops, the Pantheon boasted a gallery of paintings on the upper floor and a glass-walled conservatory that housed a collection of exotic plants and beasts.
“Do you see Daltry?” Polly whispered.
Rosie, who’d been scanning the throng of well-dressed patrons, shook her head. “In my note, I said that I would be in the conservatory at two o’clock. There’s still an hour to go.”
“Are you certain you wish to do this?” The white silk lining of Polly’s bonnet enhanced the clarity of her aquamarine eyes and their worried expression. “Because we can always—”
“This is what I want.” Having heard the anxious litany on the carriage ride over, Rosie headed the other off at the pass. “Now onto more pressing matters: how do I look?”
Her question was prompted by pragmatism rather than vanity. Physical appearance being her main asset, she had to make the most of what she had. Moreover, conveying a proper, fashionable image was essential in battling the gossip about her.
No matter what anyone said about her,she would alwayslooklike a lady.
Thus, she’d worn a pink merino carriage dress with gigot sleeves and full skirts embroidered with black silk thread at the hem. A matching pink mantlet bordered with black velvet draped over her shoulders, a square-buckled ceinture cinching it all in at her waist. To top it all off, she sported a capote bonnet trimmed with pink ribbon and adorned with a clever mix of wax cherries and real hothouse blooms.
Although her corset made breathing a challenge and her bonnet required that she keep her head subtly tilted to offset the weight of the fruit, the effect was worth it. She was as perfectly turned out as any one of her dolls. She was ready to meet Daltry—and to land him.
“You look beautiful, as always.” Polly nudged her husband. “Doesn’t she, Sinjin?”
“You look very well, Miss Kent,” Revelstoke said.
How he could make that assessment was anyone’s guess since he had eyes for no one but Polly. Former rakes apparently not only made the best husbands, they were the most besotted ones, too.
Stifling her amusement, Rosie said, “Shall we make our rounds?”
The three of them spent the next half-hour meandering through the stalls. For once, the Pantheon’s abundant delights failed to distract Rosie, her mind preoccupied by her bold plan. Daltry’s new title was attracting unwed ladies like flies to honey, and she had to act whilst she still had an advantage. Thus, she’d sent Odette on a covert mission to deliver a note to him yesterday; the French maid had returned with an affirmative reply.
Now I must strike while the iron is hot…
“What do you think of this silver comb?” Polly asked.
With an expert eye, Rosie perused the tray of hair ornaments laid out by a stall keeper. “The silver filigree is pretty, but the gold comb would look ravishing with your coloring.”
“Excellent choice, miss.” The merchant beamed, no doubt at the prospect of the higher sale.
“We’ll take both,” Polly told him, “the silver for my sister and the gold for me.”
