Chapter 1

The Rose Of The Ball

"Do not forget to smile, my darling," Lady Cotswalts whispered, her lips barely moving. "You must seem excited to be here."

Rose Pembleton found balls incredibly overwhelming, and the Yardstale ball was no exception. She did as her mother asked, smiling in a way that she hoped conveyed excitement without being overbearing.

It's only a ball. Besides, you want to be inviting so as not to scare people away!

It didn't help that it was the fourth ball she attended in a fortnight.

Of course, she could appreciate the effort and extravagance that went into making such an occasion an enjoyable night. She had a deep love for music and dancing, yet a ball never felt like a place where she could appreciate them either.

Instead, she spent most of the time being mindful of the expressions on her face, reminding herself of the myriad of tips her mother would share every evening and walking the thin line between being intriguing and proper.

How does this seem to come so naturally to everyone else?

She envied the women who seemed content to enjoy their Season. The women who were assured that having a second or third Season would bring no harm to them or their families.

Now you sound bitter.You cannot resent someone just because they have the luxury of time and you do not.

Her mother, the Viscountess Cotswalts, stood beside her. She was the picture of serene grace and sophistication and somehow also completely charming.

How does she do it?

Rose forced herself not to shift uncomfortably as they walked around the edge of the ballroom, hoping to attract attention without being obvious. She tried to emulate her mother's easy grace, a half-remembered tip about her gait struggling to surface amid the chaos in her mind. She glanced towards the window, hoping to settle her nerves by glimpsing the gardens, and immediately regretted the decision. The reflection in the glass only increased her discomfort.

Although Rose knew the reflection was hers, she could not help but feel that she was looking at a stranger. A pretty stranger, but a stranger nonetheless. She had started to think of this stranger as Ball Rose.

Ball Rose does not fidget or wish to be elsewhere. She is everything a lady should be.

Rose forced herself to take in the woman she saw in the window.

Her chestnut hair was pulled back, with a few delicate curls framing her face. The rouge on her cheeks was eye-catching but not gaudy, simply accentuating natural lines and beauty. Yet, it still felt like too much for her. Her eyebrows, thankfully, had been thick enough that they would not need to be altered with fur. Her lips were painted so seamlessly that there would be no way to tell without being improperly close.

The only part of the reflection that felt like the real Rose was her brown eyes and her slightly upturned nose. They were the only two things her mother could not change. She shook her head and turned away from the window. As she did so, the well-crafted garnet necklace caught in her gown.

Not again. This necklace is the most detestable thing I have ever had to wear. I wish I'd never agreed to it.

Almost as soon as the thought crossed her mind, Rose felt guilty. The memory of a few hours prior came to the forefront of her mind.

"Now, to see if my little suggestion has had the intended effect," Lady Cotswalts had murmured as she fastened the garnet necklace around Rose's neck. "Oh, it has turned out even better than I have imagined. You see how Olivier has cut them so that the way they sit in the new prongs makes them capture the light more and look brighter?"

Rose nodded, though she could not remember what the stones had looked like before her mother had sent them to the jewelers to be reset and cut.

"To the untrained eye, their color and cut will make them appear as rubies." Lady Cotswalts looked like a cat who got the cream. "And a trained eye would have to be improperly close to discover the truth. The ‘rubies' will draw the eye and be much more befitting of your station."

"Thank you, Mother." Rose shifted slightly, trying to ignore the tightness of her necklace. "Do you not think it might catch in my gown with these new prongs? They are quite prominent."

Her mother pursed her lips. "Perhaps. But I have shown you how to deal with such inconveniences, and it may yet be an asset."

"An asset?" Rose asked before she could stop herself.

"Fixing the necklace provides an opportunity for you to draw a man's attention to all that you have to offer without being improper." Her mother smiled. "It is subtlety and mystery that captures the imagination, my dearest Rose, and you must use everything at your disposal to secure your future."

Rose blushed at her mother's words and forced herself not to squirm in discomfort. "Of course, Mother. I understand. Presentation is everything."

"Exactly!" Lady Cotswalts adjusted the rouge on Rose's cheeks. "Yes, I think this is perfect. Abigail, mark what I have done so that you are able to replicate it for the next ball."

Rose glanced at her lady's maid, who nodded in acknowledgment of the Viscountess's words. "Yes, My Lady."

Abigail could do everything perfectly, and Mother would still need to double-check and adjust things.

It had been the same at each of the three previous balls, and Rose expected it would continue until she was married.

Marriage.That's what all this is for. A good match.

