“Not as good as I wish to be.”
“None of us are,” he replied. “Imperfection does not indicate wickedness. One can be good and flawed at the same time.”
“At this stage in my life, I would be pleased if I could simply be more than a self-centered society miss.” Miss Leigh let out a low sigh, her shoulders dropping. “My sister advised me to spend more time building up my strengths and talents, rather than focusing on my shortcomings.”
“That is sound advice.”
“But that is the point!” Miss Leigh pulled from his hold and stood before him, her brows knitted together. Throwing her hands wide, she said, “I am not good at anything. I try and try, and all I manage to do is make a muck of everything. When my sister was born, she received all the talents, and I was left with nothing but a pretty face. Unless you count dancing as a skill of note.”
Miss Leigh spat out the last statement with a huff punctuating the end.
“Do you not see what incredible gifts you have?” asked Malcolm, but the answer was clear enough in every sad line of her face.
Her furrowed brow deepened, and Miss Leigh watched him with narrowed eyes. “I am well aware of my gifts, sir, and they are few and far between.”
Turning around, Malcolm placed a hand on the small of her back and motioned towards the gathering, drawing her attention to Molly, who sat amongst a group of ladies, her face alight with a broad smile as the group burst into laughter.
“My friend’s wife has never been at ease in society, but with your assistance, she has found a place amongst Greater Edgerton’s ladies.”
“But—”
“But nothing,” said Malcolm, nodding at Molly. “Even before her marriage, she wasn’t comfortable with people, and I have watched that discomfort increase as she struggled to find her footing amongst people who treated her like rubbish because she dared to be born the daughter of a tradesman. Even her husband’s family hardly tolerates her. But now, she sits amongst a group of strangers, entirely at ease, and that is due to your kindness. That is no little thing, Miss Leigh.”
The lady sighed, her disbelief rife in every decibel. “That is kind of you—”
“It is the truth,” he replied with another frustrated huff. “How can you not see it? You understand people and how to help them, fostering connections they wouldn’t have made otherwise. I’ve watched you today and at the masquerade, and you’ve reached out to the wallflowers again and again, drawing them from the shadows—”
“It is a habit. When your sister and closest friend is a natural wallflower, you learn to be aware of them.”
Malcolm stared at her. “Are you truly so blind? I’ve watched as you’ve maneuvered the guests at the picnic into groupings that will put them at ease, fostering connections that might not have taken place. And that is only what I have witnessed. I’ve heard many stories about husbands and wives you’ve introduced, who are now happily settled together.”
Miss Leigh opened her mouth, and it was clear from her frown that it wasn’t to agree with his view of things.
“And do not try to lob it off as habit once more, Miss Leigh. It is a talent, pure and simple. Perhaps your relationship with your sister enhanced that natural ability, but that doesn’t diminish the fact that it is a gift,” he said, turning his attention back to the group. “Watching Molly struggle has made it clear to me that not everyone is good at setting others at ease and fostering friendship. You excel at it, and rather than using that skill to further your own selfish ends, you help those who cannot do so themselves. That is the mark of a good person, Miss Leigh, and no amount of arguing will convince me otherwise.”
With a pinched brow, she gazed out at the gathering, and though Malcolm didn’t see acceptance in her eyes, there was a spark of awareness that was growing with each word he spoke.
“This is not a small gift, Miss Leigh. Not to those you help,” he said. “Plenty of lovely ladies are paraded about society and admired from afar. Beauty alone does not win one a place at the heart of society. That takes either Machiavellian manipulation—which you sorely lack—or pure, unadulterated kindness. You make people want to be near you, not because of your face or figure but because of who you are.”
*
Surely, Mr. Tate had a talent with words, for his settled deep into Rosanna’s heart with a simmering warmth like the first crackling flames dancing across tinder. She watched the people milling about, and the more he spoke, the more she saw his meaning. How many of those people sitting on the blankets and wandering around had been matched by her? It was so second nature to her that Rosanna couldn’t countenance his conviction, but the more the gentleman spoke, the more his words burned in her heart, chasing away the chill.
What she did meant little. Compared to what Prudence was capable of, surely being good with people was hardly worth noting—
Rosanna’s thoughts halted in place as she realized just where they were leading her again. The fire in her chest roared to life as she watched Mrs. Bracegirdle laugh and smile at her companions. It brought with it memories of Prudence at balls and parties, and of countless other young ladies she’d met over the years.
“You make people feel welcome, which is no small thing,” added Mr. Tate. “But more than that, you make people feel good about themselves. And that is an incredible talent to have and far rarer than anything steeped in music, art, language, or literature.”
Sucking in a deep breath, Rosanna forced her chin not to wobble at the certainty in his tone. His assurances were like a log thrown into the blaze, building it hotter until it consumed her.
“Do you truly think so?” She couldn’t help the slight tremor in her tone, though she fought through it.
“I wouldn’t say so if I didn’t mean it, Miss Leigh.” He shifted in place, and his eyes swung from the view ahead of them to watch her with an intent gaze that she wouldn’t have expected from the groom she’d come to know. “You are too hard on yourself.”
“But—”
“You would never speak of another person the way you speak of yourself.”
