“But true enough.”
“Absurd.”
Rosanna sighed and shook her head, but before she could say another word, Prudence shifted, turning until she faced her sister.
“You are too hard on yourself, dearest. I fear we both have always been so.” Prudence paused, her brows pulling low as she considered that. “I have found myself wondering of late just how different life would’ve been for both of us had we not been born in the same family.”
“That is a horrid thought.”
“Not in that way,” said Prudence, freeing a hand to pat Rosanna’s. “Of course I wish for you to be my sister, but I have to wonder if we might’ve been judged better had we not been sisters so close in age. Our beauty, talents, and personalities have always been compared one to the other, and it does a disservice to us both, as we are very different people. Neither of us is better or lesser than the other. We are simply different. Yet no one seems to accept that fact.”
Leaning down, Prudence set Nell into her bassinet beside the sofa before turning back to her sister and drawing nearer. “It is only since I met Parker that I have stopped believing myself to be an eyesore—”
“You are not an eyesore, Prudence! You never have been!” Rosanna scowled, longing to pummel all the fools who had made her sister believe such nonsense. When she emerged from those dark thoughts, she found Prudence watching her with an arched brow.
“I know that now, but I did not always believe it. I was always compared to you, and so I was forever bound to fall short.” Squeezing her sister’s hand, Prudence leaned closer and added in a low voice, “The same is true of you. Rather than fixating on your shortcomings, it is more useful to focus on your talents and the good you do. Shore up those strengths, and I promise you will improve overall.”
Rosanna opened her mouth, but before she could argue the point, Prudence continued, “You are not a useless creature. You are not an ornament. Your gifts are different from mine, but they are there.”
Giving a vague huff that was neither agreement nor dismissal, Rosanna drew in a deep breath and sighed. “That is the problem. I have no idea what they are, nor can I seem to discover them.”
“A good place to start would be to stop assuming your talents will look like mine,” replied Prudence. “If you approach this search with the underlying thought, ‘What would Prudence do?’, you will never get anywhere. You are vastly different from me, so why do you think my way of doing charity or helping the family or whatever else you want to do would look the same? You are a good person, Rosanna. You simply need to know yourself better.”
Holding onto an empty smile, Rosanna nodded, knowing that was precisely what Prudence expected. The advice was sound in many ways, but for all that her sister believed so well of her, Rosanna knew herself plenty well.
For all that she espoused charitable beliefs, buried beneath it was the vapid creature that had been far too eager to steal away her sister’s beau simply because she wanted him—the fairy princess who flitted about the ballrooms, deigning to bless the masses with her presence. Rosanna’s heart shuddered at the thought of what she was and what she could so easily be.
The clock chimed, reminding her of just how simple that shift could be.
“I fear the time has gotten away from me,” she murmured, glancing at the numbers counting down to her appointment. “For some incomprehensible reason, Mr. Tate has announced his ball is to be a masquerade, and Mama insists I must have a new costume. No doubt she’ll demand I be a shepherdess. I fear every mother in town is desperate to choose an alluring ensemble for their marriageable daughters, and like all the rest, Mama is convinced a shepherdess is the perfect sweet and innocent image to present to our host.”
The thought of meeting the mysterious Mr. Tate had Rosanna’s insides twisting into knots. Not only because of her parents’ expectations but because one thought had continued to plague her over the past fortnight. Why did she continue to entertain the overtures of a man who could never pay her proper court? This game had no winners, only losers, and it was time for her to let Mr. Malcolm go.
“Do you think she’ll insist you bring an actual sheep with you?” asked Prudence with a chuckle.
Rosanna forced a laugh, dragging her thoughts back to the conversation. “I wouldn’t be surprised. At least she isn’t as bold as Mrs. Brookman. I’ve heard she’s dressing her daughter as a sultana in billowing breeches that come only to her knees. I couldn’t imagine spending the evening with my legs so exposed!”
Prudence grimaced. “Though I suppose it would be nice not to heft about one’s skirts, and balls are dreadfully hot.”
Glancing at the clock face again, Rosanna sighed once more. “I ought to go, but I cannot bear the thought of the battle to come. I can already hear Katherine’s shrill voice arguing with Mama over every length of ribbon she purchases. She is determined to fill your shoes, but I fear she hasn’t the tact to manage our parents. She blunders in, demanding they change their ways, and they simply dig in their heels. To say nothing of the fact that she doesn’t mind doing so in the middle of the shop—in front of everyone.”
“I think she is simply looking for her own place, just as you are,” replied Prudence.
The time was ticking away, and Rosanna knew she needed to leave. As much as she longed to stay in Prudence’s home, there was no avoiding the fact that reality was encroaching, and Rosanna needed to return to it.
Rising to her feet, she embraced her sister, and holding her close, Prudence whispered, “You shall find your gifts, dearest. I know you shall. It took me time, but I have found peace, and my life is all the more glorious now for the struggle.”
Then, pulling away, Prudence held Rosanna’s hands and gave her a gentle smile. “And do not be so critical of yourself. None of us are perfect, and you aren’t expected to be, either.”
Rosanna smiled and nodded, though both movements were more habit than truth.
Chapter 11
Standing in the darkened corner of his makeshift ballroom, Malcolm glanced down the gallery; it stretched the length of the building and gave the dancers the perfect space for their long lines, which could stretch on ad infinitum. Having had little part in the planning for the evening, he deserved no credit for the massive arrays of flowers lining the walls or the group of musicians now tuning away in the far section, but the most perfect aspect of this evening was all his doing.
A masquerade. What more could he ask for?
“And what are you supposed to be?” asked Sidney, drawing up beside him whilst scrutinizing the plain finery his friend wore.
