Star's Crossing

4: Of Rumors and Roses

Some years had passed since Mare had attended the Watt estate. Often when she met with Alison, she did so at the park or bookshop, or Alison's Aunt Meredith's more modest home near the lighthouse. Meredith Watt was a wry, funny sort, and loved hosting the younger girls.

By contrast, Alison's parents' home was ghastly in its splendor and austerity. It stood imperious among the burs and evergreens, attended by manicured shrubs and hundreds of rose bushes, each measured to desired height, width, and luster. Mare imagined kind, quiet Mrs. Watt lopping the more capricious heads from the rose bushes with some manner of manic satisfaction.

Alas, perhaps Mare was projecting her own feelings upon poor Mrs. Watt.

"Oh, Mr. Henry, please," Mare laughed when Mr. Henry insisted on helping Mare from the carriage. "Sometimes I daresay men fear we are fragile as glass and just as capable of managing ourselves!"

"Ms. Atwood, your mother would not approve of you clambering from the carriage unattended." Mr. Henry gave Mare a warm but firm smile, and bowed as she took to the cobble pathway leading to the Watt estate.

An attendant appeared to guide her up the drive, past a cherubic stone fountain and a circle of red rose bushes. The sight of them made her head light. Tomorrow. She reached reflexively for her sleeve, only to remember with a solemn sigh the fate of her latest letter.

"I'm not terribly overdue, am I?" Mare asked the attendant as he opened the vast oak doors to allow her entry. He took her shawl and gloves, folding them pristinely over one arm. "I forget how the etiquette goes. Ten minutes early, or fifteen? Does it ever drive you utterly mad, attempting to keep it all straight in your head?"

The servant's lips twitched, and he inclined his head. "You are perfectly punctual, Ms. Atwood. Don't think of it."

Mare pressed her fingers to her lips, heat rising to the back of her neck. At least that terrible shawl had left her shoulders. She'd spoken without thinking again, and this poor attendant hadn't failed to notice. She smiled warmly as she could in the face of her blunder.

"Thank you, of course. Ignore me, it's only my nerves." Mare turned to take in the foyer, replete with crimson drapes to match the depth of the mahogany walls and black and white tiles. Dozens of portraits lined the walls, all of the Watts and their esteemed relatives, rendered in thick swaths and daubs of oil. She felt all of their eyes upon her, and tugged at the lace of her too-low neckline.

"Shall I show you to drawing room?"

"Nonsense!"

Mare straightened, turning as Camden Doores strode into the room. He straightened his coat, looking smart in black and white. His teeth shone in the dim lamplight, and his eyes gleamed like black pearls.

Mare bowed quickly, a moment too late, and Camden grinned as he matched her. He offered his arm. "Ms. Atwood. You look ravishing."

Mare hesitated. She could not fathom Camden Doores as her appointed escort for the evening. Was it too late to retrieve her shawl and flee, feigning illness or madness or plain horror?

"Relax, Atwood. I'm not going to bite you." Camden leaned in conspiratorially, voice lowered. "Unless you refuse to take my arm."

Mare gaped.

"Come, I'm only joking! So serious." He patted his arm again and Mare reluctantly accepted, lips pressed together. "Truly, you look lovely. Are you ever threatened when you put on a gown, remembering all of your sisters walking these halls before you?"