Chapter Eight
Rosalinde sat on the edge of the bed, watching Celia’s maid, Ruth, fix her sister’s hair. Gertrude was still fussing with Rosalinde’s gown, tugging at the fabric and primping her ceaselessly.
But Rosalinde was only half-aware of all of it. She was thinking of Gray. It had been three days since he kissed her in the parlor after her run-in with her grandfather. Three days, and since then he had scarcely been around. Oh, she sometimes saw him at supper or passing through the hallways, but he never spoke to her.
“Did you see him?” Celia asked, the question piercing through Rosalinde’s distracted fog.
“See him?” she repeated in blank confusion.
Celia turned to look at her. “Grayson Danford. Great Lord, Rosalinde, have you been listening to me at all?”
Rosalinde blinked. She had not, of course, and it seemed she had missed out on information about her very obsession.
“I’m sorry, I must have been woolgathering,” she admitted.
Celia rolled her eyes. “I was saying thathewas staring down the table last night, watching me. We were sitting right next to each other, Rosalinde. I was wondering if you’d noticed.”
Gertrude let out a snort. “Perhaps he weren’t looking at you, Miss Celia. Perhaps he was looking at Mrs. Wilde. After all, he—”
Rosalinde jumped to her feet. “Gertie,” she said sharply, cutting her maid off before she could reveal her secret about that night at the inn. “That’s enough.”
Gertrude shot her an odd look. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Wilde,” she said.
Celia stared at the two. “What is it? Is there some reason Mr. Danford would have an interest in you, Rosalinde?”
Rosalinde pushed to her feet and forced a smile on her face. “Lord, no,” she lied. “Ruth, are you finished with Miss Celia?”
Ruth looked her charge over once and nodded. “She’s as pretty as a picture.”
Rosalinde smiled broadly, despite her nervousness about Celia’s current choice of conversational topic. “Indeed, she is. Why don’t you and Gertrude leave us, then?”
The two maids both bobbed their heads and made for the door. Rosalinde followed. Ruth stepped out first and as Gertrude made her way past, Rosalinde caught her arm.
“Gertie, please don’t mention toanyonethe fact that Mr. Danford and I met before,” she whispered.
Gertrude shook her head. “Of course, ma’am, but do you mind if I ask why?”
Rosalinde worried her lip as she pondered a response. How in the world could she explain herself to her maid? To anyone? If the fact that she and Gray had spent a night in each other’s arms ever came to light, the consequences would be swift and terrible.
“Mr. Danford is not kind to my sister,” she explained at last. “And the fact that he represented himself as a gentleman to me that night, deceived me, would likely only upset her. I would like to avoid that, as Celia is already nervous about her marriage and fitting in with Stenfax’s family. So please, do not say a word.”
Gertrude nodded. “All right, Mrs. Wilde. I won’t say anything.”
“Thank you,” Rosalinde breathed. “I’ll see you later.”
As her maid turned, Rosalinde shut the door with a sigh. At least that issue had been subverted. For now.
“Why are you being so short with Gertie?” Celia asked, rising and turning to face Rosalinde.
She couldn’t help it—Rosalinde caught her breath. Celia did look beautiful in a pale green gown with a darker green overlay that was spun with flowers. She looked like a future countess should. Even Gray couldn’t deny that.
“Rosalinde?” Celia said, her brow wrinkling.
Rosalinde moved toward her, catching her hands. “I’m sorry, I was just taken aback by how utterly lovely you look, Celia. Truly, you have never been more beautiful. Stenfax will be set on his heels.”
Her sister, who had at first smiled at the compliment, now frowned. “I doubt that. Stenfax isn’t moved by such things. I’m certain he’ll be pleased that I am presentable and appropriate, but otherwise…” Celia waved her hand as if to dismiss any other connection.
Rosalinde frowned. “But Celia—”
