“You do not need to leave,” said Rosanna as Katherine moved to the door. “I was simply hoping for a bit of quiet. Last night was quite exhausting.”
Pausing with her back to her sister, Katherine glanced over her shoulder. “Do you wish me to stay?”
Rosanna’s head canted to the side. There was something in her sister’s tone that gave her pause, though Rosanna couldn’t say what it was precisely. With a seven-year difference between the two of them, she couldn’t say that she knew Katherine as well as she ought.
“If you wish to stay, please do,” said Rosanna, motioning towards the sofa.
Katherine remained at the door for a long moment before finally taking a seat. Rosanna considered sitting as well, but there was too much energy thrumming through her, so she allowed herself to pace the room, glancing at the knick-knacks along the shelves and the paintings hanging from the wall while still keenly aware of Katherine watching her. The young lady wasn’t even hiding it, simply following Rosanna’s movements as though it was entirely normal to stare at another.
“Did you have trouble last night?” asked Katherine with a frown.
Rosanna spun around to face her. “What makes you think so?”
“You haven’t stood still since you came into the parlor. Something is amiss.”
Waving a vague hand, Rosanna returned to her pacing. “Last night was a bit eventful.”
“Is Mr. Tate your beau?”
“Do not listen to Mama, Katherine. She is more hopeful than correct most of the time.”
Silence followed that, and Rosanna glanced at her sister from the far side of the room. Katherine’s gaze was fixed on her lap, and she straightened her skirts, picking at invisible lint on the muslin. Rosanna’s brows furrowed. Why was she staying if she refused to speak?
Rosanna tried to think of something to say, but she had so little in common with Katherine. Francis was young as well, but despite being only seventeen, she shared many likes and dislikes with Rosanna; the youngest Leigh daughter would never quite be a replacement for Prudence, but at least Rosanna counted Francis as a friend. If ever she needed someone to pick through the fashion plates or design a bonnet, her youngest sister was Rosanna’s first choice.
Katherine was another beast altogether. Rosanna was no musician, and the young lady seemed to care for little else, despite her lack of talent. Katherine was a reader, as well, but Rosanna couldn’t claim any great literary knowledge. In many ways, Katherine and Prudence seemed so alike in so many ways, taking more after their father, whilst Rosanna and Francis were more aligned with their mother’s tastes. However, even Prudence struggled to understand the coldness Katherine so often displayed.
Turning back to the bookshelf, Rosanna pretended to study the figurines littering the space, but her thoughts kept wandering back to the night before.
“Might I speak with you about something important?” Katherine’s question startled her, and Rosanna spun to see her sister pushing her spectacles up her nose.
“Certainly, dearest.”
Katherine’s muscles tightened for a fraction of a second before she began speaking. “I have given much thought to the issue with the gig and have spoken to Grandmama at length about it. Papa is determined to simply fix it—or worse still, replace it. However, I don’t believe it is the best course of action. He is quick to ignore me, but perhaps if you—”
The parlor door swung open, and Mama wafted in.
“What a coup!” she gushed, flouncing in and dropping onto the sofa beside Katherine. “Mr. Tate is quite taken with you, my dear. That bouquet he sent this morning must’ve cost a small fortune!”
Rosanna crossed her arms and turned away, striding to the far end of the room. There was nothing to say to that. Nothing good at any rate. Mama would never comprehend that her dear Rosanna wasn’t overjoyed at Mr. Tate’s halfhearted attempt at an apology.
As if a sprig of flowers would make up for his deception.
“Mama, I was speaking to Rosanna about the gig—”
“Never mind that, Katherine,” said Mama with a wave of her hand. “Who cares about gigs and the like when Mr. Tate is practically in your sister’s pocket?”
“I care,” replied Katherine. “And so does Michael. How is our manservant expected to fulfill his duties when he cannot trust that the gig will make the journey to the market and back?”
“I am certain Mr. Tate will call on us today,” said Mama as though Katherine had not even spoken. “He spent every moment with you that he could and seemed so keen to send us off personally. And the flowers? A sure sign you have made a conquest.”
Rosanna’s teeth were set on edge, but she kept her back to the pair.
“If we were to get rid of the carriage, we could replace the gig with a phaeton large enough to suit our needs when we require it, but something that the servants can use when they require it,” said Katherine. “A phaeton wouldn’t require a coachman, so we could forgo that expense—”
“Why do you insist on prattling on, Katherine?” asked Mama. “With Mr. Tate nipping at your sister’s heels, there’s no need for us to bother with such thoughts.”
Katherine rose to her feet and left the parlor without another word.
