Page 9 of The Perfect Rose

Rose’s heart pounded in her ears. She’d only caused confusion, as well as had shown a chink in her armor. Her decision could turn lethal if Miriam ever wanted to use it against her. Realizing the slip she’d made, but unable to calm her mind enough to mend her cracked social shield, Rose knew it was time for a retreat. She was clearly no good at making friends. “Forget I said anything, Miriam. You are doing wonderfully,” she muttered as she made a hasty grab for her embroidery basket and hurried from the room.

She collided right into a solid mass on exiting the drawing room, her basket crushed between her and the offender. She looked up and saw laughing green eyes. Of course. Mr. Hastings would turn up right when she was falling apart. It seemed just their lot. She leveled a glare at him that should have sent him running. Instead, the infuriating gentleman chuckled.

“It seems you believe me to be a pin cushion.” He looked down at his arm.

Rose followed his gaze to see her needle buried into the sleeve of his jacket. Her hand flew to cover her mouth, and slowly, painfully slowly, she convinced her other trembling hand to remove the offending needle. The task was easier than she had anticipated. She took a steadying breath. “I’m very sorry, Sir.” She bent down to gather her dropped stitching supplies, and the needle she’d just extricated from Mr. Hastings pierced her finger. It wasn’t too deep, but it was enough to draw blood through her white gloves. She clamped her teeth down to keep herself from crying out in pain. Her face was heated through from embarrassment and her smarting finger, and she knew it would mar her complexion something horrid. Why was it that Mr. Hastings always found her in distress?

He bent down and began picking up some thread. “No harm done, Lady Rose. It didn’t even pierce my skin.”

That would explain why the needle had been so easy to remove. “Well, next time, I won’t miss.” She pressed her finger hard into the palm of her hand to keep the damp feeling from spreading. If anyone deserved to be poked with a needle, it was Mr. Frederick Hastings. When she raised her eyes to meet his, they were laughing at her. Still.

Rose blew a frustrated breath through her nose as she reached with her uninjured hand for her scissors. Mr. Hastings reached for them at the same time and his hand closed over her fingers. His own hands were gentle and warm atop her own shaking fingers. In a split second, her heart took off, pounding furiously. She really must not be at all well; for a fleeting moment, she thought she actually welcomed the contact. She gave herself a mental kick. No, this was Mr. Hastings. And she was a dragon. She tugged the scissors from his hand and pushed them into her limp basket.

Mustering any decorum she still possessed, she curtseyed to him before marching off without another word. She left him and the whispers from the drawing room behind her as she sought out her bedchamber. Maybe friends were an overrated accessory. Solitude called to her. And it was imperative she pull herself together before the day’s activities began in earnest.

Chapter Eight

Does the woman never sincerely smile? Frederick wondered as he sought out Miriam in the drawing room. The loud whispers of the women in the room created what could only be considered a well-mannered uproar.

Miss Haybury was easily heard above the rest. “What was she thinking, parading around like no one else existed. Poor Mr. Hastings, he certainly wasn’t deserving of Lady Rose’s anger.”

Anger? No, that wouldn’t be what Frederick would have called their encounter. Frustration, maybe. Had it been any other female, Frederick would have said the lady was distressed; but this was Lady Rose they were talking about. She was the causer of distress, wasn’t she? She couldn’t possibly be in distress herself. His mind flew to the day before when she’d been caught in the bush. Perhaps she could be in distress, and in his own home. The thought didn’t sit well.

He shook his head. No serious harm had befallen Lady Rose, and she was not asking for any assistance. He recalled the way she’d ripped her scissors from his hand. Yes, the dragon would be just fine.

As Frederick shook himself from his thoughts, he spotted Miriam sitting next to the window. He’d fully expected her to be the ringleader of those willing to celebrate in Lady Rose’s missteps, yet here she was looking quite subdued and not at all like herself.

Of course! It all made sense. Lady Rose must have said some scathing remark or another, and now Miriam was ready to burst into tears. Frederick simply couldn’t live with himself if Lady Rose made his sister miserable and he just stood by. It was high time he showed Lady Rose Gardner that he would not stand for her poor treatment of others in his home.

“There, there, Miriam. What has Lady Rose done this time?” He sat on the seat beside his sister and put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

Miriam frowned and scrunched her eyebrows as if she were confused. “Done? You mean besides running into you? I don’t believe that was on purpose, Frederick.”

“But she stuck me with a needle. And I’m certain she’s been planning her revenge on me ever since I compared her to Dragon. She deserved it too. Now tell me what she’s done so I can come up with my next comparison.” Why did Miriam not understand that he was there to support her, not confuse her?

“She’s done nothing nefarious and you know it.” Whenever Miriam berated him, it was all Frederick could do not to cower. Her voice, as low as the whispering of the wind, had a sharp, icy edge to it.

He took a breath and blew it out slowly. “So you’re standing up for her now. What do I not understand?”

Miriam shook her head. “Nothing. Everything. I don’t know myself. But I don’t think we really know Lady Rose.”

“Fine. Enough about Lady Rose. Why are you looking so glum?”

“I’m not glum.” Miriam rose from her seat. “You wouldn’t understand, regardless, as you are determined not to like her. I’m off to make sure our activities are prepared. I believe it is time for a picnic and archery.” She walked from the room with all the dignity of the countess.

Frederick felt as though he’d taken a hit to the stomach. Wasn’t he supposed to be determined not to like Lady Rose? Wasn’t his potential to like her Miriam’s sole concern for this house party? He pinched the bridge of his nose, closed his eyes, and took a steadying breath. A picnic and archery. It sounded tame enough, but the last thing he needed today was to deal with Lady Rose and more sharp objects. He didn’t doubt that she wouldn’t miss again if she had another chance to run him through.

The picnic turned out to be a pleasant affair. Miriam had selected an expanse of grass with a small copse of trees lending them shade. Frederick appreciated the view overlooking the pond. Baskets piled high with cheese, bread, apricots, grapes, and biscuits sat in the center of each blue and white checkered blanket. It was incredibly idyllic and relaxing. Lady Rose, in her pale green gown, had taken up residence on a separate blanket from his, along with Lord Hanby, Miss Haybury, Samuel, and Owen Redford. The parents had a blanket to themselves a little way off, leaving Frederick able to visit with Miriam, Miss Eliza Trenton, Mr. Quentin Redford, and Miss Jane Coolidge.

Frederick suspected it was not the ideal situation for Miriam that most of her would-be suitors were on the opposite blanket. Perhaps that was why his sister was being so reserved and quiet. But Miss Trenton had been one of Miriam’s greatest friends these past three years. Where Miriam was fire, Miss Trenton was water. Their opposite personalities played off each other wonderfully yet comically at times. At the moment, the two were in some conversation about what to wear for dinner this evening with Miss Coolidge. Admittedly, the latter was mostly listening. She never did talk much.

Frederick popped a grape into his mouth and embraced the sweet and tart mouthful as he lounged in the afternoon sun. “Quentin, are you going to tell me what to wear to dinner tonight?”

Quentin chuckled. “I’d request that you wear a jacket. It seems to be important.”

“Mr. Redford, you must be more specific when giving my poor brother clothing advice. If you tell him to wear a jacket, you must tell him at least what color it ought to be.” Miriam put forth a serious face, but her eyes sparked with mirth.

“Miriam, I am having a perfectly amiable conversation with my old friend. Can you not spoil my sport?” He winked at her, and she dipped her head solemnly toward him.