Beautiful Things: Second Sons Book One
Beautiful Things: Chapter 22

It was beastly hot for an afternoon of berry picking, so unusual for mid-September, but at least they had plenty of shade. A picnic spot was arranged in the middle of a clearing near the river’s edge. The towering trees ringing the clearing offered some protection from the sun. Additional shade was provided by two large, striped umbrellas. An arrangement of tea tables were scattered about, towering with delicacies—tea cakes with fresh preserves, cucumber sandwiches, colorful jellies, scones with clotted cream, ham and fruit salads. Two footmen served lemonade off silver trays, while two more wielded large fans to stir the air.

Rosalie stood at the water’s edge, watching the rippling of the water as it flowed on its way. She dabbed at her brow with her handkerchief. Behind her, the other ladies lounged on cushions playing a boisterous game of charades. She glanced over her shoulder to see Mariah miming something with great feeling. The duke sat like a spider in the middle of this frilly web, directing all the ladies in the game.

Rosalie longed for the balancing presence of the other gentlemen. Where had they all gone today? She found she missed Burke’s smiles and the lieutenant’s deep laugh. Even Lord James brought a calming presence to the group, a sense of order.

“The Lady of the Lake,” shrieked Blanche.

“Yes!” Mariah said with a laugh, her red curls bouncing as she bobbed up and down.

“Well done, Red,” the duke called. “Who shall go next?”

Mariah glanced about the group, her smile turning from bright to calculating as her gaze landed on Madeline. “Lady Madeline, it is your turn,” she said in a sing-song voice.

Madeline was already flushed from the heat, her cheeks matching the pink of her dress. The color deepened as her eyes went wide. “Oh no, please—”

“Come now,” Mariah called. “Everyone must take a turn. Tis only fair!”

“Yes, play,” cooed Elizabeth.

“It’s such good fun,” Blanche echoed. “I’ll pick an easy one for you.” She dug her hand into the little cup of folder papers and began opening them to replace an easy prompt.

“Please…” Madeline murmured.

“What shall His Grace think if you’re unwilling to play his game?” Mariah challenged, hands on hips.

“Who wants to be married to a toad’s lump?” Lady Olivia sneered. Of course, she was seated closest to the servant wielding a fan. More than once during lunch Rosalie heard her tell the man to hurry his strokes.

“Now, now, ladies,” said the duke, raising a hand for calm. “It is not a cardinal sin if my future bride should be unwilling to play parlor games…but it’s not a ringing endorsement of your merits,” he added with a pointed look at Madeline.

The poor girl was on the verge of tears as the other ladies silently crowed. He was all but dismissing her right in front of them.

Rosalie felt her ire rise. “Was there not talk of more berry picking?” she called. “I’ve spent quite long enough in a recumbent pose. Does anyone wish to join me…Lady Madeline?”

“Thank you,” Madeline breathed, reaching for her parasol.

“But we’re still playing our game,” Mariah cried.

“Let them go,” the duke said with a wave of his hand. “We shall have more fun without them.”

Rosalie snatched up a basket and looped her arm in with Madeline’s, leading her away to the sound of snickering.

“If Lady Madeline is too dull to play our game,” called Mariah to their retreating forms, “then I choose…you, Your Grace!”

All the ladies clapped and cheered.

Ten minutes later, Rosalie slowed her pace. She’d kept Madeline’s arm looped in hers and walked her right past the strawberry patches. The basket on her arm hung forgotten as she focused on putting distance between themselves and those pretty little vultures.

“I’m sorry about all that,” she murmured, breaking their silence.

“It’s nothing.”

Rosalie could see from the tears in the poor girl’s eyes that it was most assuredly something. She wanted to ease her pain but wasn’t quite sure how to go about it. She never had a thin skin. With Francis Harrow as a father, she couldn’t afford to bruise so easily. As she let her eye linger over Madeline’s features, her protective instincts flared. This delicate little flower had no one to protect her.

“Can I ask you something, Lady Madeline?”

Madeline nodded.

“I don’t want to overstep but…do you want to marry the duke?”

Madeline paused, letting her hand slip away from Rosalie’s arm. “Is it not what any girl should want? To be married to one of the most illustrious men of the land? But he’ll never have me now,” she murmured. “Oh, I should have just played the game!”

Rosalie pulled her to a stop. “Listen to me. You are the only lady of quality in that nest of hornets. His Grace would be lucky to be your husband. In fact, I think it quite possible he would never come to deserve you.”

“Why are you being so kind to me?”

“Because I like good people,” Rosalie replied. She dropped her hand away and kept walking down the shaded path. “I like to think good people can prosper in this world…we can be assured the bad ones will.”