As if her mother had read her mind, she said, "There is so much at stake, my darling girl. A Season may seem like a long time, but it will fly by. We must capitalize on every moment."

Because we cannot afford a second Season for any of our children.

The words hung between them, unsaid, but they weighed on Rose's mind nonetheless.

"I will not let you down, Mother." Rose squeezed her mother's hands, ignoring the chafing feel of the necklace.

I will not let my sisters down.

The feel of her mother's hand on her arm drew her back to the present.

"Rose! Look, over there! It is Miss Felicity Carstairs, and she appears to be in the company of George Gariston and David Blinkley." Lady Cotswalts nodded her head towards a lady and two men standing at the far end of the room. "Let us join them."

Rose followed her mother's gaze and spotted the familiar bright red hair and curls of Felicity Carstairs. To her left was a shorter man with black hair and brown eyes dressed in fashionable tails, who had a crooked but pleasing smile.

Ah, David Blinkley.

On Miss Carstairs' right was a taller man who sported longer, curly blond hair that put Rose in mind of a fully grown cherub. His piercing blue eyes seemed otherworldly, and he had an air of confidence about him.

George Gariston.

"If I recall, you danced with both men at your last ball. I am sure they will not mind another chance to win your hand." Lady Cotswalts beamed and led Rose through the crowd towards the group.

"Yes, I believe you are correct, Mother. And I'm sure I would enjoy their company once more."

In truth, Rose could not remember much about both men, besides their appearances and names.

Mother will no doubt elaborate on the important details.

Predictably, Lady Cotswalts did just that. "I believe George Gariston is the Earl of Verimoor—a very fine estate, to be sure. And I have heard that his finances are most secure. I seem to remember that David Blinkley is the Baron Goldstone, but his estate is quite remote. I suppose either would be a fine match, but perhaps an earl would be more suitable, and Verimoor is certainly a very prosperous estate. "

"Perhaps it would be best to keep an open mind, there may yet be other men who wish to dance with me." Rose smiled as she caught the eye of a dark-haired man to her left.

She held his gaze for a second, as her mother had told her, before looking away and not allowing herself to look back.

It's all about keeping them interested but not seeming too eager. I must play the game and play it well.

She tried to ignore the way people seemed to stare at her as she made her way towards Miss Carstairs and her companions.

I suppose that is the price of being the Diamond of the Season.

The attention made Rose even more mindful of her appearance.

Am I smiling too much or not enough? What am I supposed to be doing with my hands?

She tried to focus on not letting the garnet necklace catch in her dress again, and on preparing to join the conversation with Miss Carstairs' group.

"… and of course, you know what they say about Lady Eleanor Whitsby. Apparently, it is not the strength of their love that has the happy couple seeking a special license, but something rather more… urgent." Miss Carstairs raised her eyebrows suggestively to her companions. "Although I suppose one could argue it is perhaps a sign of their passion. Still, she is lucky that the Marquess is wealthy, for they are to be married within the week."

"Within the week?" Lord Goldstone exclaimed. "Goodness, that is very expeditious."

"Well the Marquess of Kimble is very well connected, so it is hardly surprising." Miss Carstairs laughed, her eyes widening as she spotted Rose and her mother. "Lady Cotswalts! Miss Pembleton. How lovely to see you both!"

"Miss Carstairs, always a pleasure." Rose inclined her head.

"Wonderful to see you, as always, my dearest Miss Carstairs." Lady Cotswalts smiled.

"I am sure you know my companions." Miss Carstairs gestured to the gentleman beside her. "I believe you danced together at the last ball, did you not, Lord Goldstone?"

"Indeed we did, and I would very much like the honor of another dance with you if your card is not already full?" Lord Goldstone smiled at Rose.

Rose opened her mouth to reply, but Lord Verimoor interrupted. "I am sure there is room on the good lady's card for us both. Ah, yes, I think this dance will be more suitable for you, my good man. I know that you do struggle with the more modern numbers."

Lord Goldstone flushed and smiled tightly. "How considerate."

Lord Verimoor smiled and patted him on the back. "Think nothing of it, old chap. Actually, speaking of consideration, I daresay these ladies could use some refreshments. Perhaps you might signal for a servant or be so kind as to fetch some drinks for our new companions?"

Lord Goldstone nodded and bowed to the women, before disappearing into the crowd.

Lord Verimoor turned to Rose and her mother and stage whispered, "Never fear, the good Lord Goldstone may not be much of a dancer, but he can at least avoid a woman's feet for the most part."

