Beautiful Things: Second Sons Book One
Beautiful Things: Chapter 8

The lieutenant and Mr. Burke stayed by Rosalie’s side as the footman led the way through the house. She soon found herself in a handsome room with wine red walls. A pair of Italian silk sofas centered the room, framed by two sets of striped chairs.

“This is the morning room,” said Mr. Burke. “Good light for reading.” He gestured to the wide windows.

“Of course, the library gets even better light,” Lieutenant Renley added.

Rosalie stifled a snort. “Does the family never use this room unless it’s morning?”

“Not especially,” Mr. Burke replied. “They use the drawing room for after dinner. And there’s the library, of course…and each member of the family has a private study. The duchess has her own parlor, which is where we’re going.”

“The late duke always preferred the small library,” said the lieutenant. “He had a rather fine collection of books on astral navigation. He let me borrow one when I joined the navy.”

Rosalie’s senses were spinning. To think of a house having so many rooms with a singular use—a room for sitting in the morning, a room for dining, a room for billiards, a room for reading. It felt extravagant to the point of wasteful.

The footman opened the door on the far side of the room. Lieutenant Renley gestured for her to pass through first. She stepped into a canary yellow room with ivory and gold accents. She didn’t need Mr. Burke’s muttered “this is the music room” to know its purpose. A handsome piano forte sat before the windows and a harp stood in the corner.

The footman walked to the other door and knocked with two raps of his fist. He stepped back, gesturing for Rosalie to step past him. As she did, his booming voice called out, making her jump. “Miss Rosalie Harrow, Your Grace. And Mr. Burke and Lieutenant Renley.”

Rosalie blinked, trying to take it all in. The duchess’ parlor was easily three times the size of her aunt’s modest drawing room. Two separate seating areas of sofas and patterned chairs were arranged to either side of a massive fireplace. The walls were finished in a beautiful indigo wallpaper.

Rosalie stepped fully into the room, the two gentlemen just behind. Her slippered feet moved soundlessly over the plush carpet. The occupants of the room all turned to watch her approach. Two older ladies sat on the nearer couch, their necks craning to get a look at her. They oozed opulence. One wore a fashionable turban while the other had a painted face framed in rigid grey curls.

On the farthest couch, seated alone, was the woman sure to be the dowager duchess. “At last, you’ve arrived,” she said in a low voice.

She was quite possibly the most beautiful woman Rosalie had ever seen. She had to be over fifty, but she still had a pile of blonde curls artfully arranged. Her dress was red striped satin. Beading along the bodice put Rosalie greatly in mind of pomegranate seeds. Diamonds sparkled at her ears and neck. She sat alone and apart, as if she were Persephone triumphant, holding court over mere mortals.

“Burke, dear, what are you doing in here? Should you not be out with the others in the garden?” Her voice had a musical lilt to it.

He smiled, stepping past Rosalie to bow and kiss the hand she extended to him. “I was on my way, Duchess, but met Miss Harrow on the stairs. I thought I’d show her to you. We wouldn’t want her getting lost.”

The duchess pursed her lips in annoyance. “Should I consider this an audition for the role of footman? Poor Wesley…you’ll put him out of a job.”

“I will serve Alcott in any way you need, Duchess,” Mr. Burke replied.

“Hmph. Be gone with you.” She swatted him away with a small smile. “Put your charms to work and go help George tend to the ladies.”

Mr. Burke bowed. As he turned, he gave Rosalie a little wink and walked out.

“Step forward, Tom Renley,” the duchess called.

The lieutenant took two steps forward.

“James told me you arrived. Not in time for dinner,” she added with a narrowed look. “Just like a Renley to slip in with the night. How’s your family?”

“Well, Your Grace. My brother sends his regards.”

“You’ll be staying in the house while you’re in the country?”

“Only if it’s not too much trouble, Your Grace,” the lieutenant replied. “James assured me I was welcome, but—”

“Of course, you will stay. Do your best to influence Burke and James. Second sons are always in need of a useful occupation, as I’m constantly telling them both. You at least seem to understand what is owed to your family.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” he said with a slight bow.

“When will you make captain, Renley? I’m quite desirous to say I have a bright, young naval captain amongst my intimate acquaintance.”

Rosalie watched his shoulders stiffen.

“I hope to rank up by the end of the year, Your Grace,” he replied.

The duchess leaned forward. “And you can afford your promotion?”

