Page 47 of Rose and the Rogue
“All that noise and heat, it’s no surprise you’re overwhelmed. Here, drink this,” Sara said, placing a glass of something cool into Rose’s hands. “I’ll come back in a few moments to see if you’re feeling better.”
She left, and Rose took a cautious sip of the beverage, which turned out to be water infused with lemon and orange. The sharp citrus notes were a welcome counterpoint to the floral perfumed air of the ballroom.
Rose sat, breathing slowly. Was it foolish of her to come to this event at all? Considering that she was afraid to accept even an invitation to dance, there was little point in her attending. But the facts were simply that Hynes’s earlier trick had burned itself into her brain, and she feared that it could happen again. And if it did, there was no chance that she’d be saved by someone like Adrian the next time. After all, there was only one Adrian.
A thin sigh escaped her at the thought of him. Where was he? Not at this party, certainly. Why then had he sent the cashmere wrap, with the heavy hint that she’d want it tonight? Was her invitation to this party just a coincidence? Did she misunderstand Adrian’s intentions?
Rose shook her head. She must have, and no wonder. She was obviously too sheltered and naive to catch the undercurrents of their exchanges. She was very silly to think that his continued attention actually meant anything. He lived in a different world than her, and if Rose were smart, she’d return to her own little world as fast as possible.
Some time later, Sara entered the retiring room, going immediately to Rose (her perfume heralded her approach by several paces). “Rose, darling, are you not feeling any better?”
“Yes and no,” Rose said. “But I have decided that I’d better go home.”
“Oh, that’s such a shame! There’s going to be some massive surprise later, so they say.”
“It sounds exciting, but I doubt I’ll be able to appreciate it.” Rose felt better, having resolved to leave the surprises of high society alone. Let others enjoy them, people who had the freedom to do so. “Can you help me to the foyer where I can call for a carriage?”
“I’ve got mine, dear!”
“But it will take an hour to retrieve, and anyway I want you to stay and enjoy the party.”
“I can’t send you off in a cab alone…can I?” Sara sounded quite confused about what she ought to do or even what she felt like doing.
“Get me into a carriage and give the street direction. I’ll be just fine. It’s not a long ride.”
Sara escorted Rose to the giant doors of Lady Worthington’s home, which had been propped open to allow the cool night air inside. A footman standing at the ready listened to Lady Sara’s request for a carriage to take Miss Blake home, and he then dashed outside to hail one of the hired carriages in the nearest lane, where they always hovered at the time of a party.
Rose listened to what sounded like an accident on the street—men yelling and horses neighing.
“What’s going on?” she asked, concerned.
“There’s a bit of a jam-up with the carriages. Silly drivers, they all want the fare! Oh, one’s edged ahead of the mess, that’s wonderful. Just fancy, a carriage driver who can actually drive a carriage!”
“That’s a change,” Rose commented, having suffered through many bumpy rides through the cobbled streets of London.
The footman returned. “Right this way, ladies. Carriage is waiting.”
Arm in arm, Sara led Rose to the street, and the footman held the door open. Rose climbed in, feeling the side of the door and the leather seat.
“Comfortable, dear?” Sara asked. Then she called up Rose’s street and number to the driver. “Got that? The household will pay the fare when you drop her off. Now take care, Rose! I do hope you feel better.”
“I shall. You enjoy the rest of the party, and do write to me about the surprise.”
“Absolutely, darling! Good night!”
The carriage rolled away, leaving Sara’s cheerful farewell behind. Rose sighed as she sagged back into the seat.
The carriage continued on through the city, the driver taking turns into this street or that as he navigated the crowds. At last, the carriage slowed and came to a stop. Rose waited for the driver to open the door, knowing she’d have to explain that she was blind and ask for him to escort her all the way to the front door of the house. She never liked to ask (not that she usually had to. Rose could count the number of times she’d ridden alone on one hand).
The door opened, and Rose put her hand out as she leaned forward. The driver took her hand…and kissed it.
“I was worried you’d be at that party till dawn,” a warm voice said.
“Adrian!” Rose gasped, withdrawing her hand in surprise. “What’s going on? Where’s the driver?”
“I am the driver, darling.”
“You drove me home?”
