Chapter Five

Rosemary had forgotten how small London was. For such a large, sprawling city, the streets were impossibly narrow, the houses were uncomfortably cloistered together, and the smells...suffice it to say, she hadn't missed the smells. But she had missed Sir Reginald, and he her, if his frantic chirps at seeing her again were any sign. Or maybe he'd just known she was hiding ginger drops in her pocket. Either way, girl and squirrel were happy to be reunited once again. A good thing, as there wasn't much else to be happy about.

The Season had already started while she'd been in the country...kissing–-and being kissed by–-the Duke of Hanover. A secret she had already decided to keep to herself, mostly because she didn't want to give her grandmother any more ideas about plotting a grand wedding trap and a little bit because she knew no one would believe her.

Rosemary Stanhope, kissed by a duke?

As if she needed to give people another excuse to laugh.

She might have told Joanna and Evie. They wouldn't think she was lying, and they'd probably have some sage advice to offer given that Joanna had landed a husband, and Evie a fiancé, all within four months of coming to London while Rosemary had lived here her entire life without so much as serious courtship.

But alas, she was forbidden from calling on them or inviting them to call on her. A strict rule that her grandmother didn't show any signs of alleviating within the next few days or weeks or even months. Which meant that she was back to having Sir Reginald as her lone source of companionship. And that was all right. It was what she was used to, after all. But having gotten a taste of what it was like to have a sister, someone she could confide in and speak her mind to without fear of being considered odd or strange, she wasn't exactly eager to return to one-sided conversations with a mammal whose preferred activity was climbing trees and stuffing his face with so many acorns that he passed out from the sheer weight of them in his belly.

Although, in that regard she supposed he wasn't too different from Sterling.

Minus the tree climbing part.

What she needed to do–what she had to do–was find a way around her grandmother's decree without being caught. And at Lady Garfield's birthday picnic, she had the perfect plan to do it.

An annual event, the birthday party would be held at Crown Top Manor, the formal town residence of Lord and Lady Garfield. Located in the midst of Sheffield Park, a district of old, stately homes overlooking the eastern end of the Serpentine, it was within walking distance of Grosvenor Square where the Earl of Hawkridge lived.

If Rosemary walked quickly, that is.

She had no way of knowing if Evie was even staying with Lord Weston, but it was worth trying to find out. So long as her grandmother's previous behavior held true, Rosemary would have precisely seventy minutes while Lady Ellinwood caught up on all the gossip that had circulated through the ton during her absence.

Her grandmother's close-knit circle of friends would start off under the tent in the rear garden as they always did, but the heat and flies circulating around tables filled with lemonade and tea and sweets would soon drive them inside to the front parlor. A parlor that did not offer a clear view of the gardens, giving Rosemary the time and opportunity she needed to dash off to Grosvenor Square.

No one would notice she was missing. To be honest, she doubted anyone would even notice she was there to begin with. No one but her grandmother, but Lady Ellinwood would be too preoccupied with finding out who had flashed too much ankle at the ball the night before to realize that her granddaughter had snuck off.

If her plan went accordingly, Rosemary hoped to have a lovely visit with her American cousin and then return to the birthday party before all of the guests gathered for the presentation of the cake, a seven-tiered monstrosity that seemed to grow taller and more extravagant with every passing year. For Lady Garfield's sixtieth birthday, a flock of birds had erupted from the middle of the cake.

It went without saying that Rosemary would be leaving Sir Reginald at home, lest he somehow find himself stuffed into a bowl of frosting.

For a wallflower who ordinarily spent social gatherings playing puppets with the children, it was a daring scheme. But ever since her last encounter with Sterling in the library, she was feeling a bit daring. Up until it came time to actually act upon her subterfuge, that is.

"Would you like me to go in with you?" she asked her grandmother nervously as Lady Ellinwood and her acquaintances (whose combined ages teetered north of three hundred) picked up their glasses of lemonade and stood in preparation for their esteemed retreat into the parlor.

