quite eclipsing her grandfather's great house at Kerribrooke. Oddly, though, rather than being intimidated by such grandeur, she felt somehow at home — as though she belonged here.
Don't you only wish! she chided herself as they mounted the curving staircase at the rear of the enormous hall, which surely did duty as a ballroom at times. Still, she could not completely dispel the comforting feeling that she had come home at last.
The feeling intensified when she was shown into the lovely bedchamber she was to occupy for the duration of the house party. Having peeked into Rosalind's room when the portly butler opened the door for her, intoning, "The Gold Room," she understood that most of the guest rooms must have such colour "themes." Rosalind's had been draped, carpeted and furnished in shades of gold, while hers was done in various shades of pink.
"What is this room called, pray?" she impulsively asked Hutchins as he turned away.
"The Rose Room," he replied imperturbably.
"It's beautiful. Thank you," she said. He merely bowed in response, but she thought she detected a slight softening in the rigid lines around his mouth.
Advancing into the room, she realized that the name was even more appropriate than she had first thought. Not only were the carpet, curtains and wallpaper rose coloured, but all had roses worked into their designs, as well. It would be easy to pretend one was nestled in the heart of a rose bower here, she thought.
Suddenly, it occurred to her to wonder who had assigned her this room. Could Lord Dearborn have done it? She vaguely recalled mentioning an affinity for flowers, and for roses in particular, to him during their last dance together. More likely, though, the Countess, or even the housekeeper, had been responsible for the allocation of guest rooms, she supposed. Whoever it had been, whether by design or not, she was grateful. It was a room she could feel comfortable in—a sanctuary.
As the day was warm and she was no longer in chilly, formal London, Ellie impulsively decided to change into one of the few dresses she had brought with her to the Winston-Fittses' and that her Aunt Mabel had been willing to let her keep. Her ice-blue flowered calico seemed perfect for a summer house party. It had always been one of her favourites and it fit her to perfection, even if it was not in the first stare of fashion. Her heart lighter than it had been in weeks— perhaps months —Ellie left her lovely room to discover whether the Winston-Fittses were ready to join the party.
Rosalind opened at once to her tap, forestalling the abigail who was still fussing with her hair.
"That will do, Simms, thank you," she said mildly, dismissing the woman. "Ellie, you look so cool and fresh! Why have I not seen that gown before?"
"Oh, it's just an old one I had from... before. I would never have dared wear it in Town, nor would Aunt Mabel have allowed me to, I am certain. How do you like your room?" Preferring not to talk about herself, Ellie turned to examine the shimmering golden carpets, curtains and furnishings that adorned Rosalind's chamber. Though it was not nearly as cosy and welcoming as her own, its size and aspect indicated that it was likely the best guest room.
"It's... it's very nice," admitted Rosalind with a surprising lack of enthusiasm. "I'm sure it was very kind of Lord Dearborn to let me have it." She glanced about her with a wistful smile.
"What's wrong, dear?" asked Ellie quickly. "Are you having second thoughts about marrying him?"
Rosalind's head came up. "Second thoughts? I never had first ones! Besides, he has not yet offered for me, though you and Mama keep talking as though he had. Perhaps he has no intention of doing so. But there, I'm sorry I snapped at you, Ellie. Let us go and see if Mama and Papa are ready to go down." She snatched up her gloves and preceded her startled cousin out of the room.
Mrs. Winston-Fitts grimaced when she saw Ellie's gown but said nothing, merely
Don't you only wish! she chided herself as they mounted the curving staircase at the rear of the enormous hall, which surely did duty as a ballroom at times. Still, she could not completely dispel the comforting feeling that she had come home at last.
The feeling intensified when she was shown into the lovely bedchamber she was to occupy for the duration of the house party. Having peeked into Rosalind's room when the portly butler opened the door for her, intoning, "The Gold Room," she understood that most of the guest rooms must have such colour "themes." Rosalind's had been draped, carpeted and furnished in shades of gold, while hers was done in various shades of pink.
"What is this room called, pray?" she impulsively asked Hutchins as he turned away.
"The Rose Room," he replied imperturbably.
"It's beautiful. Thank you," she said. He merely bowed in response, but she thought she detected a slight softening in the rigid lines around his mouth.
Advancing into the room, she realized that the name was even more appropriate than she had first thought. Not only were the carpet, curtains and wallpaper rose coloured, but all had roses worked into their designs, as well. It would be easy to pretend one was nestled in the heart of a rose bower here, she thought.
Suddenly, it occurred to her to wonder who had assigned her this room. Could Lord Dearborn have done it? She vaguely recalled mentioning an affinity for flowers, and for roses in particular, to him during their last dance together. More likely, though, the Countess, or even the housekeeper, had been responsible for the allocation of guest rooms, she supposed. Whoever it had been, whether by design or not, she was grateful. It was a room she could feel comfortable in—a sanctuary.
As the day was warm and she was no longer in chilly, formal London, Ellie impulsively decided to change into one of the few dresses she had brought with her to the Winston-Fittses' and that her Aunt Mabel had been willing to let her keep. Her ice-blue flowered calico seemed perfect for a summer house party. It had always been one of her favourites and it fit her to perfection, even if it was not in the first stare of fashion. Her heart lighter than it had been in weeks— perhaps months —Ellie left her lovely room to discover whether the Winston-Fittses were ready to join the party.
Rosalind opened at once to her tap, forestalling the abigail who was still fussing with her hair.
"That will do, Simms, thank you," she said mildly, dismissing the woman. "Ellie, you look so cool and fresh! Why have I not seen that gown before?"
"Oh, it's just an old one I had from... before. I would never have dared wear it in Town, nor would Aunt Mabel have allowed me to, I am certain. How do you like your room?" Preferring not to talk about herself, Ellie turned to examine the shimmering golden carpets, curtains and furnishings that adorned Rosalind's chamber. Though it was not nearly as cosy and welcoming as her own, its size and aspect indicated that it was likely the best guest room.
"It's... it's very nice," admitted Rosalind with a surprising lack of enthusiasm. "I'm sure it was very kind of Lord Dearborn to let me have it." She glanced about her with a wistful smile.
"What's wrong, dear?" asked Ellie quickly. "Are you having second thoughts about marrying him?"
Rosalind's head came up. "Second thoughts? I never had first ones! Besides, he has not yet offered for me, though you and Mama keep talking as though he had. Perhaps he has no intention of doing so. But there, I'm sorry I snapped at you, Ellie. Let us go and see if Mama and Papa are ready to go down." She snatched up her gloves and preceded her startled cousin out of the room.
Mrs. Winston-Fitts grimaced when she saw Ellie's gown but said nothing, merely
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