Page 56 of House of Roots and Ruin
I waited for those sensations to take over and claim me, swelling my heart till it felt it would burst and shower the world with the splendor of new love.
Nothing.
With a disgruntled sigh, I stabbed one last pin in my hair and turned, studying my reflection in the mirror before me. I looked peevish and sour and forced a smile, seeing if it would help.
It didn’t.
Dauphine and I had returned from my fitting with just enough time to dress for dinner and, though I felt horribly rushed, I wanted to make sure I looked especially nice for Alexander.
Our first kiss worried me.
I’d expected fireworks and shooting stars, effervescent bubbles and delight.
Not…
That.
I’d spent the entire trip into town only half listening to Dauphine while I compiled a mental list of things I’d once been bad at but, with practice, had improved upon.
Drawing.
Sailing.
Embroidery.
My penmanship.
Surely I would one day be able to add kissing to this list.
There were reasons, plenty of reasons, for it not to have gone right. It was a decidedly awkward act—pressing your face to another’s with the expectation of it being miraculously pleasant.
With time, it was certain to become more agreeable.
I hoped.
What worried me most was Alex’s read on the matter.
If he’d felt the kiss to be lackluster as well, would he account for how new to this I was? Had he considered that I could be an apt pupil and would seek to improve? What if he wrote me off before giving me another chance?
As I pinched my cheeks, drawing spots of color into them,there was a short tap on the sitting room door and I felt as though I might become ill. Our next conversation could determine the rest of my life. Would I remain at Chauntilalie or be tossed out, never to be kissed again?
“Coming,” I called out, certain it was Alexander. Just before turning the glass doorknob, I took a deep, steadying breath.
But when I opened the door, there was no one in the hall.
Puzzled, I stepped out, nearly crushing a small parcel left on the threshold.
A bouquet!
I swooped down to pick up the little nosegay, admiring the clusters of snowy white and pink spectacled blooms. A small card was tucked into the ribbon tying the flowers together.
Sometimes words are not needed. (Rock-roses and gardenias),it read in Alex’s bold, jagged print.
Smiling, I brought them into my bedroom, to add to one of the large vases on my nightstand, before turning to Gerard’s stack of books.
I looked up the gardenia first, remembering Alex had mentioned them the night I’d first arrived at the manor.
“ ‘Gardenia jasminoides,’ ”I read aloud. It had several possible meanings. “ ‘You are so lovely,’ ” it began. “ ‘I too am happy, joy, a most tender love.’ ”
