Beautiful Things: Second Sons Book One
Beautiful Things: Chapter 47

Rosalie hardly slept. Her dreams were full of whispered words, soft caresses, and warm green eyes. When she woke to Sarah pulling open her curtains, she groaned. Her legs were tangled in the sheets, and she was sweating.

“Morning, miss,” Sarah called brightly.

“Morning,” she replied, rubbing her hands over her face.

“The carriages will be around at eight to take any ladies into Carrington who require a dress fitting,” Sarah went on. “Lady Oswald has arranged for you to take lunch at Oswald House. Which dress did you want for this morning, miss? The sprigged muslin again? Or perhaps the new yellow…”

Rosalie couldn’t help the way her heart fluttered. She wanted to think of James Corbin as a friend. Accepting his gift was a small step, but a step nonetheless. “The yellow, I think,” she replied. “With the—”

“The green spencer?” Sarah replied with an excited smile. “Yes, I think that will look lovely.”

In no time, Rosalie was dressed, her hair fashionably arranged. Most of the guests were already in the breakfast room, with the young ladies twittering about the day’s plans. The duke shuffled in just after Rosalie and everyone stood to attention. He waved them back into their chairs. Rosalie was pleased to see he was not sporting any black eyes. She chanced a look at Olivia, who didn’t lift her eyes away from buttering her toast.

Rosalie sat down, eager to clear her mind with a cup of tea. As she reached for the sugar, a high, musical voice called out from the doorway.

“Well, aren’t we a dreary lot!”

There were a few gasps and clattering of dishes. Rosalie looked up and had to struggle to keep her mouth from falling open. Standing in the doorway, were two women she’d never seen before. They were beautiful beyond words, with honey yellow curls and dark hazelnut eyes. They wore matching grins, wide as anything. They wore matching dresses too—pretty things of peony pink. In fact, everything about them was matching down to the last detail, for they were twins. Identical twins.

A few voices exclaimed and the men at the table stood to admit them.

“Miss Prudence Nash,” called Reed from the doorway. “And Miss Piety Nash.”

“Saints alive, what a treat,” said the duke, slapping his napkin down on the table. “The Nash sisters in my breakfast room.” He snapped his fingers. “Collins, bring extra place settings.”

A footman shuffled forward to comply.

Rosalie sank back in her chair. These ladies needed no introduction. They were famous across London. They were new money, not usually the type to orbit in the same circle as a duke. But as their father’s star rose, so too did their popularity. And being identical twins made them a spectacle wherever they went. The papers said they were beautiful, but Rosalie had no idea. These things are so easily embellished.

“What brings you here, Misses Nash?” the countess said, her voice thickly sweet, even as she ravaged her stewed tomato with sharp strokes of her knife.

“Oh, well that was ever such a good surprise,” said the one on the left, fluttering onto a chair. “We were just returning from dinner with the Talbot’s when we received a letter posted express. Was it not so, sister?”

“Indeed, sister. Such a good surprise.” The other rapped a spoon on the edge of her teacup with three sharp taps.

Sir Andrew looked cross-eyed at them. He pointed a finger at one then the other. “Which of you…is which?”

The sisters laughed, as did His Grace. “I’m Prudence,” said the one on the right.

“And I’m Piety,” said the left. “I’m taller by half an inch,” she added.

“And I have a beauty mark…though I shan’t tell you where,” Prudence said with a flirtatious smile.

Sir Andrew leaned away with a grimace of confusion as, beside him, Lady Oswald pursed her lips.

“You were telling us why you’re here,” said the stony-faced marchioness.

“Oh yes,” said Piety. “Well, the duchess wrote to apologize for the delayed invitation to the Michaelmas Ball. She was so out of sorts by the oversight, she asked if we might not come down a little early and join in the fun. Of course, we couldn’t pack our cases fast enough, could we sister?”

“No indeed,” twittered Prudence.

The duke was on the edge of his seat, enraptured by watching them play off each other.

“Daddy has always wanted to see Alcott, Your Grace,” Piety added with a charming smile to the duke.

“He’ll join us on Friday,” cooed Prudence.

Rosalie jolted in her chair as the truth hit her. Heavens, this was her doing. This was the great idea her words inspired in the duchess. Twins. The duke wanted spectacle, and the duchess delivered with a set of social climbing, identical twin sisters. Rosalie couldn’t decide if she wanted to laugh or scream. Why didn’t she ever learn to keep her mouth shut?

She glanced around the table, seeing at once how each person slowly realized the truth: the game was up. For who could compete for the heart of George Corbin against fun, flirtatious, wholly unsuitable twin sisters? Sir Andrew disappeared behind his paper. The Swindon sisters pouted, casting anxious looks at their mother. Blanche looked like she was ready to cry into her eggs.

“James, look here,” the duke called with a wide smile. “Look who decided to grace my table.”

