Chapter Eight

Let’s Get A-Mixin’

THE TRAYHOUSE POST

QUEEN CATRIONA HOSTS A MIXER FOR ROWDY ROSAMUND

Crown Princess Rosamund’s dating prospects are so bad, her mother had to get involved. The princess has been seen on five dates so far, with sources saying there have been others in private. Apparently, none of them have been any good, as Queen Catriona announced she’s hosting a mixer for eligible Ìovorian nobility. Translation: Rowdy Rosamund can’t find a partner!

The mixer came around faster than expected, a terrifying reminder of how little time Rose had left as a free woman. The month was almost half gone, and Lorena had lined up dates like her life depended on it—which, in a way, it kind of did. Rose had also peeked at the guest list, and the person she was most excited to spend time with was her matchmaker. Regardless, she had to make a good impression.

She pulled her favorite gown out of her walk-in closet, a slinky sky-blue ensemble that had once won her a night with a visiting foreign princess. It still fit her curves, thankfully. Her lady’s maid helped her into it and then did her hair so it curled elegantly down her back. When the last lock fell into place, someone knocked at Rose’s suite. She opened the door—and sucked in a breath at the sight of Lorena in a floor-length golden gown, beaded and draped with layers of lace. A matching shawl draped her shoulders, and open-toed heels peeped out from underneath the skirt. Her dark hair was twisted in a neat chignon, not too far off from her usual bun.

Lorena smiled shyly. “The tailor assured me this would meet dress code.”

Rose’s stomach fluttered. “You, erm, you look amazing. Come in. I’m putting on the finishing touches.” Well, her lady’s maid was. Nuance.

Lorena stepped into the bedroom suite and admired the mauve canopy over the bed, the marble fireplace, the portraits on the walls. “Everything is so elegant.”

“None of it’s mine, but thank you.”

Lorena peered at a framed photo on the vanity—a toddler and a small boy holding baskets of pears. “This is yours. Is that you and Callum?”

Rose sat so her lady’s maid could put on her dangling silver earrings and matching necklace. “Yes, at the Pear Festival. It was the first year I got to pick my own pears, and he taught me how to tell if they’re ripe.” She smiled. “He takes care of me in his own way, and I take care of him in mine.” The lady’s maid helped her slip on her heels, and Rose stood and spun in place, her dress flaring out from her. “Passable?”

Lorena looked at her then, really looked, and her gaze heated. “Gorgeous.”

Rose warmed all over.

Lorena inclined her head toward the door. “Shall we walk over there together? I won’t infringe on your grand entrance, of course, but I thought we could share a moment of peace before chaos reigns.”

“You forget; I thrive on chaos.” This was a party, and Rose loved parties.

“Mmm, but do you thrive on thirty-odd men and women vying for you at the same time?” Lorena held up her hands. “That’s all I’m saying.”

When you put it that way… Rose’s stomach sank. “Ugh. Now I feel like a slab of meat.”

Lorena’s face fell. “I didn’t mean it like that. Come on; walk with me.”

But when they opened the door, they nearly knocked into her nana.

“Och, make way for your queen.” Aileen held her head high, her wrinkled hands gripping her walker.

“Your Majesty! Excuse me.” Lorena curtsied, deep and perfect. Too ceremonious for a mere in-law of the royal family.

Is she mocking her? Rose’s gaze lingered on Lorena, but no, the matchmaker seemed to simply be kind. Rose snapped her attention to her grandmother. “Nana, did you see my gown?” She spun in place.

Aileen beamed. “You’re beautiful, my little pear. So is your date.”

Lorena froze. “Oh, I’m not her date.”

“She’s my matchmaker,” Rose explained.

“You’re sure?” Aileen evaluated them both.

“Literally, the entire point of the mixer is that I’m not her date.”

Well, you don’t have to sound so excited about it. “She’s supervising tonight. And walking me over there. That’s all.”

“Oh, I’m just teasing you, Rosie.” Her nana tittered behind one hand. “Go on, get going.” She shooed the two women before continuing on her way down the hall in the opposite direction.

“Rosie, huh?” Lorena teased once they were out of hearing range. “Am I allowed to call you that, too, or is it a grandmas-only thing?”

Rose flipped her off with an eye roll. “Don’t you dare.” When they reached the door to the ballroom, she turned to Lorena, smoothing the front of her gown nervously. “Quick check. I look good?”

