Page 49 of A Match Made in London
Rosalind did not seem the least bit discouraged by the other girl’s less than enthusiastic reaction. “Have you attended Lord Avery’s musicale before? I have heard wondrous things about the performances.”
“Y-yes.” Miss Weeton looked to him in a panic.
“Oh? Perhaps we may sit beside one another. I am not at all gifted when it comes to music, but mayhap you are?”
Tristan couldn’t take a moment more. For not only did Miss Weeton look like a startled fawn about to bolt, but he did not think he could keep a straight face were he to allow Rosalind to go on as she was.
“You know, Miss Merriweather, I think it a grand idea that our two groups combine. If Mr. and Mrs. Weeton are not opposed, of course.” As the two elder Weetons stammered their delight with the idea, all the while looking cautiously at Rosalind, he flashed a smile and offered his elbow to Miss Weeton. “Shall we go ahead and secure our seats? I’m sure your parents and my cousin would love to become better acquainted. Lady Belham has only recently come from Scotland, you know, where she has lived for close to two decades now,” he said, directing his attention to Mr. Weeton. “I hear you have a beautiful property there, and near Edinburgh, which is quite close to my cousin’s former estate Manderly Hall, outside of Haddington.”
As Mr. Weeton’s eyes lit and he began to ply Grace with all manner of questions, Tristan guided Miss Weeton away. But not before he caught Rosalind’s frustrated glare. Smiling in triumph at her, he turned his back and moved off through the crowd.
• • •
The man was insufferable. She knew she must have thought it before, but now she trulymeantit, with every fiber of her being.
Rosalind sent a covert glare his way. He didn’t see it, blast him, seated as he was half the row away, beside Miss Weeton. Yes, the man had taken advantage of the seating, and seen to it that not only was Lady Belham placed between them, but Mr. and Mrs. Weeton as well. Not a hard thing to do. For after discussing their Scottish properties, it had been discovered that the Weetons and Lady Belham shared several acquaintances. This led to an involved discussion that carried them beyond the front hall, through the hallways of the stately home, and into the sage and cream opulence of the music room.
Rosalind had glowered and seethed her way through the entire ordeal. For how was she to get into Miss Weeton’s good graces if she could not have access to her? Yes, she had come off a bit strong upon their introduction. And yes, she had much ground to make up if she was to befriend the girl. But she could not very well do that from where she was.
As Tristan well knew.
As if she had called to him, he lifted his head and looked her way. She had the childish urge to stick her tongue out at him. Instead she speared him with a stern glare that she hoped conveyed her thoughts on his little manipulation of the seating arrangements.
Her message must have come across loud and clear. For he grinned in that unrepentant way of his that never failed to set her teeth on edge.
She didn’t care how beautiful the singing was, she thought sourly, this evening could not end soon enough.
When the performance finally ended, Rosalind stood up with alacrity, ready to pounce on Miss Weeton and make her like her. Yes, she had botched things up horribly already. But really, it couldn’t be that difficult. Look how easy it was for that bounder Tristan, after all.
But already he was guiding the girl away, no doubt in search of refreshments. She let loose a little growl of frustration.
“I say, Miss Merriweather, are you well?”
Rosalind gasped and spun around. “Oh! Mr. Carlisle. I did not expect to see you here. Is your father well?”
He smiled warmly at her. “He seems to be improving, thank you. And so he has sent me from the house to enjoy a night on the town. How did you like the performance?”
“It was lovely,” she replied automatically. Yet she realized in that moment that she hadn’t truly heard a bit of it. She knew the singing had been beautiful. She also knew the soprano, though she had made herself somehow appear young and vivacious, had to be sixty years if she was a day.
If the woman ever found it difficult to find a job singing, she could certainly make a fortune selling her beauty secrets to the women of theton.
But if one were to ask her opinion beyond that, she would be hard pressed to answer with any certainty. All because of a devilish rake that seemed to enjoy making her life difficult.
But perhaps Mr. Carlisle would prove what she needed to lay waste to Tristan’s plans. She lifted her fan, working it over her face until a brisk wind started up. “Is it over warm in here, do you think?”
As expected, he looked instantly concerned. “Perhaps you are in need of refreshment. Shall I fetch something for you?”
She graced him with a look that suggested he was the most brilliant man in existence. At least, she hoped that was what it conveyed. For it certainly would not do for him to see the self-satisfied cunning she currently felt at knowing he was falling right into her plans.
“A refreshment sounds ideal. Though perhaps,” she continued, taking a quick peek at Lady Belham to assure herself she was engaged, “I may join you in the search? Sitting still so long makes me anxious.”
He nodded graciously, guiding her out of the row and through the busy room. “You know,” he mused as they circumnavigated a group of matrons, “I cannot help noticing that you are quite different from your sister, in more ways than one. For if I remember correctly she was not so fond of exercise.”
Rosalind laughed quietly, her hand going to her locket as it always did when she thought of her sister. “You are right in that. She preferred travelling in a carriage to walking any distance. I recall on one occasion we were to visit a family a mere quarter mile away. She insisted on the carriage being readied, though it took a full three quarters of an hour to prepare, rather than to walk ten minutes to our destination.”
“That does sound like her.” He chuckled, before sobering. “I truly am sorry she is gone, you know. She was a wonderful person and did not deserve to have her life cut so short.”
The burn of tears was not from grief this time, but happiness. It stunned her. She had been focused so long on the bad, she had quite forgotten to think of the good. “Thank you,” she replied with feeling.
