The Wallflower's Mistletoe Wedding. Amanda McCabe
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side, a smile on her face beneath the blond curls that peeked from her turban. ‘Girls, be very nice indeed. We might need her help one day soon,’ she hissed, before sailing forward to kiss Aunt Sylvia’s cheek. ‘Aunt Sylvia, how absolutely delightful to see you again after so long. You remember my dear daughters, Rose and Lily, I’m sure.’
‘Hmmph,’ Aunt Sylvia said with a thump of her stick. ‘Still yours, are they? No husbands yet? How vexing for you, Felicity. I think we have much to talk about.’
As if he had been given a stage cue, Mr Hewlitt appeared in the doorway, looking handsome, but blushing and flustered in his curate’s dark coat, his red hair rumpled. He lit up like the moon when he saw Lily, and hurried over to take her hand. ‘Miss Parker, I am so sorry I was delayed! I have been so looking forward to—’
‘And who are you, young man?’ Aunt Sylvia boomed.
Poor Mr Hewlitt looked quite terrified, but much to his credit he did not let go of Lily’s hand. Indeed, he slid in front of her, as if to protect her. ‘I am Mr Peter Hewlitt, curate of St Anne’s, madam.’
Rose took the opportunity to slip away from the little scene and made her way through the crowd into the drawing room. The Aubusson rugs that usually lay over the polished parquet floors had been rolled away to make a dance floor, surrounded by conversational groupings of brocade sofas and armchairs, half-hidden by banks of palms and fragrant white flowers. The orchestra played on their dais, a soft song as dancers found their partners and footmen passed trays of champagne and claret punch. The windows were open to let in the soft summer breeze and everything was laughter and happiness for just a moment.
Rose smoothed her skirt again, hoping against hope Captain St George would find her—and just as frightened that he would. She didn’t want to seem stammering and silly in his company, but she was sure she would. She seemed to quite forget everything else when she looked into his dark eyes.
‘Miss Parker? Time for our dance, I think?’ she heard his deep voice say behind her.
She spun around to face him and his easy smile made her feel instantly more at ease. ‘Oh—of course. Thank you, Captain.’
As Rose took Captain St George’s arm and walked with him across the crowded room, she felt something most distinctly—odd. Something she had never had an inkling of before. Parties and gowns and flirtations had never held much appeal for her, not compared to the pleasures of the piano or a good book by the fire. Parties were for her mother and sister, because watching their enjoyment made Rose happy, too. Mama and Lily had far less fun in their lives than they deserved.
Yet now, being with Captain St George, Rose found she could have fun as well. It was quite astonishing and rather delightful. They followed the lead couple into the steps of the lively dance, holding hands, their feet nearly touching as she skipped around him. They joined hands with two other couples, moving in an intricate star until they had to wait at the end of the line. It moved in a wonderful, bright blur, the greatest fun she had ever had in a dance!
‘I’m sorry I’m not much of a dancer,’ he said as he spun her around, making her laugh.
‘I think you are quite grand at it,’ she answered. ‘But then I almost always have to practise with Lily and she does have a tendency to step on my toes rather more than I would like.’
‘I’ll try not to do that, then,’ he answered, his smile widening. ‘I don’t have the chance to dance much, either.’
‘I would think not, if you are always on the march. Do you have the chance to be in society a great deal?’
‘Not a great deal, but for a time my regiment was posted for training near Bath, which I admit I rather enjoyed.’
‘I have never been there,’ Rose answered with a sigh. ‘And only once or twice to London. A large town must be delightful!’
‘It’s not so terrible,’ he answered, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a most enticing way as he looked at her. ‘But family parties are always the best.’
‘Yes,’ Rose answered, a bit out of breath as she looked up at him. ‘Indeed they are.’ And this one was turning out to be the best she could ever remember. ‘I do like evenings at home, though Lily says they are dull. A book and a fine fire, a song at the piano.’
‘It sounds quite perfect, Miss Parker. Exactly what I would want one day. Some music in the winter evenings, a welcoming fire after a walk in the garden...’
‘Exactly so,’ Rose said. For just an instant she had an image in her mind, a picture of herself and the Captain walking down a path arm in arm, the doors of a manor house open behind them to spill out welcoming golden light. Something like what her family had when she was a child, before her father died and they found out it was all a deception, before she realised having her own family, her own secure home, was not to be. But with this man, she could imagine it all, even if it was only for a moment.
They took their turn once more in the set and Captain St George almost lifted her from her feet as they swirled around, making her laugh again. She actually felt delicate in his strong arms, like a lady in a novel, small and dainty next to her hero. They spun, breathless, and ended in a low bow and curtsy.
But the dance ended much too soon and she had to let go of his hand. They made their way to the edge of the crowd and Rose glimpsed her mother standing near the open tall windows with Emma Carrington and Charles St George. They were laughing and Rose had to smile to see her mother’s enjoyment. It was all going rather well, better than she could have expected when they set out from their cottage that evening.
Then she saw the lady standing beside Charles St George, smiling languidly at the mirth of the others. She seemed so beautiful as to be of some other world, even in the elegance of the Barton Park drawing room. Tall and willowy, she looked as if she should be posing as Athena in a draped gown and golden helmet, serenely smiling, above it all.
In reality, she wore a fashionable gown of blush-coloured silk, her red-gold hair piled high atop her head and fastened with a bandeau of cameos. She slowly waved her painted silk fan, her gaze skimming over the party.
Next to Rose, Captain St George’s tall figure stiffened. Surprised, she glanced up at him and saw that his smile had faded. The man she had danced with, so easy and kind, had vanished. He looked darkly intent. Full of a night-like desire.
‘St George, there you are at last,’ Athena called and something inside of Rose, something soft and summer-like that had bloomed so unexpectedly, faded. She felt suddenly cold inside and she wanted to turn and run, to disappear back into the crowd. Why had she thought even for a moment she could be something besides plain, sensible Rose Parker?
Captain St George stepped away, not completely, not really, but he definitely withdrew in some ineffable way. He was not quite there any longer.
The lady glided towards them and took the Captain’s arm in her silk-gloved hand. They looked intently into each other’s eyes and her smile widened. ‘I am terribly sorry I’m late,’ she said. ‘I do hope you were not too bored. I know you do hate such parties.’
‘I am not much for crowds, of course,’ he answered. ‘But Barton Park is different.’
‘So I see.’ Her gaze slid to Rose and her smile turned down at the edges. She glanced up and down Rose’s made-over gown and glanced away, obviously finding her to be of not much interest.
‘Miss Helen Layton, may I present a cousin of the Bancrofts?’ Captain St George said. ‘Miss Rose Parker. Miss Parker, this is an old friend of my family, Miss Layton.’
‘An old friend, my dear St George?’ Miss Layton said with a creamy laugh. ‘Surely more than that. We have known each other since we were veritable babies. Charles says he expects an—well, an interesting announcement at any moment.’
An interesting announcement? Surely, Rose thought, that could only mean one thing. Captain St George and Miss Layton were a couple. She felt even colder, more foolish.
‘It’s