Her mother inhaled softly, and her good mood seemed to dissipate. “He’s being reminded of situations from his youth by his children,” she stated, her comment sounding like an accusation.
“William and I are hardly children—”
“And yet you too often behave like children,” Helen accused. “This afternoon was a perfect example.”
The memory of a gold pillow flying through the air flashed before her mind’s eye. “I’m sorry,” Rose replied, dipping her head. “I didn’t care for the way you and William were talking about me when I was sitting close enough to hear you,” she added on a huff.
“He’s worried for you is all,” Helen said in a quiet voice.
“Why? He should be worried for himself. He’s going to join Parliament tomorrow. He’s not courting anyone.”
“No, but he has the list,” Helen stated.
“The list?” Rose repeated. “What list?”
Her mother rolled her eyes. “The list of eligible young ladies who are daughters of the aristocracy and who are not yet betrothed and live here in London and who are between the ages of eighteen and twenty-four years.”
Rose stared at her mother a moment, allowing the requirements to repeat themselves in her head. “That’s terribly specific,” she replied.
“Oh, indeed. But it narrows the list down to a manageable size. He has only the Season to decide. Once he chooses, then we can arrange a marriage for the autumn or winter.”
Wincing, Rose realized that her mother had moved her marriage plans from her to her brother. “I hope his young lady will agree to those arrangements.”
“Well, why wouldn’t she? Whoever he chooses will be a duchess some day,” Helen announced cheerfully.
Rose suddenly felt very sorry for whomever her brother would choose for his wife. What if the poor girl—not that she’d be poor in the sense of wealth but rather poor in spirit—didn’t wish to be a duchess? “Not every young lady is looking to wear a coronet, Mother,” she said on a sigh.
Helen stared at her as if she’d grown a second head. “They do if they’ve been raised right,” she countered.
Despite her mother giving her the perfect opportunity to claim that she wouldn’t wish to be a duke’s wife, Rose merely regarded the duchess with a wistful expression. “I’m beginning to understand why Adeline wants to be a spinster.”
From the way her mother reacted to that particular word, Rose thought she might have put voice to a curse.
“You don’t wish to be a duchess?” Helen asked in alarm.
Rose shrugged. “It’s not as if there’s a duke in need of a wife, Mother, so it hardly matters if I do or do not.”
Helen inhaled sharply. “But there are heirs to dukes who aren’t yet married. Huntington’s boy Tiberius, for one.”
“He was born the same year as me,” Rose stated. “He’ll be just like his father and marry when he’s in his thirties.”
Helen screwed up her face in concentration. “Michael Statton,” she suddenly announced. “Somerset’s heir. The older brother has lost his place in line for attempting to poison his father, and now Michael is the heir-apparent.”
Rose simply stared at her mother. She had never met the man, and she was fairly sure her mother hadn’t, either. He lived at the ducal estate in Wiltshire, his trips to London to visit his sister, Victoria, and her husband, Thomas Grandby, mentioned inThe Tattlerafter he had already departed the city.
Before her mother could suggest any marquesses, she drained her tea and said, “We’ll see how the ball goes, Mother. Surely any gentleman who wishes to court me will make an appearance.”
Her brows furrowing, Helen nodded. “I’ll be sure to invite those two heirs to your ball as well as the Marquess of Billingsley,” she said, rising from the settee. She took her leave of the parlor, as if she intended to write the invitations immediately.
“One week,” Rose said aloud, referring to how long it would be before most of the aristocracy descended on Ariley Place for her parents’ ball.
The ball they were throwing in her honor.
Nothing like announcing to the world you are desperate to be rid of your daughter, she thought as she struggled out of the upholstered chair.
Shaking out her skirts, Rose reached for her crutch and was about to leave the parlor when the butler appeared on the threshold carrying a silver salver.
“What is it, Jarvis?” she asked.
