“That would be quite a fine way to pass an hour or two.”
“That would be quite an improper way to pass an hour or two, Mr. Malcolm,” she said.
The fellow walked backward away from the gig, looking as cowed by her objection as a rascal ever could—that is to say, not at all. He met her protest with that impish grin of his, and Rosanna tried to enforce her position, but her traitorous lips struggled against a smile that kept trying to emerge.
“You have your work, and I have my reputation,” she said, raising her voice to be heard as he continued to stroll backward toward the trees.
“I shall be here at one o’clock every day,” he shouted back. “If I have to wait all afternoon, I shall.”
“You will have to do so, Mr. Malcolm!”
Yet even as Rosanna took control of the gig and sent it down the road, she couldn’t help but glance back over her shoulder at his retreating form. And her gaze found Mr. Malcolm watching her with a broad grin sparkling in the afternoon sunlight.
Chapter 10
Windows were wonderful things. Beyond the obvious benefit of allowing light in whilst keeping the occupants protected from the weather, they allowed one to gaze upon the world as though part of the hustle and bustle of the street outside while being snugly sequestered inside a cozy room.
There was something relaxing about watching the carts and carriages trundle by as the street sellers pushed their wheelbarrows about whilst adults and children milled between them. There was a frenetic energy about it, but from her quiet vantage, Rosanna was allowed to watch it all without wading into the fray.
Leaning her cheek against little Nell’s head, Rosanna pressed a kiss to it. The babe’s delicate wisps of hair tickled Rosanna’s lips, and she drew in a deep breath, delighting in the scent of the baby. With a sway, she rocked the child, reveling in the weight of her…niece? Cousin? That wasn’t entirely correct.
In truth, the child on her shoulder was not directly related to her, although it felt as though Nell were a Leigh. It didn’t feel right to call the child her sister’s niece by marriage because Prudence was every bit a second mother to the poor motherless child, and by extension, Rosanna felt like Nell’s aunt. She supposed the label didn’t matter, but it was a puzzle to know what title to give their relationship.
“Is she still asleep?” asked Rosanna, turning so that Prudence had a clear sight of the child’s eyes.
“No, but you should enjoy the cuddle while she will allow it,” replied her sister. “Now that she is sitting up all by herself, Nell is determined to never willingly lie down again.”
“That is not surprising, given her family,” replied Rosanna. “Her father is a force unto himself. Rarely content to merely sit.”
“That he is,” said Prudence with a chuckle. “For all that he has the makings of an aloof sire, Robert is determined to be both father and mother to her. He’s thrown himself into the role with a fervor that one doesn’t often see, and the poor dear will be all the better for it.”
Prudence’s words slurred together, and Rosanna glanced over to see her sister’s head leaning against the sofa, her eyes closed. For all that Prudence’s brother-in-law had hired a nursemaid to manage most of the day-to-day care for his daughter, Prudence had thrown herself into the role of makeshift mama for the little dear, and Rosanna knew the lady well enough to suspect she was taking on more than need be.
Turning back to the window, Rosanna bounced Nell as she strode along the wall, her eyes tracking the crowd. A flash of blond hair grabbed her eyes, and she paused.
“Those are lovely flowers,” said Prudence.
Rosanna reached her free hand up to brush against the tiny daisy-like flowers that had been tucked between her locks. The movement dislodged them, and she grasped the delicate stem, twirling it about as she fought against a blush. The embarrassment was ridiculous. But then, so was the fact that she had bedraggled wildflowers tucked into her hair.
And then, of course, there was the matter of her secret visits to the woods with a certain groom. Though she longed to lie to herself and say she had no intention of going tomorrow—just as she had every day for the past fortnight—Rosanna knew the truth. She couldn’t seem to stop herself.
Mr. Malcolm’s name rested on the tip of her tongue. This was the perfect opening to tell her sister all about the fellow. But she couldn’t bring herself to speak the words. Their time together felt like a fairy tale that belonged solely to them, and speaking of it would only break the magic. Then Rosanna would be forced to acknowledge that these stolen moments were only leading to future heartache.
“What is that blush for?” asked Prudence with a laugh, lifting her head from the sofa. “Your cheeks are as red as strawberries.”
Using the babe in her arms as a guise, Rosanna bounced Nell around the room, turning away from her sister to hide the telltale flush of pink. She was no young miss to be putting every emotion on display, but no matter how she tried to school her expression, even the slightest remembrance of a certain groom had all her hard-won decorum crumbling.
Rosanna turned to the window and frowned—and ignored how quickly her eyes searched the crowd outside for a familiar head of blond hair, despite how unlikely she was to spy him this far from Boxwood Manor. What was he doing at this hour? No doubt he was busy with his work.
What was she doing with Mr. Malcolm? What purpose did this flirtation serve?
“You are very pensive today, sister of mine,” said Prudence.
“Am I not allowed to be pensive? I do have thoughts and troubles, you know.” Despite having spoken the words, Rosanna didn’t know where they had come from. Nor did she know the origin of the sharp tone with which they were delivered.
Turning in place, she forced her expression to soften. “I apologize, Prudence. I didn’t mean to be brusque with you. I just feel so out of sorts of late.”
She paused and considered that.
