“Yes?”
“What is your opinion of Andrew Corbett?”
The ensuing silence boomed like a clap of thunder. Revelstoke looked to Papa, his lifted brows saying louder than words,You can take it from here.
“That is none of your concern, young lady,” Papa said with a foreboding frown.
“It is. In recent weeks, Mr. Corbett has been,”—she chose her words carefully—“endeavoring to protect me from scandal. Yet never once did he let on about his identity. Now that I know he’s, um, an acquaintance of Revelstoke’s, I want to learn more about him.”
“Now that you know who Corbett is,” Papa said sternly, “you ought to know that he was right in keeping his identity from you. While I do not agree with his tactics, I do with his discretion. You will have no further contact with him, Rosie.”
“Is he truly that wicked?” she said hesitantly.
Her father seemed to struggle with his response.Interesting.
“The world is rarely black and white,” he said at length. “I cannot in good conscience defame Corbett’s character, but he is not suitable company for you.”
“But he’s a part of my past, isn’t he?”
Papa stilled, his amber eyes wary. “Is that what he told you?”
Her frustration spilled over. “He told menothing, just as you are telling me nothing now! I am no longer a child. Why won’t anyone tell me the truth?”
Trepidation prickled over her skin like thorny vines. What was so terrible about her past? Why did her parents think it necessary to keep it concealed?
“It’s true that you’re no longer a girl.” Papa’s chest heaved on a sigh. “As for Corbett, it is not for me to tell you about him. When we get home, you’ll speak to Mama.”
“Why bother? She never tells me anything,” Rosie said sullenly.
“She wants only to protect you. She loves you, Poppet, more than you’ll ever know. This time, however, there is no hiding from the past.” Papa’s troubled expression ramped up Rosie’s guilt—and anxiety. “For either of you.”
~~~
Two evenings later, Rosie sat in her mother’s sitting room. As a girl, she’d always felt privileged to be permitted into this feminine sanctuary. Mama changed the décor from time to time, but the room was always a statement of her inimitable good taste. Presently, the walls were papered in pale lemon silk, the furnishings upholstered in eggshell velvet. The vase of hothouse peonies on the escritoire provided the only sign of cheer at the moment.
“How could you do such a thing, Rosie?” Her emerald dressing gown swirling around her slender form, Mama was pacing before the settee where Rosie sat. “This was beyond reckless. Beyond thepale.”
“Have a care, my love.” Papa watched the proceedings from the hearth, one arm braced on the marble mantel. “You’ve just recently regained your health—”
“I blame myself.” Mama’s famously sculpted cheekbones were pale. “If I hadn’t been bedridden, I could have kept a better eye on her. Prevented thiscatastrophe. It is my fault.”
With throbbing remorse, Rosie watched as Papa crossed over to Mama, enfolding her in his arms. He whispered to her, his hand moving over her loose silver blonde tresses in a soothing stroke. Witnessing the love between her parents had always made Rosie feel safe, but now a host of other emotions swelled in her.
Longing to have what they had. Determination to understand her own history.
And sudden, inexplicable anger.
She stood. “I am sorry that I have caused you both worry. But I am not a child, to be discussed as if I am not present.”
Mama lifted her head from Papa’s shoulder. “If you are not a child, then why have you acted like one? Eloping with a blackguard… on some pettywhim…”
“It was not a whim.” Rosie was proud of how steady she sounded. “It was the logical solution to my problems.”
“Marrying a lecherous old peer solved your problems?”
“I took a leaf from your book.”
She saw the stunned look on Mama’s face—and was too angry to care.