The party was a wild crush, with nearly half the ton packed into the manicured lawns of Crown Top Manor. A quartet of violinists kept a lively tune, and a few couples danced on a raised wooden platform while the majority of guests meandered about, walking briskly from one shady spot to another in an attempt to escape the unseasonably warm sun. Children splashed and played in the fountains, their delighted shrieks quickly muffled by watchful governesses so as not to irritate the adults. A haughty and tightly closed circle of debutantes observed an equally exclusive collection of titled lords from separate linen tents, and above it all, on a dais in the middle of her stone terrace that overlooked the sprawling festivities, Lady Garfield held court, regal in a gown of deep burgundy while maids, sweaty and pink-faced, vigorously waved enormous silk fans in an effort to keep her cool and comfortable in the sweltering heat.

"There is no need to accompany us, Rosemary. You should be out there," Lady Ellinwood pointed a bony gloved finger at the shrewd-eyed debutantes, "making connections and catching the attention of your future husband. Not joining the dowagers inside for tea."

Rosemary had better odds of being accepted by a pride of lions than she did being welcomed into the midst of that savage herd. Better chance of survival, as well. But she merely nodded, as if in agreement, and then waited, nerves tingling, until her grandmother had disappeared inside to put her plan into motion.

For a few minutes, she stood in nervous indecision, wavering between obedience and daring. The only other time she'd defied her grandmother in such a manner was when she had followed Mr. Kincaid to the boarding house where her cousins were staying. But her grandmother hadn't yet forbidden her from associating with Evie and Joanna, and besides, she did say she was going on a walk. Which wasn't a lie. Not like this.

"Excuse me," a high-pitched, feminine voice snapped.

Before Rosemary had time to react, she was jostled to the side as Lady Navessa Betram came through, her loyal followers–Rosemary assumed they considered themselves her friends, but Lady Navessa wasn't the sort to have friends, not really–trailing importantly in the wake of her enormous pink and green striped bustle.

That would have been the end of it. A meaningless interaction, swiftly forgotten. But as she was pushed out of the way, Rosemary's arm inadvertently struck a tray of lemonade being carried by a footman. As she watched in wide-eyed dismay, the exceedingly full pitcher sailed up into the air in a rather impressive arc given its size...but if Rosemary had learned anything from devouring Isaac Newton's Philosophiae Naturalis Principia Mathematica , it was that all things that went up must come down. Which the lemonade did. All over Lady Navessa.

The sound of her shriek was almost loud enough to shatter glass. It caused everyone to stop and stare, even their hostess. At Lady Navessa who was red-faced and furious, at the poor servant who was trembling head to foot, and at Rosemary who was fervently wishing for a hole to open in the earth that she could hop into.

Unfortunately, no such hole was forthcoming.

But Lady Navessa's rage was.

"You incompetent imbecile," she hissed, rounding on the footman. "How dare you ruin my gown? Do you know how long it took to make it? Or how much it will cost to repair it? You should, as it will be coming out of your pocket! You careless, lazy–"

"It was me." Unable to stand by while the wrong person took the blame, Rosemary swallowed with difficulty before she stepped forward to take the brunt of Lady Navessa's wrath. "I–I accidentally hit his arm."

"I should have known this was your fault," Lady Navessa spat, her top lip curling in an unflattering sneer that her followers mirrored as all but a handful of guests gradually drifted away and the violinists struck up a new tune. "Little Rosy Poly. As bumbling as ever, I see. Shouldn't you be in a corner somewhere reading to that rat of yours?"

Rosemary lifted her chin. An assault on her own character, she could manage. But a besmirchment upon Sir Reginald was something that needed to be defended. "He is a red squirrel, not a rat. If you cannot understand the difference between a member of the Sciuridae family, as first classified by the Russian entomologist Gotthelf Fischer von Waldheim, and the clearly distinct Murid family of rats and mice and other ground dwelling rodents, then maybe you should be the one to open a book." Gaining confidence from her extensive knowledge of taxonomy, which included the study of various biological organisms grouped together by similar characteristics, she continued on...a bit further than she probably should have. "Moreover, the lemonade was not my fault. Had you not bumped into me, I wouldn't have bumped into the footman, and he wouldn't have spilled it."

