The Chorleys’ chosen picnic grounds were quite familiar, as it was their favorite location for almost every outside gathering they hosted. Copses dotted the hillside with vast swaths of grass sitting in the sun (what little there was of it). Their hosts had erected canopies for those afraid of even the slightest shaft of light and laid coverings on the ground with plump pillows that practically begged for the guests to lounge and relax, whilst footmen oversaw the spread of food, which was stretched out to one side.
Despite the grandiose nature of the gathering, it was unremarkable in the fact that it looked like any number of the Chorleys’ gatherings, and as Rosanna strode closer to it, she was struck by the memory of another just like it. Of course, that had been a shooting party, and there was no such sport taking place today, but beyond the echoing gunshots and shouts of victory, the afternoon felt almost identical to that one.
Rosanna didn’t spy her sister and brother-in-law amongst the throng, though they were bound to attend, as Parker couldn’t pass up any opportunity to mix with potential clients—unless a patient required him, of course. But that thought only cemented the feeling that she had been transported back to last autumn’s festivities.
People called to her, and Rosanna waved back, giving each a smile and a greeting, but her thoughts were far from this moment. It was impossible to turn her mind to the here and now when so much of history seemed to be repeating itself.
Not far from this spot, Parker had spoken to her about her potential, inspiring her first steps into bettering herself. At first, she’d taken a sharp decline when she’d cast Prudence’s feelings aside and pursued her sister’s beau, and Rosanna couldn’t help but shudder when she recalled those weeks—even if the end result was as perfect as she could’ve wanted. Prudence had won Parker’s heart, and Rosanna had realized just how flawed and selfish she was.
Walking with purpose (she had learned long ago that a determined stride often deterred others from approaching), she crossed the grass. While she did wish to venture into the social fray, she couldn’t help but wish for just a bit more solace as her thoughts churned. A question surfaced again and again, pricking at her conscience with quiet persistence, demanding that she answer, yet Rosanna had none to give.
Was she a better person now than she had been? Was she continuing to improve? Or had she plateaued, unable to venture beyond her frailties?
Chapter 21
Standing at the crest of the hill above the gathering, Rosanna gazed out at the patchwork of green; the grass, trees, and shrubs all boasted their own shade, which blended into the bright and vibrant color of life. And she considered the changes wrought in her over the past year, and what direction that growth was taking.
Was she continuing to improve?
Brows pinching together, Rosanna tried to supply an answer, but for every example of her goodness, she found others in which she had fallen short of what she wished, tainted by her weakness. Even now, she was more focused on herself, rather than doing that which she ought.
If she truly wished to coordinate a charity concert, Rosanna needed to act before time grew short. Beyond the usual issues one faced with a party—invitations, refreshments, and decorations—the entertainment itself would take several ladies to organize. They needed to scour local talent and secure someone of note to draw a crowd.
And then there was the venue. Some location large enough to hold the attendees with a piano on hand for accompaniment. Should they have a small platform or stage? That seemed a tad much, but how was she to know?
Rosanna paused for a moment and realized she hadn’t considered just how she was to pay for any of this. Most of her pin money for the quarter was intact, but that wouldn’t cover it all. Though it could be paid from the proceeds of the ticket sales, those funds wouldn’t be available until the night of the concert.
Should she even use the proceeds to pay for it? Or was that something paid out of pocket by a benefactor?
This was a herculean effort with countless details to see to, and Rosanna couldn’t possibly manage it on her own. Prudence required no assistance for such endeavors, but Rosanna needed an army at her back, and the best place to enlist her sisters in arms was at this picnic. Though social pressure could cause harm when used improperly, it could also be employed for good, pressing people into doing something they wouldn’t volunteer for if allowed to decline in the comfort and privacy of their own home.
Turning her attention from the beauty of the landscape, she gazed out at the people lounging about the hillside. The younger set shouldn’t be a bother, as Rosanna had a strong standing amongst them, but the matrons were another problem altogether. They had the resources and experience she required, but they wouldn’t like to be led by a lady half their age.
Mrs. Wilson might be someone good to have on hand, though she was by no means Rosanna’s first choice in the matter. Aid was well and good, but not when every decision became a battle; constantly worrying about a mutiny was hardly conducive to success. Besides, Mrs. Rushworth was sitting not far from her, and the vicar’s wife was the perfect candidate to manage the whole affair with her. Not to mention that the lady would easily sway more matrons to participate.
But before Rosanna moved towards her intended target, a swarm of girls descended upon her. For all that there were only three in number, they tittered enough that it seemed as though three times as many of them surrounded her.
She knew better than to stop walking.
“I understand you know the mysterious Mr. Tate,” said Miss Garrison, eliciting a slew of giggles from her companions.
“He is so very handsome,” added Miss Hedley with a sigh.
“Is he as charming as they say he is?” asked Miss Monroe. “I spied him whilst he was wandering town the other day, and he is the handsomest man I have ever seen. A gentleman that attractive surely must be charming. It would be such a waste if he were not.”
The young lady spoke as though it was a tragedy on par with civil war or economic collapse, putting her whole soul into that statement. Rosanna blinked between the trio, who were hardly old enough to be at this gathering, let alone covet a gentleman nearly twice their age.
“I—” began Rosanna.
“I’ve heard you two are courting,” said Miss Hedley, which elicited nods from the others. “You spent almost the entirety of the masquerade with him—”
“We are not,” Rosanna hurried to say before the young lady could enumerate any further. “We have spent some time together, but that is all.”
It was as though their conversation was some grand signal to others, for soon they were joined by ladies and gentlemen of every age. There weren’t enough to qualify as a mob, per se, but Rosanna certainly felt like the center of a frenzy as various people speculated wildly about “The Mysterious Mr. Tate” (as everyone seemed to call him) and pestered Rosanna for more details about the subject.
“We are not courting,” she repeated for the tenth time.
“Don’t be coy, Miss Leigh,” said Mrs. Pelham. “Everyone saw the two of you thick as thieves during his ball. And then there was that little interlude in the street the next day.”
