Blossom Time (12 page)

“I hope this doesn’t mean you’re thinking of putting your dowry into
Camena.”

She was shocked at the idea. “Of course not! I can’t afford it.”

“Then you assume financial disaster for Sylvester’s venture. I think I have just made my point. Why are you really running off to London, Roz?”

“To broaden my literary and artistic horizons,” she said vaguely. He scoffed. “What’s the matter, Harry? You don’t want me there, seeing how scandalously you behave when you’re away from the Abbey? Don’t worry. I shan’t be seeing you much, and I shan’t carry tales back home.” She added rather smugly, “I shall be too busy having my own life, for a change.”

“You have a good life here. And what of Sukey? I hear Miss Fortescue is not happy with Miss Rafferty, though I think her a very good sort of girl myself.”

“Where did you hear that?”

“In town,” he said with a shrug. Obviously Annabelle had been spreading word of her unhappiness with Miss Rafferty.

“Annabelle thinks Sukey ought to be sent to an academy in a few years,” Rosalind explained. “And don’t bother frowning at me! Dick is her guardian, and he is under Annabelle’s paw. Annabelle doesn’t want me in the house. She’s quite right. If I stayed, we would only come to cuffs. I’m just a busybody old spinster, as you said.”

“I didn’t say that!”

“You said something very like it the other day.”

“I didn’t say busybody.”

“It was the ‘old spinster’ that stung.”

“I was only funning!” She gave a dismissing
tsk,
as if not believing him, or caring much what he thought. A frown grew between his eyebrows. “Roz, you do realize that Sylvester runs with a pretty racy set in London? I have been making a few inquiries. . . .” He hesitated, wondering how much he should say. It was only rumors, after all.

She gave him a cold stare. “How . . . considerate of you.”

“It was your own idea. You said I oughtn’t to hand you over to just any old hedge bird.”

“Odd, I seem to recall your saying quite recently that Sylvester is too young and innocent for me.”

“You have a way of hearing what you want to hear. I did not say too innocent, just too young.”

She took a sip of her champagne before answering, in a pensive mood. “It’s time I shed my innocence.”

Harwell’s frown deepened to a dark scowl. “Rosalind, listen to yourself! What’s happened to you? You were always the sensible one.”

“Did it ever occur to you I might be tired of being the sensible one? I’m four and twenty years old, Harry, and I’ve never had a life. That’s what has happened to me. I run the house and do the bookkeeping for Dick. I look after Sukey. I run errands for you when you’re away, and help clean up the shambles you’ve made of your love affairs. I know more about the parish than the vicar.”

His scowl dwindled to a troubled gaze as he considered what she had said and admitted that she had a point. But surely Sylvester Staunton was not the answer to her problem. “You have your poetry,” he said. It still seemed odd to him that sensible Roz was a closet poet. How little he really knew about her. From her pleasant manner, he had always assumed she was happy with her lot.

“Scribbling alone in bed at night to keep the blue devils at bay is a poor substitute for a life. I want more than that.”

“But your excuse—
reason
for going to London is to involve yourself more in the poetry.”

She gave a dismissing gesture with her hand. “I want to do things, meet people.”

“People are people all over the world. They’re not that different in London.”

Her chin rose, and she said challengingly, “Perhaps I want to find a husband. There, I’ve said it.”

He leapt on it like a cat on a mouse. “So you
are
chasing after Sylvester!”

She refused to backtrack. “He wants me to go. We shall see if anything comes of it. We’ve only known each other a few days. I find him interesting—a pleasant change from gentlemen who think of nothing but farming.”

“I think you’re making a big mistake. I wish you would stay at Grosvenor Square, for a while, at least. Some of the tenants in that place on Glasshouse Street are no better than they should be. Failed artists and actors and such.”

“And minor poets?” she asked, arching an angry eyebrow at him. “I’m not interested in making my curtsy at St. James’s, Harry. I am going for personal fulfillment.”

“You mentioned finding a husband. . . .”

“How else does a lady fulfill herself? Poetry is fine, but it’s only a substitute for life. I think we have plucked this poor crow to death. Let us return to the bazaar.”

A reluctant smile peeped out. “At least you didn’t say ‘the party.’ You’re not enjoying this do any more than I am.”

