Violet and Lily exchanged a look.
Deciding they needed a moment, Chrystabel turned to her work table and busied herself unstoppering the vial in her hand. When the cork came free, she inhaled rose oil. Not the cloying-sweet scent of Maiden’s Blush—the dainty white rose after which Joseph had named their second baby girl—but the essence of Damask roses. A strongly floral fragrance, its source had bold red flowers with delicate petals guarded by stout prickles and curved spines.
When her daughters finished their whispered conference, Violet spoke for them both. “We appreciate the apology, Mum. I believe it may be your first,” she added dryly.
Chrystabel turned to see both her daughters heading for the door. “If you’ll excuse us,” Lily said over her shoulder, “we’d like to visit with Rose.”
Once they were gone, Chrystabel heaved a sigh of satisfaction. Her stomach unknotted itself for the first time in a week.
They’d got the message.
And though she wished with all her heart she could come to Rose’s rescue, she knew compassionate Lily and sensible Violet were more than up to the task. Much as it pained her to admit, her beautiful, extraordinary daughters had grown up. They didn’t need their mother holding their hands anymore. They could take care of each other.
But Chrystabel would always be there, just in case.
SIXTY-FOUR
ROSE RUBBED HER temples. “I don’t really see your point.”
“My point is that Kit deserves a chance to tell his side of the story.” Perched on the edge of Rose’s bed, Lily was round-eyed and earnest. “We all know how persuasive Mum can be.”
“The woman could charm the spots off a leopard,” Violet put in, rummaging through the chest at the foot of the bed.
Lying on the bed, Rose merely grunted.
Lily’s brows drew together. “You’ve been dithering a whole week, Rose. It isn’t like you to hide.”
“I’m neither dithering nor hiding. I’m thinking.”
Violet snorted. “You’ve done enough thinking.” She transferred an extra chemise and stockings to Rose’s traveling case. “It’s time to try talking.”
“I don’t want to talk to him.”
“You must!” Violet left off packing to join her sisters on the bed. “For pity’s sake, it’s only eight days until the wedding.”
“And so it is.” Though Rose saw her sisters exchange a look, she said no more, toying with the tassels on her bed hangings.
As her wedding day loomed closer, the turmoil inside her was mounting. She couldn’t ignore the misgivings that plagued her…but nor could she help loving Kit. What she craved was that sense of rightness, that peaceful certainty she’d felt the day of their betrothal. Now everything felt confusing and wrong.
“Well?” Violet finally prompted.
Rose looked to her with studied innocence. “Well what?”
“Well,” Lily burst out, making Rose jump, “are you still getting married?”
“Gemini, I don’t know!” Fed up with their pestering, she rolled over and jammed a pillow over her head.
“Which is precisely why you must talk to him,” came Violet’s muffled retort. The thump of her feet hitting the floor underscored her resolve. “Harriet!”
While the maid finished packing Rose’s case, Lily ventured forth to procure dinner for their journey and tell Mum they were going to Oxford for a sleeping party. A little fib that proved to Rose just how much her younger sister had changed. Or maybe just how much she was miffed with Mum.
Meanwhile, Violet hauled Rose out of bed and helped her dress. Taking extra care with her appearance, they selected a new gown of lustrous silk taffeta in a red hue so deep it was almost black. Her hair was swept up but for a few sultry tendrils framing her face, and she wore the earrings the duke had given her, knowing that would raise Kit’s hackles.
The journey was surprisingly pleasant, whiled away in cozy, sisterly talk over cold chicken, fruit, and fresh bread. Gleeful griping over Mum relieved some of their angst, which eventually gave way to more earnest discourse. Violet confided that she and her husband were still somewhat at odds, though their quarreling had given way to civilized debate—which apparently, in the case of Violet’s marriage, was a necessary and promising development. Rose took her word for it.
Newlywed Lily confessed to a lingering unease. “It’s not that I’m questioning whether we belong together,” she mused aloud, tracing the scars on the back her hand, “but I can’t help wondering what would have happened if Mum hadn’t intervened. Would we have found each other on our own? Would we still have fallen in love?”
Rose stayed guiltily silent, knowing she herself had been an obstacle to her sister’s relationship.
Violet wiped strawberry juice from her lips. “I know what you mean. It feels like my connection with Ford was engineered by Mum, rather than having arisen naturally between the two of us. It doesn’t make it any less real, but it does change one’s perspective on things.”
“Exactly.” Lily took a strawberry and offered the last one to Rose. “For as long as I can remember, I’ve been determined to keep Mum out of my love life, and now I find out my grand romance was just another one of her projects. I know it’s silly, but it somehow feels less special.”
“The feeling will pass,” Violet soothed. “The bond itself is what’s special, not the story behind it. Besides, I’m certain you and Rand would have got together on your own—faith, the poor fellow had already been in love with you for years! Mum’s machinations only sped things up.”
Rose’s strawberry tasted sour. Would she and Kit have fallen in love on their own? If Mum hadn’t dragged her to see his house, where they first got to know each other and became friends? If Mum hadn’t—as Rose suspected—arranged all those late-night rendezvous at court, when Kit had seemed to appear like magic whenever Rose needed him? If Mum hadn’t brought her to court in
