Page 35 of A Murder in Trinity Lane
Idressed with care—not out of vanity.Observant dressingis what Mother had called it. The art of being present without drawing attention, of listening while others underestimated your silence.
Tilly had already laid out the gown I’d requested—a deep plum silk with velvet trim. Elegant but understated. It would allow me to disappear into the background and avoid notice.
Once she’d fastened the final hooks at my back, she moved to retrieve the hair combs. “The amethysts, milady?”
“Yes, please.” She always knew the right adornments to complement my gowns.
My hair was already pinned up, so it was only a matter of sliding the jeweled combs into place. A modest necklace of amethysts strung with tiny seed pearls and a pair of matching drop earrings followed—nothing ostentatious, only refined. The sort of jewelry that whispered wealth rather than shouted it. Just enough to suggest taste without effort and attention to detail without vanity.
Tilly glanced toward the windows, where evening had begun to settle its weight across the panes. “Shall I fetch your shawl, milady? The drawing room can be quite chilly.”
“Yes,” I said with a faint smile. “Better a shawl than gooseflesh.”
She returned a moment later with a soft wool wrap in a dusky lavender hue that echoed the stones at my ears. As she draped it gently over my shoulders, I took one final glance in the mirror.
Not dramatic. Not dull. Elegant.
When I descended the stairs, the lamps were already lit, casting a soft golden glow through the entrance hall. Voices drifted out from the drawing room—Cosmos’s animated cadence and the cooler, more deliberate tone of someone unfamiliar.
I stepped into the room just as Cosmos was gesturing toward a decanter on the sideboard. He looked up and beamed when he saw me.
“Ah, here she is. Rosalynd, allow me to introduce Dr. Nathaniel Vale.”
The man beside him turned, setting his glass down with practiced ease. He was tall—though not overly so—and impeccably dressed in evening clothes that spoke of quiet wealth and precise tailoring. His dark hair was neatly combed. A pair of wire-rimmed spectacles rested lightly on the bridge of his nose.
“Lady Rosalynd,” he said, inclining his head. “A pleasure.”
His voice was smooth, with just enough gravity to suggest intellect without affectation. His eyes, a striking gray-green, held mine for a moment longer than necessary—assessing, perhaps. Or merely curious.
I dipped into a polite curtsy. “Dr. Vale. Welcome to Rosehaven.”
“You’re too kind,” he replied. “Your brother has already made me feel quite at home. We’ve just been debating theclassification of a vine recently uncovered near the Adriatic coast.”
“Have you?” I said lightly, moving to the sideboard as a footman approached with a tray of sherry.
Cosmos chuckled. “Rosalynd tends to view botanical enthusiasm as a mild affliction. Be warned.”
“On the contrary,” I said, accepting a glass. “I find it endlessly useful. It allows me to judge when to nod thoughtfully and when to make a well-timed escape.”
Dr. Vale smiled at that—faint but unmistakable. Not warm. But interested.
“I shall take it as a challenge, then,” he said. “To be at least mildly diverting before the evening is out.”
“We shall see,” I replied.
Just then Chrissie entered, a breath behind schedule, her curls pinned up hastily, her cheeks flushed from hurrying.
“I apologize for being late,” she said breezily.
“No need to. I just arrived myself.”
Dr. Vale turned to her with a courteous bow. “You must be Lady Chrysanthemum.”
“I am,” Chrissie said, narrowing her eyes slightly. “And you must be Dr. Vale.”
“A pleasure,” he said, unruffled.
She offered him a faint smile—polite, if a touch skeptical. “Likewise.”