Rosalie glanced up sharply to see James and Burke standing in the open doorway.

The Nash sisters turned as one to take in James and Burke, their matching smiles and fluttering lashes practiced to an art. “Good morning, my lord,” they chimed.

“It’s the Nash sisters,” the duke added, positively gleeful.

“So I see,” James muttered. “Ladies, welcome.”

Next to him, Burke stood still, stormy grey eyes taking them in. Neither of them seemed to be in ignorance. Had the duchess told James to expect these new arrivals?

“And this must be the delightful Mr. Burke we’ve heard so much about,” Prudence said, lifting a dainty hand towards him.

Burke took it, bowing slightly over it. “As I’ve heard about you, Miss Nash.”

Rosalie’s stomach clenched into knots. She wanted to slap their hands apart. The feeling was so intense she had to turn away, lest she bolt from her chair and actually do the deed. She drowned out the sounds of the rest of their conversation, resolutely committed to adding a dash of milk to her tea.

She almost didn’t notice when the men moved towards her end of the table. James passed by her first, helping himself to the buffet. Burke paused behind her chair. She felt his presence so close, pulling the air from her lungs. She raised her cup to her lips, hoping it might keep her from letting out a sigh of longing.

“I believe this is yours, Miss Harrow,” he murmured, slipping his arm between her and Madeline to slide her sketchbook onto the table. “You might need it for tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” she replied, placing her hand protectively over it.

Without another word, he moved off around the table and joined James at the buffet. When James turned, he paused. She lifted her gaze to meet his, offering a smile. He was taking in the cut of her yellow dress. His gift. A muscle twitched in his jaw as he nodded once. He moved to his seat, busying himself with his breakfast. Burke joined him and Rosalie waited only a few moments before she excused herself from the table.

It was only when she was alone in the hallway that she dared to flip through the pages of her sketchbook. Her breath caught as she looked down, one finger running over the torn edges of a page. Her sketches of Burke were missing.

Everything was in chaos as the ladies prepared to leave for town. The Nash sisters already had ball gowns, but they were determined to “join in the fun,” which required calling another carriage. Blanche and Mariah were still close to tears, while Elizabeth seemed poised to take over Olivia’s title as resident gorgon.

It was a restless ride, with Rosalie wedged between Madeline and Mariah. Elizabeth and Blanche sat across from them and the whole ride was taken up with the other ladies complaining loudly about every feature, word, and deed of “those horrible Nashes.” While she certainly disliked the way Prudence so confidently took Burke’s hand at breakfast, she wasn’t about to admit it aloud. After all, it was her fault the Nash sisters were here.

The ladies made their way into the modiste with much twittering and sighs of delight. Rosalie tried to blend in with the fabrics as the others jockeyed for position to be the first to try on their dresses. She was accosted by both Nash sisters almost at once. They had the consideration to at least wear different colored spencers over their matching dresses.

“And who are you?” said Piety in lemon yellow.

“Oh sister, isn’t she beautiful? Those eyes, that little chin,” cooed Prudence in lavender.

Rosalie stilled as Prudence tipped her chin up with a finger. “I’m Rosalie Harrow,” she replied, shifting away from the overly familiar touch.

“Harrow…Harrow,” Piety mused. “Oh, are you with the Harrows of Harley House?”

“I don’t believe so,” Rosalie replied.

“The Harrows of Harrow and Wright Manufacturers?”

Rosalie shook her head. “I doubt very much you’ve heard of my set,” she replied. “My father is dead, and his only brother emigrated to the East Indies. No one has heard from him in nigh on thirty years. I’m the only Harrow left.”

“Heavens,” Piety murmured. “So…are you of any fortune?”

“None whatsoever,” Rosalie replied.

“Then…whatever brings you to Alcott?” Prudence asked. “We heard it was a race down the aisle. Surely, you’re not our competition,” she said with a laugh, flicking one of her tightly coiled blonde curls over her shoulder.

“I have no designs on His Grace,” Rosalie replied.

Prudence narrowed her dark eyes over those perfectly pink cheeks. “But you have designs on someone. Who is it, so we shall know if we will be friends or rivals?”

Rosalie was saved from replying by the seamstress calling her name. In no time, she was standing before a trifold set of mirrors, eyes wide as she gazed at her reflection. Several of the other young ladies stood huddled, staring daggers at her as she turned slightly left, then right. All except Madeline.

“Oh, Rosalie,” Madeline murmured. “It’s beautiful.”

The gown was the most gorgeous shade of cornflower blue. It had little capped sleeves and the bodice was framed with a brocade ribbon in jade and gold. The waist was pleated across the front and fell in folds to her feet. She’d never worn such a bright color to a ball. All her gowns were secondhand debutant dresses in ivory or blush. It made her self-conscious to think of wearing something so fine, so bold.

