death and Aldridge’s recent acquisition of the secret list.
The two women fell into an easy conversation. Rosie was a fossil collector who sometimes wrote of her finds—under an assumed masculine name—in scientific journals.
“You’ve never married?” Mari asked.
Rosie tracked Cosmo’s progress across the room, to where he joined Darling and Aldridge by the hearth. “No, I enjoy my independence and the unfettered ability to hunt for fossils whenever the desire strikes me.”
Despite the words, the lady’s heightened awareness of Cosmo’s movements suggested she still carried a tendresse for her childhood friend. Feeling a sense of empathy, Mari clinked her glass against Rosie’s. “Let us drink to never marrying, shall we?”
Rosie dragged her gaze away from Cosmo to run an assessing glance over Mari. “You are beautiful. You could marry well.”
“Like you, I choose not to.”
“Why?”
“I almost did once.”
Rosie’s soft brown eyes rounded. “Oh?”
“His name was Pascal.” Emotion stabbed her ribs as the image of her betrothed’s serious countenance and slender form flashed in her mind.
“Did you care for him?”
“I did, very much so.”
“What became of him?”
She swallowed around the lump in her throat. “It ended badly. That is when I decided never to take a husband.” Losing the man she loved so soon after Papa’s death had almost destroyed her. She’d managed to survive by throwing herself into her work, finding solace in keeping busy. After Pascal, deep emotional attachments with members of the opposite sex no longer had any place in her life. “And I most certainly will not risk being forced to give up aerostation.”
“Most men will not countenance a wife who follows her own course.”
Anxious to turn the conversation toward the subject of Elinor Dunsmore before they were called into supper, she said, “Your friend Elinor certainly seemed to do as she pleased.”
“Yes.” Rosie’s expression softened at the memory. “She was a force, our Elinor. So vital and full of life.”
“I was most surprised to learn she married one of my countrymen.”
“Well, that was Elinor,” Rosie said briskly, shaking off any signs of melancholy. “She did as she pleased.”
“And the Frenchman pleased her?”
“Oh, indeed. They understood each other.”
“He must have been very special for her to jilt Viscount Darling.”
“Her choice surprised many.” She looked at Darling, who appeared particularly handsome in smart evening attire, his perfectly combed silver-blond hair highlighting finely drawn features. “Especially when one considers how beautiful a specimen Tristan is.”
“Do you know him well?”
“We’re all old friends. This part of Dorset is not so large. We’ve known each other for an age.”
Mari regarded Rosie from over the rim of her glass. “What do you think of him?”
“Tris? He’s lovely.”
“But Elinor did not think so?”
“Of course she did.” The words were emphatic. “No one can dislike Tris. But you see, Elinor was only fond of him. Laurent offered excitement and adventure. She went to Town, met and married him there, and moved to France all within a few weeks.”
“Darling must have taken her rejection hard.”
“Her defection disappointed him, of course, but they remained great friends.”
“I imagine she missed you both terribly when she moved. Did you know any of her friends in France?”
Rosie’s intelligent eyes narrowed. “What is your interest in Elinor?”
“I have friends in Paris who seem to recall her.” A lie, but a serviceable one.
“Let’s see, I don’t recall Ellie making mention of any French acquaintances. However, she often wrote of her lady’s maid with great fondness.” Her voice softened. “She attended Elinor during the birth, but I’ve no idea what became of her.”
They were interrupted by the butler, who appeared to summon them to supper.
Mari’s initial impressions of
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