Rose smiled, unsure how she should respond. "I do not seem to recall him stepping on my feet."

"That is probably for the best. I daresay you cannot recall much about your dance with him." Lord Verimoor flashed her a dazzling smile. "I hope to make our own dance far more memorable. I believe a Diamond such as yourself should be with a partner that brings out her radiance."

"You are too kind, Lord Verimoor. I hardly know what to say." Rose felt a flush creep up her cheeks.

"I am not kind enough, I fear. There can be no words to express the joy your company brings to those around you. I confess, it is the thought of a dance with you that has most appealed to me this evening." Lord Verimoor glanced at Miss Carstairs and Lady Cotswalts, smiling earnestly at them both. "That is, of course, if your chaperone feels I am a suitable partner."

"I am sure my mother will be only too glad to permit me the pleasure of your company." Rose smiled at him.

"Wonderful. I promise to make every moment memorable." He flashed her another dazzling smile, artfully brushing a blond curl from his face as he did so. "After all, I am often complimented on my ability. While I do not like to boast, I think you will find I am much more enjoyable company than say… Old Lord Goldstone. Dear man, he does try, and yet he can never seem to measure up."

Miss Carstairs laughed, and Rose smiled, though she failed to see why it was necessary to be unkind to Lord Goldstone.

He is close in age to Lord Verimoor, who is but thirty. I am quite sure Lord Goldstone is not above three and thirty.

Rose would never voice her thoughts, for she did not want to offend any of her companions.

"Oh, that reminds me, did you hear about Lord Deermont?" Miss Carstairs's eyes were full of delight.

Rose shook her head, trying to appear interested.

Must we talk about every scandal in the ton? I should hate to be gossiped about so.

"Well, apparently he was discovered in a rather compromising position with his housekeeper some months ago, and now the woman has returned, claiming to be carrying his child!" Miss Carstairs smiled as though she were savoring a particularly delicious sweet.

"Well, perhaps he will finally have an heir. Six daughters and no sons." Lord Verimoor shook his head. "A man needs a son to continue his line."

"Indeed, perhaps Lord Deermont will share in your own parents' good fortune, and this shall be the babe that finally brings him that security." Miss Carstairs traced a finger around the rim of her glass.

"It is true, my parents were most grateful for my birth. And I do what I can to repay their gratitude." Lord Verimoor smiled at Rose. "And, of course, growing up surrounded by women has given me a wonderful understanding of the fairer sex."

He does think much of himself, doesn't he?

Rose raised her fan to hide her face, hoping it would seem an act of demure intrigue. "How fortunate for us all."

Miss Carstairs and Lord Verimoor laughed.

Rose felt the slight knot of tension in her back ease. She glanced sideways at her mother, who was nodding in approval.

She was trying to think of how to capitalize on the moment when a sudden hush followed by a rush of whispers swept across the ballroom. Even the orchestra seemed caught up in it, leaving a number of dancers caught in a discordant pause. Curious, she turned her head towards the cause of such a reaction.

Whatever can have caused such disturbance?

"Announcing Lady Olivia Rokesby, accompanied by Her Grace the Dowager Duchess of Emberly, and His Grace the Duke of Emberly," a voice rang out into the ballroom.

Three figures entered the ballroom. A pretty girl who Rose guessed was around eighteen. She was tall, with striking black hair and brown eyes. She was the youthful version of the woman behind her. Both women had kind, warm smiles and wore elegant but simple dresses, yet Rose knew that few would spare a thought for them.

Everyone's attention was on the even taller man who towered over everyone in the ballroom. He had midnight black hair that was swept away from his face and high cheekbones. His jaw was striking, so sharp that Rose thought one could cut glass with it.

He would be handsome if he were not so frightening.

His face seemed cold and distant, and the scar that split his right eyebrow in two ran across his face down to his upper lip, only adding to the severity of his countenance.

Only Lady Cotswalts's coaching prevented Rose from gasping aloud. Beside her, Miss Carstairs sucked in a breath and whispered, "Oh this is interesting."

"Indeed, it is," Rose answered without thinking.

Has anyone seen the Duke since he inherited his title?

Miss Carstairs murmured, "I have always wanted to see the man who killed his father for his title."

Rose swallowed. Of course, she had heard the rumors. Everyone had.

Eight years ago, the previous Duke of Emberly had died, and his son had inherited his title. It was common knowledge that the former Duke had not died of natural causes.

Could it be that I'm staring at a murderer?

And if she was, why couldn't she look away?