Beautiful Things: Second Sons Book One
Beautiful Things: Chapter 7

It still didn’t feel quite real when Rosalie woke in the middle of a comfortable four-poster bed in her own room. She slipped out of the bed and pulled back the curtains, blinking as bright morning light flooded the room. The view out her window was lovely—a sweep of manicured garden leading to a tree line, with rolling farm hills stretching beyond. The trees were awash in a bright array of autumn colors.

She faced the room, a soft smile playing on her lips. The large bed took up most of the space, with two chairs and a tea table situated before the fireplace. A dressing table sat in one corner, a changing screen in the other, and a narrow closet in the third.

She was so grateful to the maids for preparing her a bath last night. The floral smell of the soap still lingered on her skin. She changed into her best blue morning dress and arranged her dark curls in a symmetrical spray around her face, pulling the rest up into a looped bun. Arranging her hair each morning had become a sacred ritual, like putting on armor. With her hair in place, she felt ready to brave the high society lords and ladies that waited below.

Alcott Hall was even more opulent in the daylight. All the curtains were open wide, letting morning sunshine cascade in. It made the blues deeper, the reds brighter, and the golds shine even more golden. Everywhere was comfort and wealth: artwork and fine suits of armor, sculptures, Ottoman carpets, delicately carved furniture, woven tapestries.

It was almost…too much.

Rosalie paused at the sixth massive floral arrangement she passed. Who used peonies beyond May? The floral bill alone must be enough to feed a small village.

“Good morning, Miss Ha—oly hell.”

As she turned, she found Lieutenant Renley standing not five feet away. His eyes went wide as he took in her appearance. Scrubbed free of mud, her hair no longer a mess of sodden curls wedged under a bonnet, she knew she looked good. He looked delicious too. He wore a brown morning coat with a red waistcoat. His breeches fit snug against his thick thighs, and his riding boots were polished to shine.

“Good morning, Lieutenant.”

He cleared his throat. “Good morning, Miss Harrow. Are you going down to breakfast?”

“I am,” she replied. “Though I’m afraid I don’t know the way…”

“Well, let me show you.” He stepped forward, offering out his arm.

She took it, walking in step beside him. In the entry hall, a double staircase led from the top floor down to a second-floor landing. From there, the stairs merged to form one massive staircase that led down to a black and white checkered floor. Works of art adorned every inch of the walls ending in yet another painted ceiling. She nearly made herself dizzy trying to look up into the dome as she walked down the stairs.

“It’s quite something, isn’t it,” the lieutenant said with a smile.

“The whole house is a masterpiece,” she murmured, pulling her eyes away from a massive, framed portrait of a former duke in full military regalia. “It’s all a bit intimidating for someone like me, I’m not ashamed to admit it.”

“Aye, me too,” he said with an easy smile. “My family house is nothing near so grand as this. Give me a comfortable parlor and a family dinner table and I’m content.”

“I assume if you chose navy life, you must have an older brother?” she asked. “Does he run the family estate or your father or…”

“My father passed a few years ago,” he replied. “It’s Colin’s house now.”

“But you choose to stay here?”

He gave a chuckle. “My brother has a brood of six children, Miss Harrow. Five of them are boisterous, bad-tempered boys. If I tried to stay there, I’d not get a moment’s rest.”

Rosalie came from such a small family, and none of her years were happy ones. She could only imagine what it might be like to feel wanted. “You are lucky, sir. I imagine they must love you very much and miss you when you’re away.”

“Don’t think me heartless,” he added. “I aim to split my time between Alcott and Foxhill. If I don’t, my brother’s wife will send out the hounds.”

They both laughed.

“What’s so funny?” came a new voice.

Rosalie turned to see Mr. Burke striding down the stairs. Heavens, had he gotten more handsome overnight? His coat was a soft olive green, with a navy brocade waistcoat. His black hair fell in a sweep across his forehead. She found herself wanting to brush it back with her fingers.

Rosalie Harrow, don’t you dare.

Mr. Burke’s stormy grey eyes settled on her. “I can’t decide which version of you I prefer,” he said with that smirk. “There was something feral about your countenance last night, like you were a forest fairy set to bewitch us all…but now I see you this morning, and you are more beautiful than Aphrodite.”

