Evie gave a rueful grin “It’s a lot. I know. Truth be told, Weston would be happy running off to the nearest church. He wants me, and could not care less about all of the pomp and circumstance. But I’ve dreamed of this day my entire life, and I want more than a quick elopement to Gretna Green.” She gasped and clapped her hands together. “Speaking of Gretna Green, have you heard the news?”
“No. I’m not usually privy to much gossip,” Rosemary admitted.
Evie clucked her tongue. “This isn’t gossip. It’s fact. As it turns out, Brynne–Weston’s twin sister, you know–is married. And has been, for nearly two years! To averyhandsome Scot. Lord Lachlan Campbell.”
The name sounded vaguely familiar, although Rosemary couldn’t place a face to it. “I take it they eloped to Gretna Green?”
“Theydid,” Evie said in a hushed voice even though it was just the two of them in the foyer. “No one knew. Not even Weston. Best to not say anything about it to him, as it remains a bit of a sore subject. HepunchedLachlan when he found out. In theface. But isn’t it romantic?”
“Lord Weston punching Lord Campbell is romantic?” Rosemary said, confused.
“No, no. Theelopement. After which, it appears there was some kind of estrangement, but that’s all water under the bridge these days. I’ve never seen a happier couple except for Joanna and Kincaid, who are absurdly perfect together.” Evie held up a finger. “Don’t tell her I said that.”
“I won’t,” Rosemary said solemnly.
“Anyway, Brynne and Lachlan’s secret marriage is the talk of theton. I am surprised you haven’t heard about it, although I suppose you’ve not been in London very long. Things are quite fast-paced here, aren’t they?” She bounced lightly on her heels. “I must admit that I adore every ounce of drama. It’s most entertaining.”
What Rosemary found entertaining was how different Evie and Joanna were. They may have been sisters, but they were as opposite as night was from day. Evie cared about appearances…in a good way. She valued her beauty, and the beauty in others. Whereas Joanna would have likely worn trousers if Society allowed her to get away with it. The eldest Thorncroft sister was as impulsive and headstrong as Evie was calculated and charming. Yet they both had one thing in common: loyalty to those that they loved.
A circle that now included her, hard as it was to believe. All that time spent yearning for a family when she’d already had one an ocean away. She just hadn’t met them yet.
“I am exceedingly pleased for you, and Brynne, and Joanna. From what little I’ve seen thus far, you’ve all found husbands that are perfect for you.” Even as she said the words aloud, Rosemary encountered an unfamiliar tightness in the back of her throat. Followed by an unpleasant burning reminiscent of gin. The feeling wassoforeign that she wasn’t even sure what it was at first…until it came to her in a startling wave of recognition.
Jealous.
She wasjealousof her cousins.
How terrible!
Here they had been nothing but kind and accepting, and she was jealous of the joy they’d found with Weston, and Lachlan, and Kincaid. Jealous that they’d already had their happily-ever-afters written while hers was hardly past the first chapter. Hardly past the first paragraph, really. And while she’d wanted to ask Evie for advice on what to do about Sterling, suddenly she was loath to share what had happened, for a rushed kiss in a library paled in comparison to finding one’s soulmate.
Whatever she and Sterling had, it obviously wasn’t anywhere close to the bond that Evie shared with the Earl of Hawkridge. And if, in the back of her mind, she’d thought…even for a moment…thatmaybe…well, it just went to show how truly little she knew about true love.
“Look at the time,” she said, a tad desperately. Especially since there wasn’t even a clock in the foyer. “I wish I could stay longer, but–”
“Go, go.” Oblivious to the uncontrollable envy that continued to rise up in Rosemary like an awful green sickness, Evie placed her hand in the small of her back and ushered her towards the door. “I don’t want you to get in any trouble on my account. We’ll see each other soon enough. Will you be attending the Marigold Ball?”
Held every autumn, the famed Marigold Ball was a traditional event dating back to the wedding of the very first Duke and Duchess of Clemson. As the story went, the duke had won his bride’s favor after defeating all challengers in a jousting tournament held at the bequest of King Edward III. As a token of her love, she’d given him a marigold to wear on his armor. Miraculously, the orange flower had survived countless duels without losing so much as a petal. When the fighting was done and the Duke of Clemson declared the victor, he and his lady were married that very afternoon whereupon she wore the marigold in her hair.
From that day of celebration a tradition was born, albeit one that had shifted and changed over the years. Somewhere along the way the tournament was replaced with a ball; one that was still held on the same field that had seen the duke and duchess wed all those centuries ago.
At the beginning of the night, every unmarried woman in attendance was given a marigold, which she could then bestow upon whichever suitor struck her fancy. If he accepted the flower, it was a sign the two would soon be husband and wife. If he declined, then she would suffer a month of bad luck. Two, if at the end of the evening she hadn’t found anyone to take her marigold.
To date, Rosemary had given out precisely three flowers.
All of which Sir Reginald had happily eaten.
Handing out a marigold to a squirrel instead of a man wasn’texactlyin line with the rules, but neither did it break them. Besides, to the best of her knowledge, she’d not yet suffered any bad luck as a consequence. And Sir Reginald did enjoy the treat, so what was the harm?
“Yes,” she said, nodding. “My grandmother and I will be there.”
Evie beamed. “Excellent! I’ll bring the fabric samples.”
Chapter Six
Despite returning tothe birthday celebration later than intended, Rosemary’s absence was not detected. Her grandmother did not even comment on her change in hair, other than to say that it had turned frizzy with the heat and more bandoline was in order.
It was strange, how observant Lady Ellinwood could be at times and how oblivious she was at others. Once she had made an enormous fuss–and nearly fired a servant–because her son’s portrait, which hung above the mantel in the drawing room, had somehow shifted half an inch to the right. But when her granddaughter hid an injured hedgehog in an empty chamber pot for the better part of a month, she hadn’t noticed at all.