Lorena smiled and straightened one blue sleeve. “You look great. Better than great. Now go knock ’em dead.”

Rose stood up straight and tall. “Aye. I’ve got this.”

From inside, the master of ceremonies announced, “Her Royal Highness, Princess Rosamund!”

She blew through the doors and marched into the ballroom. The clusters of nobles turned to her, and the conversations fell silent. First priority: snacks. Where were the refreshments? She scanned the room—off in the corner. But they were guarded by none other than Lady Quinlan Campbell Reid. Who caught her looking, beamed, and beelined for her. Fuck.

Rose grabbed her nearest guest. “Let’s dance, shall we?”

The young man bowed and drew her out to the dance floor before Quinlan made it to her. Once Rose was spinning away from danger, she relaxed into the foxtrot, and oh, she knew this man. A duke. Lord Hagan something.

“Thanks for coming tonight,” she said. Slow, slow, quick-quick. “It’s nice to see a familiar face.”

He beamed and spun her. “It’s a pleasure to see you again. And the honor of the first dance, no less.”

Oh, right. This was supposed to be a special moment. As they glided across the dance floor, Rose tried to summon a spark between them, a connection where they touched, but it was no good. He was someone to dance with, to chat with, nothing more.

Hagan was a great dancer, though, and she smiled as he led her into an inside underarm turn, then outside underarm turn to an opposition check. They spun to face each other, and—ooh! He lifted her into a shoulder glide. She lifted her leg high, pliéd, relevéd over his back, and came down lightly on her front foot, trailing her left foot. They spiraled again, did a telemark turn, and then a natural turn.

“Oh, my Goddd, I haven’t done a shoulder glide in forever! They’re so fun.” Slow, slow, quick-quick… They glided and spun, but when Rose caught a glimpse of a handsome aristocrat leaning in toward Lorena as they conversed, the smile faded. Even as they blew past, something simmered inside her, something ugly and unwelcoming. Who was he? How long had they been talking? Why did he have to be so close to Lorena?

The song ended, and Lord Hagan returned her to the edge of the dance floor, but Rose had forgotten all about avoiding Quinlan. She weaved through the crowd to rejoin Lorena and her stupid admirer.

Lorena brightened when Rose arrived, which made Rose preen. “You dance so well! That was a foxtrot, right?”

Rose ignored the cough of the admirer. “Aye, good eye.”

“That’s a tricky dance, but you made it seem easy. The shoulder glide especially—I never mastered that move.”

The admirer coughed again.

“Oh! Sorry.” Lorena turned back to him. “Have you two met?”

“I haven’t had the honor,” he said smoothly and bowed to Rose. “I am Lord Tiernan, earl of Sìnea. It’s an honor, Your Royal Highness.”

Ugh. She wished him away, but he was still standing there, and she didn’t want Lorena to think her rude. “Pleasure, Lord Tiernan,” she said stiffly.

“Lord Tiernan was telling me about his sword collection,” Lorena offered.

Rose scowled. I’ll bet he was. Stupid earls and their stupid phallic symbols. But she gritted out, “Hmm. How medieval.”

Lorena shot her a what’s-your-problem look.

“Och, Rosamund! There you are!” Quinlan shrilled behind them. At the same time, the orchestra started up a waltz.

Fuck. Waltzing with Quinlan would be a nightmare. Thinking fast, Rose offered Lorena her hand. “May I have this dance?”

Lorena hesitated. “I’m not a terribly good dancer.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll lead.”

“I… All right.” Cautiously, Lorena took the proffered hand, and Rose drew her out onto the dance floor.

They took up the frame and swept out into a basic box step. The music was slow, warm, reverent. Rose kept the moves simple and the leads clear so Lorena wouldn’t get nervous.

Rose danced Lorena deeper onto the dance floor. Despite her complaint that she couldn’t dance, she had stellar posture—her back arched, her arms firm, her gaze over Rose’s shoulder. Perfect, like her curtsy.

“I’m flattered to be asked,” Lorena murmured, “but aren’t you supposed to be dancing with potential suitors, as opposed to your employees? Isn’t that the entire point of this mixer?”

Rose wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think of you as an employee.” The very word, the standoffishness of it, left a sour taste in her mouth.

“How do you think of me, then?”

A dangerous question. The answer was buried deeper than Rose cared to dig. “We’re friends, aren’t we?” she said instead, because it was sort of true. The prim matchmaker and the party princess. Unlikely friends, but friends all the same.

