Red Rose by Mary Balogh Page A

following two afternoons. The first time she was playing the harpischord. He did not hear it very often. Most of his guests avoided it as an outdated instrument inferior in versatility to the pianoforte. But she made Bach sound brilliant, as if the harpsichord were the only instrument that would bring his music to full life. The second time she was singing again, an old ballad of valor and love and death. She made him feel all the grandeur and all the pathos of the old story. That must be how the ballads had been sung all those years ago, when song had been the chief method of communicating news as well of entertaining.
    Raymore retreated abruptly when the music stopped and did not immediately resume. He had no wish to be caught spying or, indeed, to come face to face with his ward. Rosalind Dacey, musician, he had been forced to recognize and respect in the last few days. Rosalind Dacey, the woman, was a different matter altogether. He could live quite happily if he never encountered her again.
    Rosalind had much the same thoughts in reverse during those few days. She saw very little of the earl. But she still seethed with resentment over his refusal to allow her to return home and over his insistence that she attend the ball. She did not intend to submit meekly to her fate, though. She smiled several times to herself, thinking of the plan she had made to make the Earl of Raymore see things her way.

Chapter 4
    The servants and extra hired workmen bustled around all the day of the ball, preparing for the three hundred guests who were expected in the evening. The hallways and grand staircase were scrubbed and polished and decorated with lavish floral displays. The ballroom underwent similar treatment. By late afternoon the whole house smelled of roses and carnations.
    Sylvia and Rosalind had been sent to bed by a firm Cousin Hetty after lunch. They were to rest, she insisted, even if they were too excited to sleep. A hair stylist was to come later to dress their hair and then it would be time for an early dinner and all the bustle of getting ready before joining the earl at the receiving line.
    Surprisingly, Sylvia was ready first. Flushed and excited, she tapped on Rosalind’s door and let herself into the room without waiting for an answer. Rosalind swiveled around on her stool, disregarding the dresser whom Cousin Hetty had insisted she allow to help her to dress. The woman was attempting to fasten a string of pearls around her neck.
    “Oh, you do look lovely, Sylvie,” Rosalind exclaimed. “Just as a young girl should look at her come-out, I believe.”
    “Starry-eyed and heart aflutter?” her cousin asked, laughing. “It is absurd to be in such high spirits, is it not, Ros, but I cannot help myself. Will I do?” She held the sides of her lace overdress and twirled for Rosalind’s inspection.
    The green underdress had been an inspired choice, Rosalind thought. Sylvia looked as fresh and innocent as spring. The lace was delicate and made the girl look ethereal. Her silver-blond hair, combed into soft, shining waves, was threaded with a green ribbon. Her cheeks glowed with natural color. There was just enough bosom displayed above the scalloped neckline of her. dress to indicate that she was a woman and no longer a schoolgirl, yet not enough to draw undue comment.
    “Indeed you will outshine everyone, Sylvie,” she said with sincerity.
    “Oh, but I shall not outdo you,” her cousin answered loyally. “There will probably be a score of girls to resemble me, Ros, but no one could compare with you.”
    Rosalind grimaced, unable to see that comment as a compliment. She turned back to face the mirror and allowed the dresser to attach her pearl earrings to her ears. She was not displeased with her appearance, but she would need all the confidence she could muster to see her through the ordeal of the hours ahead.
    Conceding the fact that she could not change the color of her hair, she had to admit that the style was