Page 15 of The Pureblood Daughter
Sweet dreams, my rose.
Chapter Seven
Adelina would think the entirenight a dream if not for the rose at her bedside.
It sits there, the silk-soft petals vibrant in the morning sun, begging more questions than answers. Was the voice in her head a waking dream brought to life by her tired mind? If so, how did she know to go to the window before the owl had even arrived? And what of the strange man she saw leaving her father’s study?
Adelina lies in bed and worries at her lip, a most unladylike habit, as she stares at her ceiling.
The door clicks gently, and Rose enters. “Ah, Miss Gray, I did not expect to find you awake.”
“I didn’t sleep well,” Adelina says, sitting up in bed as Rose ties back the draperies and opens the window. Owl feathers stir around Rose’s feet, unnoticed by the lady’s maid as she moves about.
“Perhaps the tonic will help.”
The tonic.
Adelina forgot about the viscount’s strange request that she forgo the morning drink, and now, as Rose brings it in on a tray, she wonders why he would ask something so odd of her. She lifts the teacup from the tray and looks into the liquid.
“Rose?”
“Yes, miss?” Rose’s eyes were on the vase at Adelina’s bedside, a furrow in her brow, but now she looks to Adelina attentively.
“Do you know what’s in this?” Adelina lifts the cup.
“Why, I...” The crease between Rose’s brows only deepens. “I suppose not, miss. It’s not prepared here. The doctor brings it by each week.”
“The doctor? Dr. Parsons?”
“Yes, miss. I thought you knew.”
“No...” Adelina peers more closely at the dark liquid. “No, I did not.”
Rose stands at her bedside, hands folded, eyes following Adelina’s every movement. Perhaps today is not a good day to skip the tonic, especially now that she’s raised questions as to its origin.
Offering her lady’s maid a slight smile, Adelina lifts the cup to her lips and swallows the tonic in a few gulps. She tries to discern what it might contain, but the only flavor that comes through with any clarity is garlic. It tries to pucker her lips, but she resists the urge and places the empty teacup on the silver tray while offering Rose a smile.
“Your new dress from the modiste arrived just this morning,” Rose says as she places the tray on her cart. “Would you like to see it?”
The Oakley ball—the twelfth ball of this season—would have incited little excitement in Adelina a fortnight ago, but now, as she steps lightly from bed and nods for Rose to bring in her gown, her heart pitter-patters at the thought of seeing Lord Rosetti again, of perhapsdancingwith him—assuming, of course, that her father will allow her to attend. When they received the invitation two days ago, Lady Gray didn’t seem to have much hope in their being able to go.
Glancing down, Adelina runs her fingertips over the spot on her hand that Lord Rosetti touched, and she’s just begun imagining where else he might touch when Rose sweeps back into the room.
“Here it is,” she announces, a gown of royal blue carried in her hands. “A most surprising color, but it is lovely, I must admit.” Rose looks up, and the smile slips from her face. “Miss Gray, are you quite all right? Your cheeks are flushed.”
Adelina looks quickly away and banishes all thoughts of the viscount from her mind. “I’m fine, just excited. Come, let’s try it on.”
There was little conversation inthe carriage on the way to the Oakley residence, and Adelina is relieved to finally escape her parents’ stifling presence. She figures her father is still resentful about being bullied into allowing her to attend tonight’s ball, but she, for one, is grateful her mother was able to make this happen. If not for Lady Gray, Adelina would likely be stuck in her room, staring longingly from her bedroom window and wondering which young ladies would have the honor of taking to the floor with the viscount.
Instead, she walks a few paces in front of her parents, eyes wide and sweeping the expansive front garden for any sign of Lord Rosetti. Though many fine gentlemen linger about, not a one of them has the same sharp green eyes and tousled dark hair.
“Youwilltake it easy this evening, Adelina,” Lord Gray says. “We shan’t have you ending up on the floor again.”
At his use of her name, she glances back over her shoulder and quirks a brow. “Must you be so serious, Papa? It’s only a ball. We’re supposed to have fun.”
A servant drifts past with a tray of champagne flutes, and Adelina beckons him back so that she may grab two. Turning, she gives her parents a beaming smile.
“Enjoy yourselves. You’ve both been much too solemn lately.” She hands her mother and father a glass of champagne before giving them each a kiss on the cheek. “Especially you, Papa.”