The lieutenant was quiet for a moment. Rosalie knew he was considering his words. Would he make known his plans to poach an eligible lady from this house party? For that must surely be his design. Rosalie had brushed shoulders with sailors far more often than dukes and duchesses. She knew military politics. The Lieutenant was looking for a rich wife to rank up. For all low-born officers had two ladders they must climb at once: the military ladder and the social ladder. It was the way of this world.

He settled for saying, “I intend to do all that is required to advance my career.”

Rosalie didn’t understand why, but she felt an odd sort of fluttering at his admittance. The last thing she wanted was to be a sea captain’s wife. Let a woman born and bred to the life be content to watch from the window as he sailed off on adventures without her. The most she allowed herself was a half-smile to consider how very fine he’d look wearing those golden shoulder lapels on his coat.

“Well then, be off with you,” said the duchess. “All of you can go,” she added, nodding to the two ladies on the opposite couch. “I wish to speak with Miss Harrow alone.”

Like Mr. Burke, the lieutenant turned, giving her a little nod of encouragement.

Rosalie waited anxiously as the rest of the room departed.

“You too, Wesley,” the duchess called to the footman. “I shall ring the bell when you’re needed again.”

Rosalie heard the door shut softly behind her.

“Step forward, Miss Harrow.”

Rosalie mirrored the lieutenant and took two steps forward. She kept her eyes downcast. You weren’t supposed to look at a duchess, right? Or was that only for royalty…

As if in answer to her question, the duchess tisked. “Look at me, child. I’ll not turn you to stone.”

Rosalie met the duchess’ piercing blue gaze.

“Turn,” she said.

Rosalie blinked. “Your Grace?”

“Turn,” she repeated, with a swirl of her finger. “I want to see all your angles. Chin up, that’s it.”

Rosalie did a little turn on the carpet. She faced the Duchess again, a faint bloom warming her cheeks.

“Yes, I see you must be Elinor’s girl. I can almost imagine her standing here,” the duchess finished in a whisper. For a moment, it looked as if she might shed a tear. “All except those eyes,” she added with a frown.

It was true, Rosalie’s mother had distinctive icy blue eyes, while hers were brown as a walnut. Thankfully, they were the only thing she inherited from her father. Not knowing what else to say, she murmured, “Thank you, Your Grace.”

The duchess gestured to the other sofa. “Sit over there.”

Rosalie sat and folded her hands demurely on her knee.

“I’m so glad you accepted my offer,” the duchess began. “I’ve long had a desire to meet you.”

“Your offer was so kind. How could I refuse?”

“How, indeed.” The duchess narrowed her eyes. “You’re no doubt wondering why I invited you.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Silence stretched between them, punctuated by the tick, tick, tick of the mantle clock.

“Tell me, did your mother never mention me?”

Rosalie wished she had something to do with her hands. “No, Your Grace.”

The duchess shrugged, as if she already knew the answer. “I’m not surprised.”

Rosalie waited. When the duchess offered nothing more by way of explanation, she changed the subject. “How did you hear of her passing?”

“It was in the papers,” the duchess replied. “And I have other sources. One cannot have too many eyes and ears in a place as rife with gossip as the ton.”

“The death of my mother was deemed worthy of ton gossip?”

“In certain circles,” the duchess replied. “In my circle certainly, for she was my oldest friend…even if time and distance tore us apart.”

“I’m sorry you couldn’t be reunited before her death,” Rosalie murmured. “It would have relieved her to know she still had friends.”

The duchess gave her a wary look. “Was it very bad?”

Rosalie cleared her throat. “Yes, quite. By the end, I could carry her from the bed to the chair as if she weighed no more than a leaf.”

“Enough,” the duchess whispered, placing a hand over her heart. “Don’t tell me. I think I’d rather hold on to my memories. She was so full of life, such a beauty…as are you.” Her piercing gaze rooted Rosalie to the sofa. “You are her mirror, child.”

“We were often told as much,” she murmured.

“Tell me about yourself, Miss Harrow.”

Rosalie shifted. “There’s not much to tell, Your Grace. I am plain Rosalie Harrow. I live with my widowed aunt in a little flat on Reeve Street in Cheapside.”

“What of your education?”

“My mother did the best she could. We could never afford a governess, but I suppose we took advantage of living in Town.”

“And are you accomplished?”

Heavens, why was everyone set on interrogating her? “If you’re asking if I can sew and trim a bonnet and plink out a few tunes on a piano, then yes. My father may have been a worthless lout, but he was a gentleman, and I see myself as a lady.”

Some flash of feeling flickered in the duchess’ eyes. “Do you have a head for figures? Surely, given your aunt’s position, you must be used to economizing.”

