Chapter Sixteen
Geoffrey was at his wit’s end. He hadn’t seen Diana for more than a few minutes here and there in days. Between his meetings and her race to prepare Grenwood House for an influx of two hundred guests, they hadn’t crossed paths very often.
And how they’d left things was beginning to weigh on him. Especially now that Rosy’s début ball was here. Or almost here. He, Rosy, and Mother were assembled in the family parlor for inspection by Diana, who hadn’t arrived yet. But he was more concerned about Rosy at present. She kept pacing around the parlor, probably nervous about the ball, and for the life of him, he didn’t know what to say to her.
He’d seen Mother whispering to her, but it hadn’t seemed to change her expression any. Perhaps he should say something. “You look beautiful, poppet.”
Rosy’s gaze flew to him, fraught with worry. “Do I really?”
“Of course. I wouldn’t say so if you didn’t. Besides, I did my gushing last time I saw your gown, remember?” When she nodded, as if incapable of doing more, he stifled a sigh. “Do I have to gush again? Because I’m not good at that, as you know. I mean, I think the small roses in that band about your head are very pretty. I do like the pink stuff overlaying the white gown and those triangles on your hem and sleeves. And how those triangle things are repeated in larger fashion on the pink stuff so it exposes the white shiny fabric—”
“The white shiny fabric is satin, Son, and the pink stuff is rose-pink crape,” Mother said with a roll of her eyes. “Those triangle things are Vandykes. It’s Vandyking on her gown.”
“Forgive me if I’m not a man of fashion,” he grumbled.
“Definitely not a man of fashion,” Rosy said under her breath.
“I heard that,” Geoffrey said. “And I happen to think it’s not a crime to be an ordinary man with no sense of—”
Suddenly Diana bustled into the room with a phalanx of footmen carrying bags of purple flowers and even a couple of bottles of champagne. “I am so sorry to be this late. The larkspur hadn’t arrived at the florist’s yet, so I promised Verity I would wait for it and bring it on. Where is Verity?”
“She’s in the ballroom, waiting for the chalkers to finish up the floor,” Mother said.
Diana gestured to the footmen, and they tramped off to the ballroom with the larkspur. “Don’t step on the chalking!” she cried after them.
“They should be all right,” his mother said. “Fortunately, the chalkers left a wide margin around their art for her to set up the flower arrangements on the sides and to allow people to admire the chalk before the dancing begins.”
Geoffrey bit his tongue to keep from saying anything. He still did not understand the appeal of chalking a floor and then ruining it by dancing on it. But Rosy had wanted it from the moment she’d heard of it, so Rosy was going to get it if he had to chalk the floor himself.
A humorless laugh escaped him. That wouldn’t happen in a million years.
Diana looked at him for the first time in days. “Have you seen the chalking yet?”
“I have. It’s very . . . whimsical.”
She let out a relieved sigh. “Whimsical is good.”
“Good for a ball anyway,” he said.
His mother laughed. “We wouldn’t want an image of your actual bridges, Geoffrey. They’re very . . . Well, they’re not pretty. Let’s just put it that way.”
“I can’t chalk like those fellows, so you will fortunately be spared having to put my utilitarian bridges on the ballroom floor.” To be danced away in an hour, at most. “And you lot can keep your pretty bridges. I prefer the ones that actually work to convey carriages and people from one side of a river to the other.”
The women looked at one another and burst into laughter. Even Rosy, thank God. Somehow, he’d broken the tension in the room, and that was worth any amount of money spent on chalking. Although he still preferred functional bridges to “whimsical ones” any day.
And he definitely preferred a laughing Diana to an absent one any day, too. Everywhere she’d gone this week—organizing servants, consulting with Eliza about the musicians, helping Rosy pick out jewelry—she’d been kind and helpful and competent.
It was enough to make him wonder if she was right. Perhaps it was time he trusted his secrets with someone. She was clever—she might see a way through the thicket he’d found himself in. He could use another person’s perspective. It worked in engineering. Why couldn’t it work in everyday life, too?
You just want her in your bed, that’s all.
Yes, he did. Very much. But it was more than that. He wanted the right to be in her company whenever he could. Because it was beginning to dawn on him that after this week, he would no longer have that right. And that felt as bad as a crushing blow from an iron wheel.
The fact that the day would come whether he wanted it to or not left him wishing he had more time—a week, a month, a year even. Indeed, the time before him now seemed a yawning void, filled with work and naught else.
“What do you think of how I look, Diana?” Rosy asked, clearly anxious. “I’m worried about my hair. Eliza is so focused on the musicians that I had to rely on my lady’s maid. I know Eliza has taught her a great deal, but this style is so simple—”
“It’s perfect. Don’t let all the ladies with their outrageous hair fashions make you feel as if you have to compete with them. Your coiffure is beautiful in its simplicity.” Diana turned to him. “Don’t you agree, Geoffrey?”