Christopher shook his head. “If there was, it is lost. Once the attackers had fled, I found the necklace on the ground. Thorpe and I looked for a letter or anything to identify the owner but were unlucky.”
“My brother was determined to find the owner. Hope against hope, we decided to comb the streets once more, in case the letter had flown away.”
Christopher cleared his throat and crossed his legs. “It was sheer luck that my brother spotted the three-headed rose on the columns outside your house and remembered that the same symbol was on the necklace.”
The older man broke into a soft smile, his eyes sparkled.
“Ah yes, the roses. A design I created myself, many years ago.” He rose, pocketing the handkerchief containing the necklace. He walked around the table and past the brothers. “It symbolizes them,” he said. Christopher followed his gaze and saw he was pointing at a painting behind them.
The breath got caught in Christopher’s throat when his eyes fell upon the painting. It showed three women, one slightly older, with blonde hair, and another, younger, who looked almost identical. And then there was the third woman. Tall and slender, her hair dark as ember and her eyes just as deep and dark, she peered down from the painting as if looking directly at Christopher.
Without meaning to, he rose from his chair and stepped beside the Earl, unable to take his eyes off the woman in the painting. She was ethereal.
“My wife, Emma, and my daughters, Catherine and Rowena,” he pointed first at the two blonde women, and then the dark-haired one.
Rowena. What a beautiful name for a beautiful woman.
“I created the symbol of the roses for them. My three roses, each an individual, but each of the same strong root. I am fond of roses. I should mention that I dabble in the arts, thus the rose.” The Earl chuckled but Christopher hardly heard him.
“What a beautiful family you have,” Henry’s voice drifted to Christopher’s ear, but he hardly took note.
“Indeed. This is my son, Charles. Viscount Dorset. He is the one dealing with the vineyard most of the time, and beside him is his wife, Margaret. The painting was created shortly before their wedding, two years ago, at the same time as that of my three roses here.”
“A beautiful family. May I ask, which of your daughters was the necklace for? Excuse me if I am too forward in asking.” Henry’s voice said.
“Not at all. Indeed, it was a gift for–”
The woman’s eyes seemed to speak to him. There was a depth in them, as if she had many tales to tell, tales he longed to hear. He knew if he was opposite her in real life, he would get lost in those eyes. He imagined what her voice might sound like. Soft and kind, her words chosen carefully. He found himself wondering how she might smell, like a rose perhaps? Or a summer’s day?
“Christopher?” Henry’s voice carried an undercurrent of alarm which drew him out of his daydream.
“Yes, Henry? What is it?”
His brother glared at him and Christopher noted that both his brother and Lord Hazelshire were once again seated at their respective chairs. Embarrassed, he quickly joined them.
“I am sorry, I have not slept well since the attack. I am fatigued.”
“Lord Hazelshire has just very graciously invited us to his daughter’s upcoming coming-out ball,” Henry said.
“Indeed? That is very considerate of you, Lord Hazelshire. My brother and I gladly accept the invitation.”
Lord Hazelshire clapped his hands together in delight.
“Very well. The party is to be held in two weeks’ time, at the Worcester Ballroom. Do you know it?”
Christopher nodded, his thoughts already at the party. He wished he had paid closer attention to the conversation between Henry and Lord Hazelshire. Then he might know which of the two daughters was having her coming-out party. In any case, certainly both sisters would be at the party and he was bound to be able to meet her there.
Perhaps he could even steal a dance or two. Christopher felt himself falling back into the dreamlike state he’d experienced while examining the portrait but forced himself to remain in the present.
“I do. And I look forward to it.”
“Wonderful. We shall make plans for our dinner at the ball. I must say, as unfortunate as the business with the lost necklace was, I am ever so glad it has led us to each other. I foresee a prosperous future for this acquaintance.”
With that, Lord Hazelshire rose and Christopher and Henry followed suit as he led them out of the room.
They bade the Earl farewell and made their way outside.
The moment they stepped outside; Henry boxed him in the arm.
‘What is the matter with you? Finally, we make a connection that could lead us to prosper once more and you all but depart the conversation, standing like a fool while staring at the painting of the man’s family.”
He sighed, “I cannot explain it. There was something about her, the daughter. I must meet her. Henry, I have not the words but something about this woman is so magnetic that it has captured me.”
Henry frowned and then shrugged.
“She is pretty, looks just like her Mother too.”
“Not her, the one with the dark hair. She is ever so striking, so–” he stopped where he stood, stretching one arm out to his side to stop Henry.
‘Oh, Brother, what are you doing?” he grunted as he walked with his chest into his brother’s outstretched arm.
“Look,” Christopher said as they stood on the sidewalk.
Up ahead, a carriage stopped. Embedded within the Coat of Arms was the now familiar symbol, the rose.
The carriage door opened, and the coachman assisted a blonde-haired woman, Lady Hazelshire, no doubt, out of the vehicle. She was outfitted in a traveling dress, as was the young blonde woman who followed her out of the carriage.
This must be the Earl’s family arriving. He did say they were due today. And that means, certainly that means she will be among them.
A young woman with shorter, amber-colored hair stepped out next. Christopher did not recognize her. She’d not been in the painting. However, following her–
He took a step forward, almost walking into an oncoming curricle when Henry pulled him back.
“Topher! What has gotten into you?”
He almost did not hear him for his eyes were fixed on the woman with the long, dark hair who had stepped out of the carriage after the rest of her family. He stared in her direction, knowing in his heart it was her. The woman from the painting.
He waited, hoping she might turn around to look in his direction so he might see her face in real life.
After a long moment, she did. The sun lit up her pale face, giving her dark hair a glimmer and for just one glorious second, their eyes met across the street.
Christopher knew then, he had to meet her in person. He knew that nothing would ever be the same again.
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Also by Hazel Linwood
Thank you for reading In a Perfect Mess with the Marquess!
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Some other bestsellers of mine:
A Forbidden Waltz with the Dashing Duke
The Enigmatic Lady in the Ivory Tower
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Hazel Linwood
About the Author
Influenced by the extraordinary tales of Jane Austen and Maria Edgeworth, Hazel Linwood has always adored the fairy-tale like romances of the past. The youngest of four sisters, she has spent most of her youth lost in the classic historical romances of her favorite authors. Despite her parents’ efforts to pe
rsuade her to pursue a career in medicine, she found her heart's true calling in English Literature.
After obtaining her degree, Hazel worked as an English teacher. That was until she met her husband and decided to indulge in her secret passion...writing! When she isn’t writing, Hazel enjoys spending time with her family, travelling or roaming the Texan countryside.
Embark on this journey of desire, decorum and intense love of Regency England. Let Hazel transport you into an era of pure, sincere love and charming lords that will take your breath away!
In a Perfect Mess With the Marquess Page 31