This was a highly inappropriate conversation, but she assumed a duchess could ask whatever question she wanted. “Yes, of course, we economize. My father has been dead for nigh on seven years, and he left us with nothing but debts. With my mother’s illness, it is not a matter of economizing any money I have left, but rather an exercise in holding off creditors with the force of will of the Spartans at Thermopylae.”

“Do you dare joke about it, child?”

Rosalie’s smile fell. “I suppose I’d say I laugh to keep from weeping, Your Grace.”

The duchess cleared her throat. “Well, I’ll not beat about the bush, Miss Harrow. When your mother died, I had my man at the bank investigate.” She met Rosalie’s eye. “I know about your father’s debts. I know about the medical expenses. You may make light of it, but your situation is dire.” Those blue eyes searched Rosalie, peering into her soul. “You strike me as a clever girl. I’d expect no less from Elinor’s daughter. You must have a plan.”

“A plan, Your Grace?”

“Yes, of course. Are you angling to bag a rich husband? Is that why you accepted my invitation? You’re certainly beautiful enough to get a proposal. Don’t think I didn’t notice the way my Burke was eyeing you.”

Rosalie fought the urge to blush. “My mother’s illness was a full-time job. Now that she’s gone, I mean to take work. I must earn a wage, and I’m not above hard work.”

The duchess frowned. “What kind of work would you seek?”

“I could be a governess in a grand house like this…or an art teacher.”

“Do you paint then?”

“I prefer sketching to painting, but yes,” Rosalie replied. “It is the one accomplishment I claim with any amount of hubris.”

“But surely, to seek a wealthy husband would be a more fitting solution for a lady. Why work your fingers to the bone teaching unruly girls how to foreground a landscape when you could marry and solve all your problems?”

Rosalie never expected her first conversation with a duchess to take such a turn. “I have no interest in marriage,” she admitted. “It is not an option I’m considering.”

“This is a highly unladylike position to take, Miss Harrow.”

“I said I was a lady,” Rosalie replied. “I never said I was a very good one.”

“I don’t know how someone in your position can afford to be so bull-headed.”

Rosalie smiled. “If Your Grace will allow it, I’ll speak with equal frankness.”

The duchess pursed her lips but gave a little nod.

“In my limited experience, marriage is a convention that takes all the best of love, affection, and friendship, and twists it into something cruel. I am convinced marriage would take a soul such as mine and clip her wings, leaving her beating against the bars of a cage, desperate to escape.”

“Heavens, but that is a bleak outlook,” the duchess said on a breath. “You must speak of your mother’s marriage…”

“My father was neither good nor kind,” Rosalie admitted. “Any love they shared quickly withered on the vine. In truth, it was a blessing to us when he died.”

The duchess made no response to this shocking statement.

“Their marriage was a case study in what not to do…but then, I think I’ve never known a good marriage,” Rosalie went on. “How can it be anything less than a tragedy, so long as we women are treated as the property of the men we marry? Can you dare say your marriage to the duke was a happy one?”

The duchess pursed her lips again. “Careful, Miss Harrow. I want to like you. I’ll allow for a certain degree of impertinence, but your unguarded tongue will get you into trouble.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Rosalie said with a shrug.

The duchess wasn’t impressed. “Well, you seem quite determined.”

“I am,” Rosalie replied. “I know it will look like I’m coming down in the world to take work. And you may think it will cost me my pride to do it, but I am free. I will make my way in the world, and no matter where I end up, I will get there on my own two feet…and there is pride in that.”

“Stubborn pride,” the duchess added.

Rosalie tipped her chin up in defiance. “I will do what I must to protect my aunt from my father’s shadow, which seeks to haunt me even in death—”

“Enough.” The duchess raised a tired hand to her brow. “It is the worst kind of cruelty, is it not?”

“Your Grace?”

“That a worthless man can waste all his good chances in life, and then ruin those of all his family with his death. Sins of the father indeed,” she muttered with disdain.

Rosalie couldn’t agree more.

“I thank you for your candor, as it makes what I have to say rather straightforward. I wanted to meet you and get the measure of you before I revealed my purpose.”

Rosalie stifled a laugh. “And you have measured me in the span of this conversation?”

“I am an excellent judge of character,” the duchess replied with a haughty sniff. “So, I’d say yes, I imagine I have you exact.”

Rosalie waited, holding her breath.

The duchess held her gaze. “First, I shall have you know I’ve settled all your father’s debts. His wretched ghost will haunt you no more.”