“I was enjoying it—until you came with your thunderclouds to spoil it.”

Of course, it wasn’t the party that Harwell had spoiled. Roz found it quite as ridiculous and enjoyable as any sane person would. It was her going to London that he was spoiling with all his carping. Why shouldn’t she go? Why shouldn’t she have a life, like everyone else?

She had done her share and more for the family and Apple Hill. She had already lost one fiancé to it. How much more did she owe? The house and the greater part of the family fortune had been left to Dick. It was for him to make suitable arrangements for Sukey. Her head began to ache with the worry of it all.

After a few more sets, her headache worsened and she told Dick she would go home and send the carriage back for him.

“I’ll go with you,” he said at once. “I’ve had enough of this do.”

“Won’t Annabelle be offended if you leave?”

“She’ll never miss me. She is too busy preening herself over this ridiculous festival.”

They went to thank the Fortescues for the party. Sylvester and Annabelle were with them, standing at the door of the ballroom.

“You’ve heard the wonderful news?” Annabelle said, smiling at Dick. “Papa is going to invest a little something in Lord Sylvester’s magazine. Lord Sylvester will come back to discuss it in a few days, after he has taken care of some important business in London.”

Dick scowled and said, “Congratulations, milord. I’m taking Roz home, Belle. She has the megrims.”

“That is good news,” Rosalind said to Sylvester. She wondered how the hardheaded Fortescue had been cajoled into parting with his blunt and how much he had invested. Remembering Harry’s warning, she hoped it was not a very large sum. Fortescue would do anything to please Annabelle. One had only to look into the ballroom to see how his daughter bear-led him.

Sylvester walked Rosalind to the door. “I’m so happy for you, Lord Sylvester!” she said in a low voice.

“Dash it, isn’t it time you stopped lording me? Call me Sylvester, Rosalind.”

“Very well, if you like. How did you manage it?”

He drew her aside and spoke in a whisper, while Dick took his leave of Annabelle and her parents.

“I mentioned Miss Fortescue’s visiting you in London. Don’t worry about it. I shall give you the larger flat with an extra bedchamber.”

“I’m not sure I can afford it.”

He looked down at her and gave an intimate laugh. “Don’t worry about the expense. I will take care of all that. We shall have to entertain her a little, but we will still find plenty of time to be alone. I’ll call on you the minute I get back. Will you miss me as much as I miss you?”

She said in confusion, “Oh, indeed.”

As she and Dick drove home Rosalind wondered at Sylvester’s secretive manner, his whispering in her ear. When he said not to worry about the extra expense, he would take care of it all, she assumed he meant he would give the larger flat at the price of the smaller.

But that implied that Annabelle would be spending a long period of time with her. Surely she didn’t plan to move in for anything like a month, so close to her wedding? Of course, she had often spoken of buying her trousseau in London, so perhaps that was why she wished to go. Annabelle was a famous shopper. Finding time alone with Sylvester would be no problem.

That mention of time alone gave her some satisfaction. Not just time away from Annabelle, but time alone. Only courting couples worried about that. Sylvester was coming to care for her. She felt a bubble of triumph, but not the deep joy she would feel if she knew she cared for him. Did she care for him in that way? She had not been alone with him enough to find out, but in London she would be.

When she turned an ear to Dick’s grumbling, he was saying, “I don’t see why she couldn’t have invited Miss Rafferty to the rout at least. She had the Gibbons’ governess there, and that Miss Milchamp who does sewing for ladies. Dash it, Miss Rafferty would have loved the party. If Annabelle thinks I am getting married in a tent, she has another think coming, I can tell you.”

“I’m sure that’s not what she meant. She only means she wants a large do.”

“I’ve a good mind to elope,” he said mutinously.

Chapter Thirteen

Rosalind spent the next morning sorting through her clothespress to select the gowns she would take to London and making a list of small purchases to be made before she left. That afternoon she drove into town to begin looking for the silk stockings and other items on her list. Miss Rafferty asked her if she would mind buying a present for Sukey while she was in town.

“I didn’t realize her birthday is tomorrow until she mentioned it, Miss Lovelace, or I would have made her something.”

“You don’t have to buy her anything,” Rosalind said.