Lorena slipped under Rose’s raised arm for another turn. She considered the admission. “I suppose we are. Who would’ve thought?”

Rose drew her back into her arms, and they waltzed around the ballroom, the world spinning around them, the music an embrace. Rose’s hand sizzled, clasping Lorena’s, and Lorena’s other hand felt warm and heavy where it rested on Rose’s bare shoulder. The moment was pure, and perfect, and all them. Just Rose and Lorena, whirling across the floor together.

Rose led Lorena into a spin and kept her there, twirling her, letting her feel the rush of a long pirouette. Finally, she drew her into herself, collecting Lorena’s back against her chest. “How was that?”

“Good.” Lorena caught her breath, and they continued waltzing down the floor. “How long have you been taking dance lessons?”

“Since I was old enough to learn a box step. Dancing is a required skill for the aristocracy. What made you want to learn?”

Lorena flushed. “It’s a little embarrassing.”

Rose spun her out, then brought her in. “You can trust me,” she said softly.

Meeting Rose’s gaze for the first time in the entire dance, Lorena swallowed. “Honestly? I wanted to feel beautiful.”

The fuck? “You are beautiful.” Like, drop-dead gorgeous. Glasses and bun and all. Every inch of her, even when she wasn’t dressed up fancy for a ball.

“You know what I mean. Like Cinderella coming down the staircase and everyone turning to stare at her.” Lorena shrugged. “I’ve never been that person. I guess I thought if I learned to dance, I might have a chance.”

Rose’s heart broke for this side of Lorena, this woman who wanted to be admired. Lorena deserved for the whole world to do a double take every time she walked into a room. But before Rose figured out how to reassure her of that, the orchestra’s last note resounded. She pulled Lorena in closer than proper form dictated, her right hand lingering on the small of her back. The other couples on the floor dispersed, but she held on to Lorena, unwilling to let her go yet.

“Do I have to give you up? You dance wonderfully.”

Lorena’s soft smile made butterflies take flight in Rose’s stomach.

“I guess I have to give everyone some time.” But if everyone else disappeared, Rose wasn’t sure she would notice. A night with only Lorena sounded delightful.

“Right. We both have a job to do.” Gently, regretfully, Lorena pulled away. “Thank you for the dance though.”

“Save me another one. It was fun.”

“Given this entire thing is for you, I think you get whatever dances you want with whomever you want.”

“Och, ‘whom’? Someone’s fancy,” Rose teased, and she was blessed with a light blush. Since when was Lorena shy?

Lorena stepped away, and two women appeared in her place. Lady Imogen and Lady Enya swallowed her up so Rose couldn’t see her anymore. Rose chatted with them and took them each for a spin around the ballroom, though she kept searching for that golden lace in the sea of gowns and tuxedos.

“Are you having a good time?” asked Lady Imogen, her mousy voice grating on Rose’s ears. She sounded hopeful, even as she stepped on Rose’s left foot.

Rose winced but scrounged up a thin smile. “It’s been a good evening so far.” Not a lie, even if the current dance partner left something to be desired. But dancing with Lorena had been the highlight so far—ouch. Right foot this time.

“Sorry!” Lady Imogen squeaked.

Rose took a deep breath and kept dancing. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”

Finally, the orchestra concluded the song, and Rose escorted Lady Imogen to the edge of the dance floor, where other contenders vied for Rose’s hand for the next dance, another waltz, this time Viennese. She accepted a handsome young man who introduced himself as Lord Jakodi, and they took up the dance. He started talking about his recent travels, but when he delved into the details of cattle production, her attention wandered.

Wandered to the sidelines, where gold gleamed at the refreshments table. Lorena glanced around surreptitiously before popping a snack into her mouth.

“Did you hear me, Your Royal Highness?” Lord Jakodi asked too loudly.

She cringed. “Yes, sorry.” Definitely a lie. She needed to make more of an effort. “Erm, so you like to travel! I love to travel. My favorite place so far is Santiago, Chile. What’s yours?”

Jakodi went into painful detail about a town in Wales, and Rose tried to pay attention—truly!—but when they turned at the end of the dance floor, her gaze returned to the refreshments. Where Lorena was backed up against the table. Stupid Lord Tiernan, earl of Sìnea, had a hand on either side of her, boxing her in. His lascivious smile, the greed in his eyes, the way Lorena smiled back—

Rose scowled and pulled away from her partner. “Excuse me,” she muttered, and she stalked past the other dancers to where Tiernan had trapped Lorena against the table.

