“Not at all,” she said with a shake of her head. “In truth, I would never dream of speaking about my friends behind their back, but this is nothing insidious or hurtful, and as I’ve come to know you better, I truly believe you and he are well-suited. If what I say can set your mind at ease, I am pleased to do so.”
Molly’s lips pulled into a wry smile, her eyes sparking with contentment. “Malcolm Tate can be a ridiculous man at times, but he is genuine. I’ve never seen him so distressed as he has been of late. What you said to him was not brushed aside, Rosanna. Like all good sweethearts, you’ve helped him to see a flaw in his character, and he is determined to correct it.”
The heat swept through Rosanna’s heart once more. Perhaps Molly was merely telling her what she wished to hear, but she couldn’t believe that of the lady. Especially not when she continued.
“In fact, I feel I ought to give you some grand gift in gratitude for your part in making my husband see his own folly,” she said with a chuckle. “The pair of them were raised by the sort of upper class men who believe themselves the infallible masters of all they survey. Apologies are a weakness and put oneself in the power of another, and a man of their status ought never to do such a thing.”
Molly widened her eyes in exasperation. “I have been trying since the very beginning to get Sidney to see beyond the pride of his station. Our men are stubborn, but with everything that has happened, I have finally succeeded. I adore my husband, but I don’t know what I would’ve done if I had to endure one more disagreement in which he refused to acknowledge his part in it.”
Rosanna’s brows rose, and she stood there staring at her friend. “Then you believe Mr. Tate is truly changing—”
A hand at her elbow had Rosanna whirling to find Mr. Potts standing at her side. “I do apologize—”
But it was her turn to do so, for Rosanna shook her head. “Oh, Mr. Potts. I’m afraid I’ve kept you waiting, and that is so very rude of me. Please forgive me.”
Rosanna longed to remain precisely where she was, but she took Mr. Potts’s hand and turned away with him. Her question had been answered, and there was no reason to tarry here if it meant she must slight Mr. Potts.
“One moment, sir,” said Molly, taking Rosanna by the arm and drawing her just out of hearing. “This change is far grander than you realize, Rosanna. Not only did he apologize to you, but he sought forgiveness from his staff. He even gave them time off as recompense for asking them to lie for him.”
Jerking back, Rosanna gaped at the lady. “He did?”
“So, yes, Rosanna. I truly believe he is changing for the better, and it is not just for your benefit.” Pausing, the lady bit her lips, her gaze searching Rosanna’s face. “I know you’ve had a difficult go of it, and you have every reason to doubt him, but Malcolm Tate is a good man. Flawed, certainly, but good. He would make you a wonderful beau. Do not surrender that so easily, Rosanna.”
Then Molly handed her off to Mr. Potts, and Rosanna was led back into the fray, though her gaze remained wide and unfocused as she tried to comprehend the revelations the lady had just heaped upon her.
Chapter 32
Once more, Rosanna’s feet carried her along without prompting, thank the heavens. Though she had hoped to gain some consolation from Molly, the conversation left Rosanna more befuddled than before. Was it true? Could it be? Despite Molly’s loyalties to Mr. Tate, Rosanna didn’t believe for a moment the lady would lie for him.
Mr. Tate was changing. Growing. He had apologized not only to her but to his staff. She couldn’t possibly foster her former fears when faced with evidence that he was not stuck in his ways. Not only did he encourage her to see herself in a better light, but apparently, she was encouraging him to do the same.
And was it right of her to hold his past sins against him? She certainly did not wish for him to judge her by her behavior last year. Prudence had freely forgiven once a sincere apology was given. What did it say of Rosanna if she refused to give Mr. Tate the same mercy?
“I understand I am to congratulate you,” said Mr. Potts, proving himself to be a much better dancer than Mr. Isaacs, for he had little trouble managing conversation and the steps all while nodding greetings at the couples in the other sets.
“Pardon?” Rosanna had heard his words, but her wits were severely lacking at present.
“The courtship,” said Mr. Potts, nodding towards the edge of the gathering, where Rosanna spied Mr. Tate. Though his attention was occupied by a circle of people, his gaze drifted from his companions and met hers—the clear blue alight with that silent question.
Can you forgive me?
“It has become a matter of town pride that one of our own has captured the attention of such a man,” said Mr. Potts. “Though it seems clear to me it is more than merely advantageous. He can hardly keep his eyes off you. Absolutely enamored.”
Rosanna’s eyes snapped back to her partner, a denial resting upon her lips. She’d spoken those words more often than anything else over the past weeks, and although no one believed Rosanna’s emphatic denials that Mr. Tate was courting her, she’d held firm to her resolve. But for all that the words had come so readily in the past, Rosanna couldn’t speak them now.
***
When he was young, Malcolm’s nursemaids often used sweets to bribe him and his sisters into good behavior. Long carriage rides were punctuated by cakes and candies, making them all the more enjoyable. Even the most excruciatingly boring moments were made sweeter with a bit of sugar.
But no amount of goodies could make this interminable evening better.
Malcolm hid in a corner of the room, blocked somewhat by an arrangement of autumnal branches. It had taken some time to find himself such a prime position—out of sight of most of the guests yet allowing him glimpses of the dancers. With such a mob, he couldn’t keep his gaze trained on Miss Leigh throughout the evening, but it afforded flashes of her.
However, despite the intention of entertaining himself whilst waiting for his promised dance to arrive, Malcolm’s teeth ground together as he watched as yet another gentleman swept Miss Leigh away. The lady hadn’t had a spare moment since the music began, and Malcolm’s mood was growing darker with each passing hour. Just five minutes with her would do more for him than a mountain of comfits and fudge had done for that younger Malcolm.
Perhaps he ought to hide in the card room and not torture himself further. Yet Malcolm couldn’t leave the spot. A few sets with other ladies had allowed the time to pass a little quicker, but for much of the evening, he’d found himself surrounded by people, all demanding his attention whilst he wished them to Hades. Thank heavens for this corner.
Then another set began, and Malcolm’s heartbeat picked up its pace. Only one more.