“Oh, but for her birthday! Just a small present. They have children’s games and books at the everything shop. What do you think she’d like?”

“Why don’t you and Sukey come along with me?” Rosalind suggested. “You can let Sukey choose for herself while I’m in the drapery shop.”

Miss Rafferty’s eyes lit with pleasure, then dimmed. “I wouldn’t want her to know what the present is before tomorrow. I could take her to the shop and discover what strikes her fancy, then take her to meet you, and slip back and buy it. Would you mind looking after her for a few minutes?”

“Not at all. I’ll keep Sukey in the drapery shop and let her choose some ribbons to keep her busy.”

“When I leave the toy shop empty-handed, she’ll think I’m not buying whatever it is she’s chosen,” Miss Rafferty said with an air of intrigue. “I do want to surprise her.”

Rosalind had nearly forgotten the keen enthusiasm of youth. With so many real responsibilities on her shoulders, such simple pleasures as secret gifts had become a thing of the past. Miss Rafferty’s eagerness reminded her of past birthdays when she used to hide Dick’s present, and he enjoyed searching for it almost as much as the gift itself.

“Cook’s making her up a grand cake with white and pink icing,” Miss Rafferty continued. “I thought we might have it in the garden, a sort of tea party, if the weather allows. Would it be all right?”

“That’s a lovely idea!”

Rosalind liked, too, that Miss Rafferty had asked her, and not gone begging favors of Dick. It proved to her satisfaction that she and Dick had not been carrying on in secret.

“What are you giving her, Miss Lovelace, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“The doll she’s been hinting for since Christmas.”

“The one in Marshall’s with the golden hair and eyes that open?”

“That’s the one. I see she’s told you about it.”

“She seldom speaks of anything else—when she’s talking about her birthday, I mean. She’s already named it. She calls it Emmaline, but I fancy it will be plain old Emma before long. I’m so glad she’ll be getting it. She would be miserable if she weren’t.”

After Miss Rafferty left, Rosalind thought about their brief conversation, and knew that Miss Rafferty had a genuine love and concern for her charge. Sukey would need someone like her when she, Rosalind, removed to London. It would be wretched if Annabelle insisted on turning her off.

They left for Croydon at three, in the family carriage. A footman accompanied Miss Lovelace to the drapery shop and waited while she selected silk stockings, new gloves, and a few personal items to refresh her toilette. Half an hour after she arrived, Miss Rafferty and Sukey came in and the footman took the parcels to the carriage.

Miss Rafferty, her eyes gleaming, said in a low voice, “I have discovered the very thing to please her, Miss Lovelace. It’s so simple I ought to have thought of it myself. A set of crayons and a drawing book. Her crayons are all worn down to nubs. It will be something to amuse her on a rainy day.”

“You run back and buy them, and I shall watch her.”

Rosalind let Sukey choose her ribbons—blue to match her eyes, and a shorter length for Snow Drop—then took her out to meet Miss Rafferty.

“Did you get them?” Sukey asked, looking at the bag in her governess’s hand.

“Aren’t you the nosy Parker!” Miss Rafferty replied. “If you must know, I got a notebook for you to write out lines when you don’t do your lessons.”

“You did not,” Sukey said, unfazed. “Can I have an ice before we go home?”

“May I?” Miss Rafferty corrected.

“That’s what I’m asking you,” Sukey said.

“Yes, you may. And I shall have a cup of tea while you youngsters have your ice,” Rosalind said, and they began walking along the busy street to the tea parlor.

“Oh, Miss Lovelace,” Miss Rafferty said. “Wouldn’t you rather have an ice? You can have tea any time at home.”

“Tea for me.”

Again Rosalind was struck with the notion that she had indeed outgrown her first youth. Like the older ladies, it was a cup of tea that she craved, not an ice.

The little shop was bustling with afternoon shoppers stopping for a break. The crowd was composed mostly of ladies, but there were a few blue jackets amid the throng.

They chose a table close to the window and placed their orders. Several ladies stopped for a word with Rosalind and Miss Rafferty. All expressed their pleasure at Sylvia’s new position and told Miss Lovelace how fortunate she was to have got her.

Sukey, not much interested in these chats, looked around the shop and made a surprising discovery. “There is Annabelle and Silly Sylvester, having an ice,” she said.