They had come to an agreement, Aunt Blanche and Henry. She would continue to consult with Jones in matters having to do with roses and the glasshouse, and Henry would escort her to York for the Rose Show and Ball. Aunt Blanche for her part would remove herself to a comfortable cottage ten miles from Roseleigh as soon as they returned. It was ready now. Henry had made sure of it. In the meantime, Mary would oversee his house, though she pouted about leaving her husband in London before the Season ended so she could accompany Henry home.
He returned to the Roseleigh box on the garden grounds.
“Is all well? You submitted our entry?” Aunt Blanche asked. “What did Martin—Mr. Grey—have to say?” She blushed—a faint pink but definitely a blush.
Well, well.Now that he thought of it, there’d been something wistful in Martin Grey’s question about Aunt Blanche. Whatever it was, Henry planned to encourage it. “He asked if you were going to attend the Rose Ball. I assured him you would put in an appearance.”
Aunt Blanche frowned.
“Pity we can’t dance. I’ve never been to the Rose Ball,” Mary said. Aunt Blanche’s frown deepened.
“There will be other years,” Henry sighed. “I understand Grandpapa also attended some sort of spring meeting. Something about planning the June show. Are there parties then too?”
“Of course!” Aunt Blanche snapped, her expression calculating.
“You are obviously welcome to attend. My presence is expected, I gather. I was informed the Earl of Edgecote will be there.”
Mary bounced in her seat. “That reminds me. I heard a bit of delicious gossip in the ladies’ withdrawing room an hour ago. That daughter of his—the one that claimed she came for Grandpapa’s funeral—parted ways with Edgecote after she went home.”
Aunt Blanche frowned and pursed her lips tightly. “Unmarried ladies of breeding do not ‘part ways’ with their father’s house. It isn’t done, even if they are a bit long in the tooth as Margaret Ansel clearly is. Besides, I assumed that she gleefully shared every secret she managed to pry out of Jones with Edgecote. I expect her here preening over her accomplishments.”
“That’s the thing. She isn’t even here this year, and the rumor is she maintains an independent household. She’s at least twenty-five; she came of age over winter and came into a bequest from her grandmother.” Mary leaned in and whispered, “Edgecote was reputed to be furious with her.”
Henry’s mind raced. His hope of seeing her that day disintegrated. “Where?” he asked.
“Where did I hear it?” Mary asked.
“Where does she live?” Henry asked.
“Northumberland,” Mary responded.
“Disgraceful!” Aunt Blanche spat at the same time. “I knew that woman was not at all respectable. Her behavior at Roseleigh was—”
“Unexceptional.” Henry glared her into quiet. He’d gotten adept at that in the past several months.
Mary shot a knowing glance at Henry but kept quiet. She stood and pointedly avoided glancing at Aunt Blanche. “I am going to look in on the baby.”
By “look in,” Henry suspected she meant feed. Mary had taken the unfashionable decision to breastfeed, one Henry applauded and Aunt Blanche vociferously disapproved. “Kiss little Algernon for me,” he said with a teasing grin.
“You may kiss Henrietta yourself this evening before the ball,” Mary retorted. “Your niece loves it when you do.”
If I go to the ball. With assurance Margaret Ansel would not be in attendance, he wasn’t entirely sure he would go. He sighed. Of course he would go. He had agreed to escort Aunt Blanche.
Jones rushed over just then, and he had no more time to consider the matter. Judging had begun. Following Jones and a shockingly fluttery Aunt Blanche, he discovered the winners were to be announced at the ball. He had to attend.
*
Margaret, in aplain gray dress and dark cloak, slipped into the York Assembly Hall through a back door, then the offices, to the recess between the offices and the kitchen, where a narrow door opened to the grand assembly room and a musicians’ gallery had been nestled between the columns. She flattened herself against the wall and ignored curious glances from the musicians. From there she could hear the announcements and perhaps see the raised dais at the far end of the room, where the council officers would sit.
She had come to hear the results, unable to stay away. She’d managed a quick look in late afternoon when the crowds had thinned and the cream of society had already returned to their lodgings to prepare for the ball. The Edgecote rose, a washed-out white, had none of the life she’d put into Innocent Sprite, with its faint blush of peach in its heart, the previous year. Father disapproved of that blush. He’d pushed the gardeners back to bright white.
Staring at her toes, she berated herself for the tenth time. Coming to York had been a terrible idea. She’d walked out of her father’s house in January to his irate disapproval. If he saw her here, he’d chastise her publicly and cause a scene.
The music continued, soothing her jangled nerves until she saw something that made her heart speed up. Henry strolled past the musicians with some delicate flower of York womanhood on his arm. At least he wasn’t dancing.Of course he isn’t—it is less than a year since his grandfather’s death.She wanted to pull the little miss’s hair out.
Margaret’s heart sank. Could she be so jealous of some debutante she’d never even met? Over a man she’d spent one lovely afternoon and one even lovelier morning with? Of course he would look over the current crop. A duke required a wife and heirs, and he would inevitably look for a young woman of breeding.
You’re an earl’s daughter, for heaven’s sake. Perfectly eligible. If only you weren’t too old, too tall, too intellectual, too busy about your own project.Perhaps she could finish what she’d started on time for next year and she would come and enter on her own.Then… But by then, he will likely be married.