“Is there a problem here?” she demanded.

Tiernan smiled at her as if nothing were wrong, as if he weren’t cornering a woman. “Not at all.”

Rose ignored him and turned to Lorena. “Are you okay?”

Lorena’s lips parted, and she stared wide-eyed between the two of them. “I—it’s—”

Rose’s protective instincts flared. She glared at Lord Tiernan. “Back it up.”

But instead of putting space between himself and Lorena, he pulled Lorena into him. “We’re fine, Your Highness. Return to your waltz.” His grip on Lorena’s elbow tightened, and she winced.

Rose’s vision narrowed to those thick fingers digging into brown skin, and all she could think was ABSOLUTELY NOT. She ripped Tiernan’s hand from Lorena’s arm and squeezed. “Don’t. Touch her. Again.”

He actually scoffed. “I didn’t think she belonged to you, but hey, I’ve been wrong before.”

“Rosamund!” Lorena hissed.

Rose shoved his hand into his chest. “Get out of here.”

“What?” Tiernan challenged her. “Afraid I’ll fuck her before you do?”

Lorena sucked in a hurt gasp.

Without fully realizing what she was doing, Rose shoved him. Backward. Into the punch bowl.

Tiernan threw his arms out, trying to catch himself, but that only brought the punch glasses tumbling down around him. The red, foamy punch rose in the air, defying gravity, as the huge crystal bowl lifted off the table, and then the sea came crashing down on his head in a massive splash. It plastered his brown hair to his skull and drenched his black tuxedo, his once-white shirt now pink.

He sputtered. “I—you—”

Lorena gaped.

Rose stood there, feet apart, chest heaving, head spinning. What had she done? She’d… Oh God. What would her mother say? Mum will have a conniption. But she couldn’t bring herself to apologize, not after what he’d said. She straightened. “Get out,” she repeated.

Tiernan pushed himself to his feet and smeared foam off his face. Chin high, he strode through the now-silent crowd, trailing a stream of punch as he went. The dancers had paused to watch the spectacle. Even the orchestra had fallen silent.

Rose waved for them to start up again. “Nothing to see here,” she called.

A moment of hesitation. A violinist lifted her instrument to her chin, and the rest of the group followed suit. The waltz restarted, and pair by pair, the dancing couples began to glide around the ballroom again.

Lorena drew nearer to Rose and lowered her voice. “What was that?”

“I won’t tolerate disrespect in my own home.” Especially not to you. The thought flew through Rose’s head before she could smother it.

Lorena scowled. “I can handle myself. I don’t need you to make a scene on my behalf.”

Rose’s jaw dropped. “Did you hear what he said? I’m not about to let—”

“You’re focusing on the wrong thing here! This is your party. Everyone’s watching you. No one cares if I get slighted. Everyone cares if you flip out about it.” Lorena rested her hands on Rose’s shoulders. “Hey.”

Rose met her gaze and immediately regretted it. Those soulful, dark brown eyes, all long lashes and big heart—she could drown in them. “What?”

“Don’t get yourself in trouble because of me. Okay? In the grand scheme of things, I don’t matter.” She was serious too. The nerve.

“You matter to me.” More than you should. “I’ll shove anyone else who talks about you like that into the nearest drinks table.”

Lorena’s lips twitched. “He did look good soaked in punch, didn’t he?”

Rose laughed and nodded. “It was a beautiful sight.” And she’d make the same choice if it happened again. She wanted to protect Lorena. Wanted to learn the intimate details of Lorena’s life and share her own. Wanted to have the privilege to hold her hand, to admire her in public and in private, to claim her. Fuck Tiernan and the way he eyed Lorena, the way he touched her, grabbed at her. Rose’s teeth clenched at the memory. Lorena was hers, and she…

Oh, shite.

I like Lorena. For real.

Rose’s gaze snapped from Lorena’s lips to her eyes, and she almost stepped away.

This is big. Bad. Terrible. I haven’t been attached to anyone since…since Jamie.

“Hey, you okay?” Lorena touched Rose’s arm. “You went a little wild-eyed there.”

“I—aye. I’m fine.” Rose backed up. “I…can’t ignore the other guests. I need to find a new partner for this dance. I’ll talk to you later.”

And like a coward, she fled the first person she’d had real feelings for in ten years.