Page 19 of The Perfect Rose

When Mr. Hastings took the few short steps back to her, she brought his own cravat up to his neck and patted the area dry. Her arms were almost completely extended to finish the task. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. You’re too tall for me to do this correctly. Please sit down so that I might reach your neck easier.” She didn’t trust her hands not to shake while she administered the liquid, and it would do no good dripping down his waistcoat.

“Why don’t you stand on a rock? It would accomplish the same thing.” He smiled in jest, and she pushed him over to the large stone she had been seated on previously.

“Sit.” She pointed to the rock.

Dragon obediently sat next to his master’s feet. She clapped a hand over her mouth against her laughter.

“Well, at least one of you listens without complaining.” She turned to the dog. “Good boy. Now, let’s see if Mr. Hastings’s can follow your example.”

Mr. Hastings’s mouth hung agape. “How did you get him to sit? He never listens to me.”

“I’ll tell you after you are a good boy and do as I say.” She folded her arms across her chest and put on her best governess face.

“Aye, aye, captain.” He gave her a saucy salute and sat on the rock.

She bit back a smile and pulled out her vial again. She pulled off her glove and gently pressed his ear down toward his shoulder to see the sting’s original placement. Slowly, she poured a few drops of rose water onto the swollen area and rubbed it in with her fourth finger. Her heart pounded in her ears. She’d never been this close to a man. “You will likely need to do this morning and night for the next two days before the symptoms are gone. But this should at least stop the swelling from continuing to spread for now.”

She could feel the heat from his skin and see him breathing in ragged shallow breaths as she worked more of the rose water into his inflamed skin. Was the swelling restricting his throat as well? She prayed it wasn’t. She didn’t know if the rose water would be effective internally. She concluded administering the rose water and tipped his head back to a normal position. “How are you feeling, Mr. Hastings?”

He locked eyes with her. “Curious.”

Curious? This man would never say something she expected. “Curious about what, exactly?”

“How did you get Dragon to sit?” He winked at her as he stood, cast a glance at their chaperone, then leaned closer to Rose and whispered, “We have a deal. Leave everything to me. Things will look up.”

Chapter Fourteen

Frederick glanced at his bowl: it was a fair throw, but nothing to praise. The gentlemen had all taken up a game of lawn bowls while the ladies sat under a tree with their watercolors. The women’s chatter floated toward him on the wind, but he never caught the voice of Lady Rose. Not that he was listening for it. But the memory of her hands working her miracle concoction into the skin on his neck was driving him a little mad. Each time he looked over at the scene of painting women, which was more often than he cared to admit, Lady Rose was listening but not adding to the conversation while she painted. He knew she had thoughts she could share. Why was she so quiet?

“Who has caught your attention, Mr. Hastings?” Lord Hanby asked over his shoulder. “You’ve been paying far more attention to that group of women than to our game.”

A chuckle escaped Frederick’s chest. How could it not? He’d been trying to find a way to direct Lord Hanby’s attention to that quarter all morning. It seemed it was finally working—not that his attention to the women in this instance was feigned. Frederick wasn’t about to allow this moment to pass him by; it was time to sow some seeds of jealousy. “How can I help but watch her? Lady Rose is quite a vision. Just look at the way she tilts her head, as if she is posing for a portrait.”

Lord Hanby raised an eyebrow at him. “It’s not like you to get sentimental, Hastings.”

“Sentimental? I wouldn’t go so far as to say that. But I can admire beauty when I see it. In fact, I was thinking of inviting Lady Rose to come play a game. Would you care to choose a partner, and we can have a contest?”

The bored look that the viscount threw his way was almost thick enough to chew. “Beauty cannot help you in this. I’ve beat you soundly the last two games.”

And what a boring two games it had been. Lord Hanby didn’t give reactions to much of anything, no matter how ridiculous Frederick acted to rile him up. The man hadn’t even lifted a corner of his mouth when Frederick had performed a roll on the grass after a particularly good shot of his. “Ah, but my next tactic is to have an entirely disarming teammate. You can choose your own partner to upend me.”

Lord Hanby stuck out his hand. “The winner gets to sit with Lady Rose at the musicale tonight.”

Frederick shook his hand and smiled. That had been easy. Was it really so simple as to mention Lady Rose’s beauty for another man to challenge him in his regard of her? Were other men blind? No, Rose’s beauty was spoken of far and wide. Did Lord Hanby have an alternative gain from sitting with Lady Rose at the musicale, or was he simply trying to rile Frederick up? Lord Hanby hadn’t shown much interest in her, outside of pleasantries, until now, had he? And it was almost certain that the viscount would win their game of lawn bowls. He was decidedly better at the game than Frederick.

The two walked over to the group of women and bowed in tandem. Frederick spoke first, “Lady Rose, would you be able to take a break from your painting to be my partner in lawn bowls?” He looked down into her eyes and saw excitement shining there. He flicked his gaze to her canvas and smiled. It was a willow tree hanging over the edge of a pond, a single swing tucked inside its long, slender branches. He could have hung it in his gallery, and one would have assumed it was the work of a master. “It looks like you could do nothing to make this picture more perfect.”

Lady Rose gave a small smile. “It’s just a tree. You need not flatter me to convince me to join you.”

Frederick snorted a laugh. How could she so easily discount her talent?

She shifted her gaze quickly toward the women seated next to her. They ignored her: it seemed the current strategy of the women to upend her, and for a fraction of a moment, he saw in Lady Rose’s eyes that it was working. In a flash, the hurt look was gone, and she stood and took his arm. “If you would excuse me, ladies.” She dipped her head as he escorted her toward the bowling-green.

Frederick heard the viscount ask Miriam to partner him and noted her willing acceptance. Frederick put his free hand atop Lady Rose’s gloved hand resting in the crook of his arm. It was quite comfortable, enjoyable even. “That was not just a tree, my lady,” he whispered. “It was an entire captivating scene.” He wanted to continue praising her work; but she pressed her fingers into his arm just enough to stop him. Whatever skills she had painting were apparently not ones she wanted to be sung praises about. He looked at her for a moment and saw the unspoken concern in her eyes. He could ignore it . . . for now. “We will be playing Lord Hanby and Miriam. And I haven’t won yet. I’m relying on you to carry our team.”

“Naturally.” Lady Rose drew herself up a little taller, which wasn’t saying much. The top of her bonnet almost reached his shoulder. “Am I to pair off with Miriam or Lord Hanby?”

“I thought that would be quite obvious,” Frederick whispered.