“Can you not simply call on her tomorrow?” asked Mr. Tate.
“That is not the point!” Rosanna scowled at herself. “I was distracted from what was important, allowing the moment to slip away rather than forcing myself to do what I must.”
“You are being too hard on yourself, Miss Leigh.” Mr. Tate’s voice was low and calm with just a hint of a smile in its depths. Turning to face him with narrowed eyes, she found him watching her with unmistakable laughter in his gaze.
“You are mocking me.”
“I am not, but I cannot help but find your reaction a little humorous. You made a little misstep, and you are ready to sacrifice yourself like the martyrs of old.”
Rosanna straightened, lifting her chin as a spark of fire burned in her veins. “I suppose it would be impossible for you to understand such an impulse. Why would the master of a manor need a conscience? Why bestir yourself to think of others or how your actions might impact them?”
The words flew from her lips before she had the chance to think better of them, and despite the anger sizzling through her, Rosanna didn’t miss the flinch that had his features twitching as she tossed out that criticism. Snapping a hand over her mouth, she winced and lowered her head.
When she could trust herself to speak again, she said, “I apologize. I am so out of sorts lately, and I fear you are bearing the brunt of my frustrations.”
Rosanna’s eyes burned, but she refused to allow tears to gather. Why must Mr. Tate always see her in such moments? At least with her muddy tumble, it had only been her petticoats and pelisse that were ruined beyond repair. Her pride couldn’t take more of a beating.
“What is troubling you?” asked Mr. Tate.
Brows pinched together, Rosanna’s gaze darted up to his, and he held up a staying hand.
“I mean beyond that display of temper. There is something more to it than merely being piqued at me or our situation.”
“You think you know me so well that you can determine such a thing, sir?”
Mr. Tate canted his head to the side. “You were quite free with your words before the masquerade. I may have bruised your trust, but I hope I haven’t broken it altogether. I never feigned my concern for you.”
“I was speaking with Mr. Malcolm before,” said Rosanna, crossing her arms and turning away from him, her feet dragging her along at a pace even Mr. Tate could match.
“I hate to risk your ire by mentioning my past sins, but he and I are the same.” Coming around to stop in front of her, Mr. Tate offered up his arm to her. “Please, Miss Leigh, would you do me the honor of accompanying me on a walk? If nothing else, I am certain your mother will do everything in her power to ensure we are not disturbed by the rest of the party, which will give you a moment’s peace.”
Mr. Tate gave a subtle nod over Rosanna’s shoulder, and she followed the prompt, seeing Mama interrupting a trio of ladies who were set on a course to intercept them. Rosanna couldn’t help a halting chuckle.
But her attention was drawn back to the gentleman at hand when he nudged his arm at her and added, “And should you wish to unburden your heart, I am an excellent listener.”
Rosanna glanced at his proffered arm, and then Mr. Tate gave her the smile that had captured her attention again and again.
“Have you ever seen such a fine specimen, Miss Leigh? I am quite proud of it.”
Despite the nagging voice that warned her not to, Rosanna couldn’t help but take hold and allow him to guide her along. Things had altered greatly since he’d been the mere Mr. Malcolm, but there was something so familiar about him—something that begged her to confide. Rosanna was in sore need of a listening ear, and when one presented itself, she couldn’t fight the allure.
Especially when Mr. Tate asked, “Now, what is troubling you?”
His voice was low and tender, as though the answer mattered greatly to him, and Rosanna couldn’t resist any longer.
*
One did not navigate society successfully without being able to playact. It was a necessary skill to maintain one’s position. Wealth and beauty were helpful, but if one could not school one’s expressions in times of distress, one became fodder for the gossips. Malcolm Tate had been raised amongst the backbiting and jockeying, and for all that Miss Leigh and the other residents of Greater Edgerton thought their society quite elevated, it was nothing to London—where Malcolm had received the bulk of his education.
And so, he was quite capable of acting nonchalant. Or so he thought.
However, when Miss Leigh took his arm and allowed him to guide her away from the rest of the picnic, Malcolm’s control fought his desire to preen. It was a small victory, perhaps, but it was a victory nonetheless, and in the face of their disastrous interactions previously, he would revel in the territory he gained. However little.
Despite her reticence a moment ago, Miss Leigh began to speak, and the words tumbled out in a torrent, leaping from one thought to the next with little coherency. Malcolm struggled to comprehend her verbal acrobatics. Thankfully, the emotion rife in it all was clear enough. Her tone was sharp, her brows pulled low, and he fought against a flinch: her frustration wasn’t directed at him. For once.
“I want to be a good person, and no matter what I do, I cannot seem to rise to the occasion.”
Malcolm slanted a smile at her, his brows twisted in disbelief. “You are a good person.”
