“That’s my point: you don’t have to prove anything. You think I don’t understand, but I do. I’ve experienced more of the world than you have. When I became Mrs. Ambrose Kent, thetonthought I’d married beneath me, and they could not have been more wrong. In that match, I was the lucky one. It was my great fortune to win your papa’s love, and Society’s opinion matters not a whit.”
“Papa is a prince among men,” Rosie said impatiently, “but you had the opportunity to make your choice to leave theton—and that’s where we’re different. Thebeau mondewon’t let me in, and I want a place there, more than anything.”
“More than love?” Mama frowned.
Who’s going to love damaged goods?All those failed flirtations had made the truth clear. Rosie had lost her faith in romance long ago, and as for her foolish reaction toward the stranger—hadn’t she learned anything? Like all the other men, he’d merely been dallying with her. Why, he’d taken off like a shot at the first sign of trouble. And that claptrap about protecting her?
Hah. Gentlemen were always chivalrous until they got what they wanted.
He said you were a hussy… and he proved it, didn’t he?
Humiliation oozed through her. Her encounter with the bounder was proof positive that she needed the protection of a high connection: a marriage that would make her untouchable. A locked cabinet that put her out of the reach of gossip and rejection.
She returned her mother’s direct gaze. “More than anything.”
Mama sighed. “Sometimes I just don’t understand you.”
“I know.” The panicky feeling returned. When the sounds of crying broke the taut silence, Rosie was relieved. “Sophie is back. You’d best see to her.”
“I suppose I should.” Mama paused in the doorway, turning. “By the by, your father and I were thinking that it might be nice to spend some time in Chudleigh Crest. Sophie’s early arrival kept us here in Town, but I think we could all use a sojourn to the country.”
“That’s aterribleidea,” Rosie said, aghast. “Chudleigh Crest has no society to speak of! This is my last chance to meet someone suitable—”
“Eligible bachelors are far and few between in Town at the moment. Like everyone else, they’ve gone to their country seat. I think a little rustication would do us all good.”
“ButMama—”
Sophie’s wails rose in volume.
“It’ll be best for all of us. Trust me, dearest.” With that gentle yet implacable decree, Mama left to tend to her other daughter.
~~~
“I am sure a bit of shopping will lift the spirits, Miss Primrose,” Odette said the following afternoon as they alighted in front of the Bond Street shop.
A devotee of shopping, Rosie couldn’t rouse even an iota of excitement as she and the maid approached Madame Diderot’s atelier. Thetonliterally owed its fine feathers to the famed plumassier’s art.
“What good will feathers do me in Chudleigh Crest?” Rosie’s breath formed puffs of despair in the chilly air. “The only attention I’ll attract there is that of the local inhabitants—the dashed grouse and pheasants who’ll want their plumage back.”
“I believe Madame Diderot’s plumes come from more exotic game, mademoiselle.” Looking as if she was trying not to smile, the dark-haired French maid opened the door, and Rosie went inside.
No matter the time of day, the plumasserie was dappled in shadow due to the strings of feathers festooned overhead. Plumage from every kind of bird and in a rainbow of glorious hues fluttered as the door closed. The scent of dyes, wax, and something earthier tickled Rosie’s nostrils as the proprietress came from behind a counter.
“Mademoiselle Kent,” she said with a curtsy, “what a lovely surprise to see you!”
Rosie wondered at the woman’s high color. Usually Diderot was as pale as a ghost.
“Likewise, Madame. Odette convinced me to brave the cold to attain a replacement. I lost the white ostrich feather at a masquerade,” she said apologetically.
“You are in luck. Today I received a special shipment which included several heron feathers.”
At the mention of the prized species, Rosie perked up. “I should love to see them.”
“They are in my specimen preparation room, which is a bit cramped. You would not mind your maid waiting here?”
At the words “specimen preparation,” Rosie’s belly had lurched. Being fastidious by nature meant that she was rather squeamish. The image of bloody carcasses flashed in her head, and she said uneasily, “There aren’t any specimens being, um,prepared, are there?”
“Not the animals, mademoiselle. Just the feathers.”