“That is quite enough, Mr. Burke,” she replied. “I refuse to indulge your flirtations until after I’ve had some breakfast.”

Both men laughed.

“Puts you in your place,” said the lieutenant. “You heard the lady. No flirting, Burke.”

Rosalie let herself be carried along on his arm.

Mr. Burke walked at her other side. “And you heard the lady wrong, Tom. I am free to flirt to my heart’s content…she just demands breakfast first.”

Rosalie liked their easy way of teasing each other. “The lady will amend her statement to say no flirting of any kind will be permitted,” she said, drawing both their gazes to her. She almost had to contain a shiver.

“Does our flirting offend, Miss Harrow?” said Mr. Burke.

“Not at all,” she replied. “It’s been ages since I’ve had such a pair of agreeable men pay me polite attention…but we can hardly expect Lord James to approve…”

Both men stiffened, and she had her answer. Yes, of course they gossiped about her last night. Did she really expect any less after the strange manner of her arrival?

She paused in her steps, looking from one man to the other. “You both must know by now that I am a wholly worthless prize. No money, no connections, not a relation in the world save my poor, widowed aunt. There are far better fish in the sea to…fish for…” she finished lamely.

The gentlemen exchanged a look. The lieutenant lifted a shoulder in a sort of shrug and Mr. Burke just shook his head.

“Sorry darling, you won’t escape our nets that easy,” said Mr. Burke.

On the other side of her, the lieutenant barked another deep laugh.

“Flirting with beautiful ladies is too much fun,” Mr. Burke went on. “And poor Tom lives on a boat with only salty men for company. Would you deny him this chance to indulge in feminine conversation?”

Rosalie raised a brow at the lieutenant. “Feminine conversation? Shall we discuss embroidering cushions then, sir? Or did you wish to exchange ideas on the best arrangement for a table?”

“I will talk embroidery until I am blue in the face if it means you keep your hand on my arm,” he said with a wink.

“Oh, you are both beasts,” she said, pulling her hand away. “You’re teasing me again. And what have I done to deserve it?”

Both men laughed again.

She faked storming off with a small smile on her lips.

Mr. Burke caught up easily on those long legs. “I’m sorry, Miss Harrow. No—we’re sorry,” he said, gesturing to the lieutenant.

“You may laugh with me, sirs, but not at me,” she said, giving them each a level look. “I don’t take kindly to bullies. Mr. Burke here knows I can and will stand up for myself.”

Mr. Burke’s face lost some of its mirth. “Speaking of, let me see your hand again.”

“Are you a doctor, sir, that you would examine me?”

“No,” he replied. “But you happen to be in the presence of two prize-winning fighters. We both know a little something about swinging a left hook.”

She smiled. At least their devastating physiques made a little more sense. You didn’t get shoulders like that by lounging on a chaise all day. She hesitantly lifted her left hand. Mr. Burke was the first to reach out. She felt a shiver shoot down her arm at his touch. Did he feel it too? This connection between them?

He inspected her swollen knuckles. “Hmm…they might bruise a bit. Do they hurt overmuch?” The fingers of his right hand brushed the top of her knuckles. It raised gooseflesh down her arm, and she was eternally thankful for her long sleeves.

“No,” she said on a breath. “The pain is a trifle.”

Lieutenant Renley stepped closer, those golden curls falling forward. This felt inappropriate. True, nothing was happening. The men were even an arms’ length away from her…but still…she pulled her hand gently out of Mr. Burke’s grasp.

“I’ve seen worse,” the lieutenant muttered. “You’re lucky you didn’t break any fingers. Punching the nose hurts like hell—damn—sorry…” He blushed. “And sorry about saying damn—”

Mr. Burke clapped him on the shoulder. “Excuse my friend. As I said, he’s not been in mixed company much of late.”

It was quite possibly the most endearing thing she’d ever seen. The man was blushing about cursing, as if he could upset her feminine sensibilities. That would be hard to do, for she had none. “Lieutenant, when I tell you I’ve heard worse—heavens, I’ve had worse directed at me. Hazard of having a mean drunk for a father,” she added.

Before either man could reply, a new voice called. “Mr. Burke, sir!”

All three of them turned to see a footman approach, his heels clicking on the marble.

“What is it, Wes?” said Mr. Burke.

“The duchess is asking for Miss Harrow.”