Lady Navessa's eyes, the same color as flat silver coins, narrowed to thin slits. "You'd do well to recall your place, Rosy Poly, and not be so stupid as to confuse my tolerance for acceptance. Everyone knows you are only here because of your grandmother and whatever waning influence she continues to yield. On your own, you are nothing. You are no one." Her mouth stretched in a sugary sweet, sympathetic smile. "I hope, for your own sake, you understand that. Even a rat realizes that if it goes where it doesn't belong, it shall not be long for this world. Mind your step, Rosy Poly. I'd hate for you to be crushed under someone's heel."

With that, she snapped her fingers and her loyal handmaidens fell into line. They sailed off into the house and Rosemary, withering beneath the weight of half a dozen smirking stares, had no choice but to leave.

She didn't cry as she made her way to Grosvenor Square. But she did wonder, as she often had over the years, what she'd ever done to deserve Lady Navessa's hate. Because it wasn't just Navessa. It was all of them. The popular, the pretty, the ones who put themselves above everyone else. The ones that got to decide who was a diamond to be admired and envied...and who was a rat to be sent scurrying into the shadows.

Rosemary knew that she was different. She'd always known. But why should that make her a target for such maliciousness? Her fascination with science and biology wasn't hurting anyone. Sir Reginald wasn't hurting anyone. And still she was mocked and given cruel nicknames and made to feel like an outsider at every opportunity.

Navessa and her ilk were like the children that yanked the wings off insects. Not for any particular reason, other than they could. And it made them feel superior to cause smaller things pain.

Rosemary, on the other hand, went out of her way to catch spiders in glasses and carry them outside. And gently transfer ladybugs to nearby bushes when they landed on her skirt. And hold grasshoppers in the palm of her hand not to yank off their legs, but to admire the sheer beauty of their shiny green armor.

While it may have earned her ridicule and a seat by herself in the corner, she'd rather be like that than like Navessa. Rather stand up for the weak and the vulnerable than threaten to stomp on them. Rather spend her time with Sir Reginald than be surrounded by a hundred so-called friends who stood by her side not out of true allegiance, but due to fear of becoming the next target of all that vitriol and venom.

She found Lord Hawkridge's house without incident, and after giving her name to a somber-faced butler with long gray sideburns, was issued into an elegantly appointed parlor to wait.

After a terse fifteen minutes, where she debated whether to give up her plan and hurry back to Crown Top Manor before her grandmother noted her absence, the door flew open and Evie, breathless and beaming and carrying an armful of packages wrapped in brown paper and dainty silk ribbon, hurried in.

Rosemary's cousin was short and slender, with shining black tresses set stylishly beneath a felt sailor hat and sparkling blue eyes that were as prone to sharp wit as warmth. She had more fashion sense in her pinky finger than Rosemary did in her entire body, and had graciously used some of that knowledge during the house party to help soften Rosemary's dull, dowdy appearance.

"Had I known you were coming to call I would have made sure to be here to greet you!" she exclaimed, carelessly tossing the various parcels she was holding onto a nearby chair. "Thankfully, I was just on my way back from Blondell Mercantile. Have you been there? It's the largest store I've ever seen! What a marvel. They've everything from perfume to cooking pots. I am trying to find the perfect pair of shoes for– what on earth are you wearing? "

"What?" Rosemary said defensively, glancing down. The dress had been waiting when she arrived in London, along with the rest of an entirely new wardrobe her grandmother's modiste had created for her while they were in the country. For today's outing, an apricot gown with lime green piping had been laid out for her to wear. She hadn't thought twice before putting it on. She never did. But if her cousin's expression was any indication, perhaps she should have.

"It's orange. Pumpkin orange. Blinding orange." Evie's nose wrinkled. "Heavens, and it's growing mold."

"I think it is supposed to be like that."

"No dress should be like that. Thank goodness you had the good sense to seek me out. And your hair . This calls for an intervention. Come with me at once."

Rosemary balked when her cousin grabbed her arm and began to physically drag her from the parlor and up the stairs. "I don't actually have that much time–"

"You've time for this. Sit," Evie commanded once they'd reached her bedchamber, a sun-filled room with a large canopied bed dressed in white linen and pale yellow walls stenciled with pink roses. It was a beautiful room. A room befit for the future Countess of Hawkridge.

