Page 51 of Seductive Reprise
Rose flushed suddenly, and she finally moved, snatching the card back from Ruth.
I have always judged, and shall endeavor to continue judging, you on your own merits—which are tremendous. And although I find myself drawn to your resolve, your wit, and your clear-eyedoptique, I would be remiss to ignore your smile, the line of your cheek, and the smell of your hair on a crisp winter morning.
She dropped the hand that held the note, a tumultuous churn of emotion overwhelming her.
“Well?” Ruth prodded, her tone sharp. “It’s not signed.”
Her roommate’s questioning finally snapped Rose from her confused standstill. She groaned and moved toward the door. “Get out!” She shooed Ruth away. “Now!”
“But—”
“No!” she growled, and slammed the door in the prim woman’s face, knowing full well she would pay dearly for the abrupt dismissal. Most likely in the form of withheld garments. Rose sighed, pained at the thought of arriving at the gallery thenext evening in the same ratty threads everyone had seen her in before, stained at the sleeves with chalk dust and watercolors. She leaned against the door and sank to the floor, holding the gorgeous box in her lap, with Joseph’s intimate note still in hand.
“Fine then,” Ruth said through the door, raising her voice as she continued, “And don’t think I’ll put your hair up for you tomorrow, Miss Rose Verdier! I’ve had quite enough of playing lady’s maid to somepainterwho can’t be bothered to tidy up after herself or answer a perfectly normal question!”
Rose shut her eyes and listened to the sound of Ruth’s angry, purposeful footsteps across their shared sitting room. She heard the clink of ceramics—Ruth was indeed tidying up her dirty tea. For a moment Rose considered going out and apologizing, and insisting on cleaning up her own mess. But she remained on the floor, her eyes falling upon the frayed hem of her nightdress, then the pristine display of the rose water in its box with the beautiful soaps. And finally, Joseph’s note.
She blushed again as she reread his words, written in his beautiful hand. Her own writing was loose, haphazard. Sloppy. Just like every other part of her.Plain as a pikestaff, just as Silas had said.
She couldn’t wear the green silk tomorrow. Even Rose knew that was too fancy for a daytime gallery visit. But she had nothing else decent. And if Ruth wouldn’t lend her a gown or arrange her hair…
She sighed once more, blowing out all the breath from her lungs as she pondered her predicament.
It was hateful, she knew, but she needed to be beautiful. To see Silas beside himself with regret. Shewantedto be beautiful, to feel eyes upon her, to feel the envy seeping off of others as they spied her on Joseph’s arm. She wanted to imagine the thoughts behind those wide, gaping expressions. She wanted to look likesomeone who belonged with him. Who belonged somewhere better than among the masses crowding the dirty streets of London. Would it be so wrong to pretend, for once? That she was gorgeous and desirable and someone ofquality, without having to prove it. By just existing as beautifully as the cut-glass bottle lying in its shining silk bed in the fancy paperboard box.
Her gaze drifted to her tiny, unmade bed, and the earl’s letter upon it. Her eyes narrowed.
Just this once, she promised herself. Having made her decision, she stood up to retrieve the envelope. With a deep breath, she broke the seal.
Tucked alongside the earl’s usual letter, in the same amount as always, was the cheque.
“And just who is this artist?” Yusef asked, tapping one finger against the top of his walking stick.
They were standing not far from 5 Waterloo Place, Agnew’s Gallery, making their awkward hellos. She’d been there waiting for him when his carriage pulled up.
She wore a whimsical confection: a cotton floral dress, the sleeves trimmed with lace ruffles, with a skirt hitched up to reveal a deep mauve underskirt with broad flounces. And atop her head, a wide-brimmed straw hat with a shallow crown. The attire looked dainty, delicate, coquettish. Its intention was apparent: to make her a brightly painted pastoral beauty in the vein of the past century.
But not like Rose.
She was too tall, too angular. The effect was one of her having borrowed her smaller housemate’s gown once again.
“Silas Gall. We were in Mr. Jurgens’ employ together, in his workshop,” she said, awkwardly smoothing out the skirts of her overdone dress.
Yusef watched her hands.
“What?” she asked accusingly. “Is it my dress?” A hint of sorrow entered her voice. “It’s a bit much, I know, but… the shopgirl assured me. It’s supposed to resemble someone from one of Mr. Dickens’ books—er, Dolly Varden.” Her cheeks flamed up, and she choked out, “It’s quite fashionable?”
A wave of affection hit him, seeing her so unsure. He tightened his grip on his walking stick and offered her his arm.
“It’s lovely. As are you.”
That seemed to placate her enough to take his arm, although her eyes retained a hint of suspicion.
They entered the gallery, crowding in with the rest of the curious public. A few odd clutches of individuals murmured to one another before a banal triptych of what appeared to be a knight, a horse, and a lady, ostensibly the centerpiece of the collection. Their viewers betrayed a desperation to be seen as connoisseurs, but theirnouveau richeorigins were as noticeable as Rose’s new gown. A tall, well-built man with light, slicked-back hair stood alongside them, wearing a sheepish smile and a smartly tailored coat. Silas Gall himself, Joseph surmised. And with him stood a middle-aged lady dripping with jewelry, quite unnecessary for the hour and venue. In contrast to the younger man’s false modesty, she was proud as a peacock, practically preening. A patroness of some sort, no doubt. She laughed a bit too loudly at something the supposed Mr. Gall said, smacking his arm in a familiar manner. Mr. Gall reached for her hand and held it for a few moments longer than necessary, a fond grin on his square face.
Yusef didn’t care for him. Indeed, he hadn’t expected to.
Instead of making a dry remark on the artist or the clientele, Yusef waited, allowing Rose to take the lead.
