Which Weston then stole.
The cad.
He had her heart, damn him! And she wanted it back. Immediately. Because while marrying the Earl of Hawkridge was part of her plan, being in love with him was not. If she couldn’t trustherselfto be kind with her own heart, how could she possibly trust Weston?
A soft knock sounded at the door; a welcome interruption from the dark turn her thoughts had taken. Quickly running the heel of her hands across her damp cheeks, Evie sat up on her elbows.
“You may enter,” she called, assuming it to be Hannah come to prepare her for the receiving dinner.
But while a brunette stepped into the room, it wasn’t her lady’s maid.
“Rosemary!” At the sight of her cousin, Evie sat all the way up and swung her legs over the side of the mattress. “What…what are youdoinghere? Not to say I’m unhappy to see you,” she clarified hastily when she realized how her words might be taken. “I’m just…surprised.”
“I was, too, when I received Lady Brynne’s invitation.” Petite and curvy with a heart-shaped face that was perpetually wreathed in a smile and almond-shaped eyes that were a color somewhere between blue and gray, Rosemary Stanhope was their Grandmother Mabel’s niece, twice removed. When Mabel married her American scholar and moved to Somerville, she’d left behind a sister, Dorothea, Lady Ellinwood, who’d chosen to return to her maiden name after the death of her husband, Sir George Stanhope.
Lady Ellinwood and Sir George had one son, Gregory Stanhope, who eventually married and had a child of his own, before ultimately perishing in a tragic fire along with his wife, leaving their young daughter, Rosemary, to be raised in the care of her grandmother, Lady Ellinwood.
The Thorncroft sisters hadn’t even known theyhada cousin before Evie and Joanna came to London. Another secret kept from them, albeit a good one this time, as Rosemary was delightfully sweet…if a tad eccentric.
“You didn’t bring Sir Reginald, did you?” asked Evie, referring to Rosemary’s pet squirrel.
“I would have,” Rosemary said in all seriousness, “but he’s feeling under the weather. Too many acorns, you understand. I ordered him to remain at home and rest up.”
“Probably for the best,” Evie said solemnly.
“Indeed. Do you mind if I…?” Rosemary glanced at the bed.
“Please, make yourself comfortable.” Scooting closer to the headboard, Evie patted the empty space beside her, and as her cousin climbed onto the mattress, a pang of homesickness caught her off guard.
Even though they’d three beds between them, she and her sisters had often sat just like this. Shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, they had made some of their most important life decisions crammed together on top of the blankets. Like kittens in a basket, their grandmother had been fond of saying. An apt analogy, as it was never long before one of them started swatting at the other. But when they’d all gotten along, and their room had rung with the sound of their laughter, it had been nothing less than pure magic.
“Thank you.” The crinoline beneath Rosemary’s skirts rustled as she drew her legs up and wrapped her arms around them. Her dress was a medium tan, with a higher neckline than was fashionable and sleeves that extended all the way past her elbows and ended in a tuft of lace. It was a spinsterly garment; far too old for a young woman who’d not yet seen her twentieth birthday.
When they’d first met, Rosemary had mentioned that she was not a member of the popular set. Evie had assumed it was because of Sir Reginald, but now she suspected it had more to do with the way her cousin presented herself. Thetoncould overlook a squirrelora severe hair part. But not both.
It was a shame, really. Underneath the voluminous gown and brown curls that had been slicked to the side of her head, Rosemary was very pretty. A softer hairstyle, a silhouette that helped flaunt her natural figure instead of hide it, and she’d be beautiful.
“I hope you do not mind my intrusion,” Rosemary went on. “But when I arrived, and Lady Brynne shared that you were already here, I justhadto come right up and see you. Isn’t the estate marvelous? The sheer size is staggering! I’ve never been here before. When our invitation arrived, I had to retrieve my grandmother’s smelling salts! We’ve you and Joanna to thank for that.”
Evie’s brow knitted in confusion. “For your grandmother fainting?”
Rosemary gasped. “No! No, I didn’t mean…for the summons to come here. Grandmother claims it’s because Lord Hawkridge has his eye on me, which is utter hogwash. The poor man probably still walks with a limp after our one and only dance last Season.”
“You should have stomped on him harder,” Evie muttered under her breath.
“What was that?”
“I said that you should not underestimate yourself. You have excellent bone structure, Cousin. And the color of your hair is divine.”
Rosemary’s shoulders hunched. “That is kind of you to say, but…it’s just plain brown.”
“It is mahogany,” Evie corrected. “And chestnut, with underlying notes of caramel. I’d love to have such depth and dimension in mine.” She absently touched her own coiffure, then grazed her fingertips across Rosemary’s tightly wound bun. Her nose wrinkled. “Perhaps a little less bandoline.”
Gummy in texture, and hard as a rock when it dried, liquid bandoline was a popular fixture. Evie had never liked it, herself. She found the smell distasteful, and even though it had never happened to her–heaven forbid–she’d once heard a story of a girl whose hair hadfallen outbecause of it.
“Grandmother swears by the stuff,” said Rosemary.
“I can see that.” Evie hesitated. “Does your grandmother also select your wardrobe?”
