Blossom Time by Joan Smith

folly.
    Was he being damnably selfish? Perhaps he didn’t know Roz as well as he thought he did. He had never had the slightest suspicion that she was interested in poetry. Odd she had never mentioned it. He realized, then, that it was always his interests that they discussed. He had never really bothered to get to know her. He had just taken for granted that she would always be there. Life would be different—lacking something—without her.
    In Dick’s carriage, a different matter was under discussion.
    “You should have Lord Sylvester to dinner before he leaves, Dick,” Annabelle said as they drove home. “He is so gentlemanly.”
    It seemed an unlikely conclusion for her to have reached, but Rosalind was pleased. “Yes, we really should,” she said. “He is being so helpful to me. He is seeing about a flat for me in London.”
    “So odd to think of you as writing poetry,” Annabelle said. “I believe I was a little hasty to dismiss Lord Sylvester from consideration as a potential suitor, Roz. The son of a marquess is bound to be well to grass. I should think you would enjoy London. So exciting compared to Croydon.”
    Rosalind recognized this as an effort to get her bounced out of Apple Hill, but as the ladies were of a mind, they continued to press the notion of a dinner party.
    Before Miss Fortescue was dropped off at her door, it had been settled that Dick would host a dinner party the next evening. The guest list was not settled, but Rosalind was quite determined that Lady Amanda would not be invited.
    What she wanted was a few guests who actually appreciated poetry and could discuss it knowledgeably with Sylvester, but as she mentally scanned her party list, she came to the sorry conclusion there was not a single poetry lover among them. It firmed her resolve to move to London.
     

Chapter Six
     
    As Rosalind didn’t have time to rearrange the neckline of another gown before Sylvester’s call the next morning, she wore the one she had transformed for his first visit, with a different shawl to alter its appearance. The prospect of her burgeoning career, the remove to London, and Sylvester’s admiration combined to act like a tonic on her spirits. A smile hovered at the corners of her lips and lit her eyes. She looked, and felt, five years younger as she fussed in front of the gilt-framed mirror in the saloon, giving her hair a final pat before his call.
    Her glowing smile dimmed somewhat when she saw Lord Harwell’s broad shoulders looming behind Sylvester in the saloon doorway. Sylvester smiled and came forward, while Harwell lurked behind like a shadow, frowning at her.
    Being in a poetical frame of mind, she was taken by the idea that Sylvester’s blond radiance might stand for a symbol of goodness and light against the menace of Harwell’s dark hair and swarthy coloring. She had never considered Harwell a menace before, but she sensed he was against her remove to London and might try to prevent it.
    Sylvester raised her fingers to his lips. “ ‘Full many a glorious morning have I seen’—but none have given me such pleasure as seeing you again, Miss Lovelace.” Then he made a deep, playful bow.
    She enjoyed the attention, but would have enjoyed it more had Sylvester come alone. She felt a little foolish with Harwell scowling in the background.
    After greeting Sylvester, she said, “Harry, I didn’t realize you meant to come this morning. Was there a special reason?” He often called to discuss parish or church business with her or Dick. If that was the case, she might palm him off on Dick.
    “I didn’t realize I needed a reason other than friendship to call,” he said with a mocking grin.
    “Of course not, but Lord Sylvester and I had planned to discuss my work this morning, as he has to leave soon, you know. I fear we will bore you.”
    “How could I be bored in such stimulating company?” he said, and walked toward the sofa.
    She gave him an impatient look, then turned to