“You do look lovely in blue. I believe I’ve decided on my red velvet for tonight.” Prue laid a hand over Rose’s trembling one. “What about you, Rose? Have you anything in green? With your hair and eyes, I daresay you look stunning in green.”
Rose sucked in a calming breath, her eyes stinging. They were tremendously kind, her friends. “I’m afraid not. That is, I have my green wool, but it’s not nearly grand enough for a ball.” She didn’t haveanythinggrand enough for a ball, which was rather a problem. Abby had promised they’d find a way to make do, but alas, one couldn’t simply pull a silk ballgown from thin air, could one?
But it couldn’t be helped. It might be better if she didn’t go to the ball, after all.
“I have just the thing! I brought a lovely, forest-green silk with me, just in case I changed my mind about the blue. I daresay it will fit you beautifully, Rose, as it’s a bit too tight for me. It’s so perfect, it might have been made for you.” Francesca clapped her hands together, gleeful.
Her, wearing a gown fit for a duchess? “Oh, but I couldn’t wear your—”
“Nonsense, Rose. Of course, you can. It doesn’t do anyone a bit of good sitting in my wardrobe, does it?”
“Franny’s right, Rose, and it will give us such pleasure to dress you.” Prue took her hand. “Promise you’ll meet us in my bedchamber after dinner, won’t you?”
How could she possibly refuse such a kind offer? “I—I promise, and thank you both. I confess I was a bit anxious about it.”
Francesca pressed her hand. “What are chaperones for, if not to provide silk gowns?”
“And jewels,” Prue added. “Don’t forget jewels. Emeralds, I think, to match your eyes.”
Emeralds? Goodness.
“But there will be no ball for us, and no dinner either if we don’t finish the task assigned us.” Francesca cast a dark look at the pine boughs overflowing her lap. “It’s rather nonsensical, really.”
“Indeed.” Prue cast Rose a sidelong glance. “If a gentleman is determined to kiss a lady, he doesn’t need a kissing ball to do it.”
CHAPTER23
“For a man with your aversion to all things merry, your Christmas ball appears to be a resounding success, Grantham.” Montford swallowed the last of his champagne, then set his glass aside on a table so smothered with pine boughs it looked as if an entire forest had sprouted in Max’s ballroom.
“Yes, well done, Grantham. I’m pleasantly surprised. I confess I don’t understand this, however.” Basingstoke frowned at the knot of greenery and ribbons dangling from the crystal chandelier above his head. “Where did all the bloody kissing balls come from?”
“The kissing ball committee got rather carried away, I’m afraid.” If ever there was a sentence Max would have sworn he’d never utter, it wasthatone.
“Kissing ball committee?” Montford gave him a blank look. “I didn’t realize there was such a thing.”
“Where ladies are involved, Montford, there’s a committee for everything. I overheard Lady Emily issuing orders to the other ladies regarding the proper way to decorate a ballroom, and I might easily have mistaken her for a military commander deploying his troops.” Basingstoke shuddered. “It was rather terrifying, really.”
“Speaking of Lady Emily, how do you and she get on, Grantham?” Montford helped himself to another flute of champagne from the tray of a passing footman. “Is she destined to become the next Duchess of Grantham?”
Basingstoke laughed. “Ah, now I understand. It’s not surprising you ended up with eight dozen kissing balls, Grantham. The lady is nothing if not hopeful.”
“What say you, Grantham? You’ll have to find a wife soon enough, unless you intend to ignore your obligations to your title.” Montford shrugged, but he turned a sharp gaze on Max. “Why not Lady Emily? She’ll make you a tolerable wife.”
Perhaps she would have, once, but in only a few short weeks, his life had changed so drastically he hardly recognized it as his own. He would have scoffed if either of his friends had told him one small lady could throw him into such chaos.
Then he’d kissed Rose, and nothing had been the same since.
But a ballroom stuffed to the rafters with gossiping aristocrats wasn’t the time or place to go intothat. He’d spent most of today keeping a respectful distance from her, so as to keep thetonfrom whispering about her behind her back. He wasn’t going to blurt out his secrets now, where anyone might overhear him.
Of course, he’d also kept his distance from Rose to keep from kissing her again.
He’d have to take care to keep away from her until the house party ended, and his guests returned to London. He was far too besotted with Rose to risk even the briefest of glances at her, as it would be sure to give him away.
But it was Christmas Eve, and the house party was approaching its conclusion. Soon enough, he’d have her all to himself, and then—
“You should listen to Montford, Grantham.” Basingstoke sipped at his own glass of champagne, his gaze on Lady Emily, who was on the opposite side of the ballroom, smiling and flirting her fan as she talked to Lord Dowd. “I daresay Lady Emily will do for you well enough.”
Max snorted. “Is that what you said when you made your proposal to your duchess, Basingstoke? ‘I suppose you’ll do well enough’?”