“You can’t really think that, Miss Harrow.”

“Of course, I do. You cannot convince me this world doesn’t reward avarice and vice, especially in those who can easily afford both.”

“You speak your opinions so freely,” said Madeline, her tone equal parts awestruck and anxious.

“I speak as I replace,” Rosalie replied. “I’d like to say I’ve learned to temper my strong opinions with time out in society, but its only getting worse. If I’m not careful, I shall talk myself into serious trouble someday.”

This earned her a smile from Madeline. “I believe it.”

“I’ll really know I’m in trouble when I can’t talk myself back out of it,” she added with a laugh.

Madeline’s smile grew.

“I shall speak another observation aloud…if you’ll let me.”

“Go on then.”

Rosalie paused her steps again, meeting Madeline’s soft gaze. “You’d do wrong to think your only option is marriage to this duke.”

“Father wants the matter of my position settled—”

Rosalie scoffed. “You’re what? All of sixteen? Seventeen?”

“I turned seventeen in May.”

“And just out in society?”

Madeline nodded.

Rosalie took a deep breath. She owed it to sweet Madeline to be a lone voice of reason. “If marriage is in your future…and I’m not saying you have to resign yourself to that fate…dare to cast yourself a wider net than the man currently being thrust before you.”

“You don’t like the duke?”

Rosalie shrugged. “The truth is I don’t know the man. Not well, at any rate. But what I’ve seen gives me pause…”

She could tell Madeline was listening intently. “Why do you pause?”

Rosalie put voice to the observations she’d been making over the last two days. “George Corbin seems to be a useless sort of person, prone to moods and fits of boredom that are too easily explained by his utter lack of enterprising spirit. In fact, I have the sneaking suspicion that he leaves the managing of his estate entirely in the hands of his brother.”

“You judge him harshly.”

“I speak as I replace,” Rosalie repeated. “His Grace is not the only eligible man here at Alcott…perhaps he is not even the most eligible man. While not equal to the duke in title or wealth, the others each seem to have merits His Grace utterly lacks…”

“Such as?”

Rosalie considered. “Well…modesty for one. I very much doubt Lord James would ever juggle candlesticks.”

Madeline giggled into her lace-gloved hand.

“Integrity for another,” she added. “The lieutenant seems to be an upright and honorable man. He’d never embarrass you before the others like His Grace did back there. He’d never seek to do a lady harm.”

Madeline considered this. “But…is it really my place to have an opinion on how His Grace treats me? I’m not his equal—”

“Says who?” Rosalie snapped. “You may not be his equal in title, but you are flesh and blood, same as him. You don’t have to settle for a man who would mock you to your face and laugh at your expense before others. That is not a good man, Madeline. Find yourself a modest man, a gentleman who earns the name—”

Madeline paused in her steps, wary as a rabbit. “Do you hear that?” she murmured, turning around to peer behind them down the path.

Rosalie stilled too, her own senses sharpening to amplify the sounds of the forest. Over the birdsong and coursing stream, she heard voices. A laugh. A few shouts. “Perhaps the group is catching up with us…”

“No, it’s not coming from behind us. It’s up ahead,” she said, pointing towards the bend in the stream.

The girls hurried their steps, following the little path until the sound of voices grew louder—deep laughter, a man’s keen call. They turned the bend and Madeline shrieked in panic, her gloved hand flying up to cover her open mouth.

Rosalie’s eyes locked on Lord James. He stood not ten feet away, ankle deep in the water…completely naked. Before she could help herself, her eye was traveling down the sharp planes of his chest, following a trail of dark curling hair down his muscled stomach to—

Heavens, Rosalie!

She looked pointedly away. Just behind Lord James stood Burke, waist-deep in the water, also naked. His dark hair dripped water down his face. And those broad shoulders…Rosalie couldn’t decide if she liked the view of them better with or without his coat. The muscles of his chest tensed as he felt her gaze and his eyes narrowed, his smile widening to meet hers.

Without. Definitely without.

Lord James recovered his senses with a few audible curses and quickly slapped his hands over his exposed manhood, which, Rosalie noted with a grin, did little to conceal himself from the ladies’ eyes.

Next to her, Madeline lost herself in a fit of giggles.

“Heavens, let us avert our gaze.” Rosalie snatched Madeline’s parasol and flipped it in front of their faces to block both gentlemen from view.

From center stream, Burke roared with laughter as Lord James retreated into the deeper water with a splash.

Madeline still giggled, her cheeks a deep crimson. The ugliness of the picnic was now utterly forgotten. “Yes, I see what you mean,” she said through her laughter. “Quite the gentlemanly display of modesty.”