Reluctantly, Rosemary sat in front of an elegant vanity littered with various perfumes, creams, and glass vials filled with mysterious powders and potions. A dubious frown settling upon her lips, she met Evie's serious gaze in the oval dressing mirror. "The thing of it is, I've snuck away from a party and if I don't return soon–"

"Why did you have to sneak away?" Evie interrupted as she used a narrow-toothed comb to scrape off the thicker layer of bandoline that had been used to plaster Rosemary's curls to the side of her head. Made of quince seeds, bandoline was an awful, waxy concoction of which Lady Ellinwood was inordinately fond. Rosemary had managed to escape wearing it while her grandmother was on bedrest, but now that she was back on her feet and the Season was underway, she'd ordered it brought into the house by the bucketful.

As someone who did not pay much mind to outward appearances, particularly her own, Rosemary had never given much attention to the clothes that her grandmother ordered her to wear or the way she instructed her hair to be styled. At least not until Evie had pulled her aside at the house party and pointed out that her old-fashioned, oversized dresses were doing her no favors.

"You needn't dress provocatively to be noticed," Evie had said kindly. "But your clothes should reflect your personality, and from what I know of you thus far, you're much more bright and beguiling than your gown would suggest."

To date, it was the nicest compliment Rosemary had ever received. Which made her loath to tell her cousin the real reason why she'd had to steal away from Lady Garfield's birthday picnic like a thief into the night. Evie and Joanna had been so welcoming of her, so accepting, that she didn't want to hurt their feelings by revealing her grandmother's opinion of them. Especially since her grandmother's opinion was wrong. But neither could she keep lying. Any more half-truths and they'd begin to tangle up, like a knotted piece of thread.

"My grandmother doesn't like you," she blurted, and immediately winced. She could have said that better. She should have said that better. But Evie didn't look offended by her bluntness. If anything, she appeared amused.

"I received that impression when Lady Ellinwood refused to speak to me at Hawkridge Manor. At first, I feared she was deaf, but as it seemed she was capable of hearing everyone but me, it appears her hearing loss is selective."

"I'm sorry," Rosemary said miserably, hunching her shoulders. "As I've mentioned, she can be rather…difficult."

" I'm sorry that you've had to live with her all these years." Giving up on the comb, Evie switched to an ivory brush with short, stiff bristles. "It must not have been easy. Growing up without your parents. I lost my mother when I was young, but I still had my father. Without him…without him, I don't know what I would have done. What we would have done, my sisters and I." The corners of her mouth twitched in a quick grin. "Killed each other, most likely."

"I don't remember them. My parents." There was a touch of wistfulness in Rosemary's tone, but no pain. How could you hurt from the loss of something if you possessed no memory of ever having had it? "It is a miracle I survived the fire, as young as I was. Barely three, and already an orphan. I am fortunate that my grandmother took me in."

"What else should she have done? Tossed you onto the street? Doing the bare minimum is hardly cause for celebration. Family takes care of family." Evie set the brush on the vanity, then placed her hand on Rosemary's shoulder and squeezed. " You're family now. Whether you want to be or not. And the Thorncrofts take care of their own. If you'd ever like to get out beneath Lady Ellinwood's thumb, you've a home here for as long as you need. I'm sure Weston wouldn't mind."

Leave her grandmother? The thought had honestly never occurred. But now that it had, she found herself feeling tempted. Tempted…and terribly guilty.

"My grandmother had already raised one child when I came to live with her. She never expected to be burdened with another." Biting her lip, she laced her fingers together on her lap. "While it's true that she isn't prone to fits of affection, she's taken good care of me. I've not wanted for anything."

Which was, she reflected, rather sad. What did it say about her life, what did it say about her , that twenty years of existence could be summed up in five words or less? Were she to die tomorrow, her gravestone would be every bit as unremarkable as her journey thus far.

Herein Lies Rosemary Stanhope

An ordinary woman who wanted for nothing

May she rest in peace

"You are not a burden." Evie lifted the brush and resumed dragging the bristles through Rosemary's stiff, unwieldy curls. "But I suppose someone who allows a squirrel to take up residence under their roof cannot be all bad. How is Sir Reginald?" Her hand stopped as her voice took on a guarded edge. "You haven't brought him here with you, have you?"

