“Mademoiselle, you look like a princess,” said Céline with a pleased smile. “What jewels will you wear?”
Rose thought hard. Lord Westlake had bought her a simple string of pearls. It was all a debutante was expected to wear. But even that seemed like too much. It didn’t feel like her. Instead, she reached for the bouquet of white and pink roses that had been sent from Somerton. She plucked a single one and held it up to her hair. The shining petals reflected light onto her face and neck. It reminded her of Somerton—of her mother.
“Is this acceptable?” She glanced up anxiously at her maid.
Céline smiled. “Bien sûr, mademoiselle. That will be perfect.”
Lord Westlake’s face was fixed in a thoughtful frown as he studied the newspaper that lay on the hall table. But he smiled as he saw Rose and Ada coming down the staircase. The morning light shone through the stained glass and cast shimmering colors over their white dresses.
“My dears, you look wonderful,” he said, as they reached him.
Ada smiled, and Rose blushed.
“Oh, look at all these flowers!” Ada exclaimed a moment later. The hall was crowded with bouquets from admirers and friends. Roses, carnations, and lilies filled the room with their scent and color. “So beautiful!”
Rose went eagerly to look at the flowers. Ada was about to follow, but her father held her back.
“Is everything all right, Papa?” she asked. “You look troubled.”
“Oh, no—I mean, yes, everything is fine.” He glanced at the newspaper again. “I’m a little concerned by events in Europe—nothing you need bother yourself over. But I…would like you to step into the study for a moment. There is someone there who would like to speak to you.”
“Of course.” Ada was surprised, but she went to the study door and pushed it open. Closing it behind her, her eyes took a moment to adjust to the light. A familiar face smiled at her.
“Lord Fintan!”
“Ada.” He gazed at her in admiration “You look exquisite.”
Ada blushed and curtsied.
He went on, “I hope you will forgive an old friend visiting you at such a time, but I wanted to remind you of a conversation we had not so long ago.”
“Of course,” said Ada slowly. It was not something she wanted to think about at once.
“I have spoken to your father. I hope you don’t mind.”
“It’s quite proper,” said Ada. But she could not help feeling that she disliked being discussed behind her back, as if she were property to be disposed of.
Lord Fintan cleared his throat. “I understand from my sister that you want to go to Oxford, and that this has put you off the idea of marriage.”
Ada nodded. It was half the truth, at least.
“I told your father, therefore, that I would expect my wife to be educated. He agreed. He will let you go to Oxford if you become engaged to me.”
Ada stared at him in silence.
“It is not something to be answered immediately,” Lord Fintan said hastily. “But it is something I wished you to be aware of—before the start of the season.”
“This is extraordinarily generous of you,” Ada said, stumbling over the words.
“Nonsense. Our views on women’s education have always coincided. In fact, I believe our views on every subject have always coincided—which is one reason I believe we would be well matched.”
Well matched, thought Ada—but is that enough? She thought of Ravi. The memory of him was like a dagger to her heart.
“It will take some time to come to a decision—” she began.
“Of course,” Lord Fintan replied at once. “I will wait as long as you wish.”
He raised his hand, and she saw for the first time that he carried a small bouquet of roses and carnations. “I hope you will do me the honor of carrying these with you today.”
“They’re beautiful,” said Ada sincerely. She took the flowers, thinking that, after all, she would have liked to choose her own blooms. But she could not refuse the gesture without offending him. She took a couple of the sprays and fixed them into her dress, smiling at him.
“The perfect touch,” he said, and bowed over her hand. “I wish you a delightful presentation, and I will hope to have the pleasure of dancing with you at the state ball.”
Ada smiled her farewell. Deep in thought, she walked into the hall. The flowers, massed by the stairs, overwhelmed her with their scent. She went to them, reading the cards that had come with them, her mind far away.
“Ada, are you ready?” Rose came toward her, flustered. “Mrs. Verulam is here and it is time to go.”
Ada started and put down the cards. “Quite ready,” she said, and followed Rose out of the door to the waiting carriages and motorcars.
As she followed Charlotte and Rose into Mrs. Verulam’s carriage, a footman hurried breathlessly up to them.
“Special delivery, my lady. It came just now.” He handed her a small, white box.
“For me?” Ada was surprised. She opened the box, and a rich, delicious scent was released, a scent which made her head spin with memories of India. Inside lay a small bouquet of white flowers, their blooms shaped like strange, exotic sculptures.
“How lovely,” Mrs. Verulam said, leaning forward to see. “I think they are Indian orchids. Who sent them?”
“I don’t know,” said Ada, blushing as she caught Rose’s eye. “There was no card.”
And yet she knew. It was Ravi. It had to be. Ignoring Charlotte’s cold stare, she pulled out Lord Fintan’s flowers, and tucked the spray of orchids into her dress. These were the flowers she would wear, and no others.
The Court was hushed, and the queue of young girls waiting to make their curtsy waited nervously on the threshold as one by one they were called forward into the royal presence.
“Lady Ada Averley!” announced the footman. Their Majesties smiled graciously as the young woman walked toward them, her eyes cast down, and sank into a deep, unwavering curtsy.
Charlotte watched from the queue. Her mind was not on the ceremony. It had been ruined for her anyway. She was a laughingstock among her friends, having to make her curtsy alongside a housemaid. And almost worse than that, the news was out about Lord Fintan and Ada. One stepsister a common drudge, the other a shameless poacher.
“Lady Rose Averley!”
Charlotte pressed her lips together so that they were even whiter than her pearls, which had a faint but brazen pink blush. Rose looked nervous, but to Charlotte’s great disappointment she did not trip. Her curtsy was a model of grace and elegance.
“Miss Charlotte Templeton!”
Oh, but she would have her revenge, Charlotte thought, as she glided forward and sank into a deep curtsy, her white satin skirts rustling on the blood-red carpet. She had seen Ada compromise herself with that filthy Indian boy. And she would pick her time to use that knowledge as a man forced to fight for his life would pick a weapon: very, very carefully.
Cinders & Sapphires (At Somerton) Page 24