“We’ll take it in here and here,” said the seamstress, giving the bodice little tugs as she pinned it. “Do you like the longer train, Miss?”

Rosalie glance down, noting the length trailing behind her. “Umm…no,” she murmured. “I want to dance.”

“Not to worry.” The seamstress dropped to her knees to pin up some of the train.

Madeline stepped closer. “He won’t be able to look away,” she whispered.

Rosalie watched the blush grow in her reflection’s cheeks. “Who?”

Madeline boldly met her gaze in the mirror. “You tell me.”

For the rest of the day, Rosalie could only watch in awe as the Nash sisters swanned their way through every conversation. Their every look, touch, and laugh was easy and artful. By dinner, poor Mariah finally broke. The Nash sisters asked for dancing in the music room after dinner to practice their steps for the ball. The duke announced with a flourish that they should lead the first dance on his arm. That was around the moment when Mariah burst into tears. The Nashes giggled and pretended to fret about how they could both dance with the duke at the same time, so he begrudgingly offered Burke as his second.

As the ladies left the table, the duchess looped her arm into Rosalie’s with a smug smile on her face, leading the way to the music room. “Well, Miss Rose? What say you now? Is it enough spectacle for my George?”

Rosalie put a smile on her face. “An inspired idea, Your Grace. They are charm itself.”

“They are vile,” the duchess replied. “Grasping, devious little social climbers. Of course, George is enthralled.” She lowered her voice. “And I tell you now, if Prudence doesn’t keep her hands off Burke, I will have them removed with the third duke’s broadsword. I might be willing to accept one Nash into the family, but I absolutely draw the line at two.”

Now Rosalie’s smile was genuine. She mirrored the duchess’ thoughts exactly. “The third duke carried a broadsword, Your Grace? That’s rather eccentric,” she mused, enjoying their moment of intimacy.

“Heavens, no,” the duchess laughed. “He was a frail little thing by all accounts, but he was a great collector of art and artifact. His Viking collection is on display in the bachelor’s corridor. I’ll have Reed take down the sword and Fawcett can wield it. It takes a strong arm to heft a broadsword, Miss Rose.”

Rosalie couldn’t quite believe she was laughing on the arm of a duchess about removing the hands of one of her guests. “But…you would be happy? If His Grace chooses one of the Nash sisters as his bride?”

The duchess frowned again. “They are not as rich as I would like, nor is the Nash name nearly polished enough…but they are on the rise. No scandals that cannot be weathered. What matters most to me is that George is settled, and an heir is on the way. If spectacle is what he needs to settle…”

At that moment, Prudence took to the piano. A merry jig filled the air as the rest of the group filtered into the room. The footmen had already pushed back most of the furniture, leaving enough space for dancing.

“Snag Burke before those Nashes descend,” the duchess directed, giving Rosalie a little shove.

Heart in her throat, Rosalie let her feet guide her across the room. Burke turned, his eyes locking on her with that steely gaze.

“The duchess demands we practice our steps before Friday,” she said in a voice that didn’t sound quite like her own.

Burke glanced over her shoulder to where the duchess was now sitting. His Grace was already in the middle of the room with Piety on his arm. James was letting himself be led forward by Elizabeth, while Mariah took the hand of the begrudging Sir Andrew.

“I should be very happy, Miss Harrow,” Burke replied at last.

He held out a hand and she took it, feeling the way their skin jolted at the contact.

“You feel it too,” he muttered, placing his hand on the small of her back.

She shivered at the touch. “Of course, I do. I didn’t lie to you, Burke.”

He turned her slightly and dropped his hands away, taking his place across from her. Her body longed to be touched by him again. She was aching with it. Prudence broke into the reel, and the group danced and clapped, modifying the moves in the tight space. Rosalie laughed as Burke spun her round. She felt breathless, clutching her chest as the music pounded to an end. The group clapped, urging Prudence to play another.

Burke stepped into Rosalie’s space, eyes alight, his hand brushing the soft skin just above her gloved elbow. “You’re a beautiful dancer.” His deep voice flowed through her like warm honey.

“You’re not so bad yourself, sir,” she replied.

“I stole the sketches,” he murmured, speaking against her temple as he feigned trading places with her for the next set.

Her heart raced to feel him so close. “I know.”

“You can have them back,” he whispered. “If you ask me nicely…”

Her core went molten. He still wanted her. He was sore at her for keeping secrets, he needed answers, but the magic between them still thrummed like the strings of a beautiful harp. She wanted to kiss him again here and now. Her eyes gave her away as she met his gaze. There was no Prudence Nash with her overly familiar touch. No Lord James with his disapproving looks. No duchess pulling their strings. There was only Rosalie and Burke.

And Renley…

Rosalie gasped, eyes wide as she glanced over Burke’s shoulder. There, standing in the doorway to the music room, stood Renley, handsome as ever in his officer’s uniform…and he was looking right at her, wide smile on his face.