"No, he is at home, taking a nap. Lady Garfield is not very partial to squirrels. That is where I was," she explained when Evie lifted a questioning brow in the mirror. "Every year, she throws an elaborate garden party for her birthday."

"I think we received an invitation, as the name sounds familiar, but Weston had a matter to attend to with his solicitor and I've been far too busy preparing for the wedding to attend any social functions during the day." Finally finished with brushing the bandoline from Rosemary's hair, Evie grabbed a handful of pins and, holding them between her teeth, began to fashion a loose coiffure. "Had I known you'd be there, however, I'd have made certain to attend. I could have brought Joanna as well. Although it sounds like your grandmother wouldn't have been pleased to see us."

"She'll eventually come around." I hope , Rosemary added silently. "I wish I hadn't gone, to be truthful. The other ladies there…they weren't very…erm…"

"Pleasant?" Evie said dryly. "So I've gathered from my brief experience with the ton thus far. And I thought the women in Somerville were malicious and spiteful. The ones here would devour them for breakfast with a side of tea. It appears an American with some scandal attached to her name was not their first choice to marry the Earl of Hawkridge."

Aghast, Rosemary twisted in her chair. "Has someone said something untoward to you?"

"Nothing that I cannot handle. Now stop moving." Fingertips lightly grasping Rosemary's skull, Evie gave her head a firm turn back towards the mirror. "I'm almost finished and if I don't set these pins correctly it's all going to come tumbling down. They are just jealous, you know."

It was like observing a magician work, Rosemary marveled as she watched her cousin deftly turn her hair from a flat pancake into a three-tiered cake. Freed from the waxy bandoline, her curls shone in the sunlight, appearing chestnut and mahogany in color instead of their usual mousy brown. Loose tendrils framed the side of her face, emphasizing the natural arch of her cheekbones while the rest had been gathered at the crown of her head to give her countenance, which tended towards roundness, more length. And all of it accomplished with nothing more than a brush and a few hairpins.

"Who is jealous?" she said absently, scratching an itchy spot on the inside of her elbow.

"The ladies at the garden party, and the ones who went out of their way last evening to remind everyone through pointless questions that I was born and bred in America. As if we didn't soundly trounce you in the War of Independence." Evie hesitated, then added belatedly, "No offense, of course."

"None taken. But no one is jealous of me . Least of all Lady Navessa," she muttered under her breath.

"I've found that spitefulness is nothing more than a symptom of jealousy. If someone wants what you possess, they try to take it from you by whatever means are at their disposal. Men fight with their fists, women with their words." Sliding the final pin into place, Evie put her hands on her hips and stepped away to cast an admiring eye upon her handiwork before her gaze lifted to Rosemary's in the flat, silvery glass. "If this Lady Navessa was acting unkindly towards you, then she is almost positively jealous. And why wouldn't she be?"

Rosemary gave a startled laugh. "Why would she be? Navessa is a diamond of the first water and has already received too many marriage proposals to count. Not to mention, she's a favorite of Queen Victoria. I'm just...me."

Selecting a small brown vial from the myriad of bottles and tins that covered her vanity, Evie used a dropper to release a thin layer of oil upon her fingertip and then, leaning in close to the mirror, dabbed it on her lips. "You're witty and charming and unique. Animals adore you, which I've always found to be a good sign of someone's character." She smiled at her reflection and, apparently satisfied with what she saw, returned the dropper to the vial after offering some to Rosemary, who gave a hesitant shake of her head. "How is my darling Posy, by the way?"

"Growing by leaps and bounds. She's moved out to the barn and has taken up well with a small herd of yearling ewes. I made sure they all got along before we left."

"I did want to bring her here, but I knew she'd fare better in the countryside. Lambs don't belong in London." Evie gave a small sigh. "But I do hope she remembers me."

"I'm sure she will. Animals have wonderful memories. Some even better than people." By sheer happenstance, Rosemary glanced at a clock in the corner of the room. When she saw where the minute hand was positioned she gasped aloud and surged to her feet. "Oh, no. I've been here much too long. My grandmother is going to be wondering where I am."

"I'll walk you out. But," Evie complained as they made their way down the stairs and into the foyer, "I don't like how you have to sneak around. I am not some secret lover that you're visiting. I am your relative, and soon to be the Countess of Hawkridge. What's the point of having a fancy title if it doesn't get me what I want? And what I want is more time with my one and only cousin."

"I can try to come back again. At the end of next week, perhaps. My grandmother is visiting a friend out of town, and she should be gone for most of the day."

The corners of Evie's lips, shiny and plump from whatever she'd applied to them, jutted downwards in disapproval. "That's far too long. I've ordered fabric samples that are arriving tomorrow and I am going to need to see them against your complexion. How else am I supposed to choose between pearl and alabaster? With your skin tone, I'm leaning more towards alabaster, but you never know."

"Aren't pearl and alabaster the same color?" Rosemary ventured.

Evie stared. "They most certainly are not. Moreover, I've no idea how I am supposed to find a silhouette and neckline that will compliment you, and Joanna, and Brynne." Her eyes narrowed accusingly. "It doesn't help that you've all different colored hair."

Rosemary touched a brunette curl dangling in front of her ear. "I'm...sorry?"

"Apology accepted." Evie waved her arm in the air. "Although I suppose, strictly speaking, it's not your fault. Besides, if anyone is up to such a gargantuan task, it's me. You might even say I've been preparing myself for this since I was a little girl designing outfits for my dolls. If I have to, I might be able to cut a piece of your hair and choose the shade of ivory and type of fabric based on that. But I absolutely must have the dresses fitted in person. That is not up for negotiation."

Rosemary's fingers tightened protectively around her curl. "Excuse my ignorance, but...what are the dresses for?"

"For the wedding," Evie replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You're going to be one of my bridesmaids, aren't you? Which means you need a bridesmaid's dress. Along with my sister and soon to be sister-in-law."

She said it so matter-of-factly that it took a moment for the enormity to settle. For Rosemary to comprehend what Evie meant, and to understand what was being asked of her. What had been asked of her, without a question ever being spoken. Because it hadn't needed to be. And that type of inclusivity, the kind that she'd never experienced before, was enough to bring a rush of unexpected tears to Rosemary's eyes.

"What's this?" Evie asked when Rosemary embraced her in a hug.

"To thank you," Rosemary sniffled.

"For what?"

"For wanting me to be in your wedding."

For just wanting me .

At this point, Rosemary was accustomed to being alone. Most times she even preferred it that way. Especially when it came between staying in the corner of the room with a book and being forced to dance in the middle of it. But choosing to be alone did not mean that she wasn't often lonely, and she had long yearned for someone to fill that loneliness with her.

When she was young, she'd desperately wanted a sister to play with. To giggle with. To conspire with. As she'd grown older, and come to the difficult realization that she was forever destined to be an only child, she'd wished for a friend. Just one. A best friend who knew her better than she knew herself, and accepted all of the oddities and little eccentricities that set her apart from everyone else. But that friend never came either. Until all at once, and without much warning, she had two of them. Two best friends. Two sisters (who were technically second cousins, but she wasn't exactly in a position to be picky). Two women who accepted her as she was, for who she was.

Minus a few hair and wardrobe alterations.

"I've never been asked to be in a wedding before," she went on, and when a fresh torrent of tears threatened–heavens, where were they all coming from?–she drew a ragged breath and used the green lace hem of her sleeve to dry her face. "I'll find a way to come to the dress fitting. I promise."

"Dress fitting s ," Evie corrected. "There's also to be a formal luncheon, and a dinner party, and an engagement ball. Then the wedding itself, naturally, which is to take place at Hawkridge, with a hunting expedition the day before for the gentlemen, and an afternoon of leisurely activities for the ladies."

"That all sounds...wonderful," Rosemary said dazedly.

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 a very handsome 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?"

"They did ," 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. He punched Lachlan when he found out. In the face . But isn't it romantic?"

"Lord Weston punching Lord Campbell is romantic?" Rosemary said, confused.

"No, no. The elopement . 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 the ton . 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 was so foreign that she wasn't even sure what it was at first…until it came to her in a startling wave of recognition.

Jealous.

She was jealous of 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…that maybe …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't exactly in 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."