When You Wish Page 7

  But Rosie Belmont was a different kettle of fish altogether.

  “STAND STILL, love,” Emily instructed through a mouthful of pins. She was turning up the sleeves of the brown worsted jacket that Rosie was wearing.

  “The britches seem fine.” Clarissa stood back, head tilted to one side as she assessed her sister’s costume. “It’s good that you’re so slight.”

  “I always knew I’d be glad one day that I didn’t have any bumps or curves,” Rosie commented. There was a touch of acid in the comment, which surprised them all. Rosie was not given to fretting about her physical appearance.

  “Actually, you do have,” Theo said. “But they’re not as noticeable as some people’s.” She was picking through the contents of a lacquered box as she spoke. “These are small enough. Put them in your mouth.”

  “What for?” Rosie stared at the two small marbles Theo held on the palm of her hand.

  “To alter your voice. They should make it deeper, plummier.”

  “Theo, she might swallow one,” Clarry protested.

  “No, I won’t,” Rosie said stoutly, taking the marbles. She popped them in her mouth.

  “Hold them in your cheeks,” Theo instructed. “Now say: The brown cow jumped over the moon.”

  Rosie obediently repeated the sentence. “They make me sound strange in my head,” she mumbled.

  “You certainly don’t sound like yourself.” Emily shook down the sleeves with a tiny domestic frown. “Are you sure you’ll be able to talk properly?”

  “I’ll manage. It won’t matter if he thinks I have a speech impediment. I’m sure he’ll be too polite to mention it.”

  “Put on the cloak.” Theo swathed Rosie in the folds of a dark broadcloth coat. “It’s a warm night, but we’ll have to hope he’ll put it down to the need for secrecy. Pull up the hood.”

  Rosie drew the hood over her hair, now cropped to shoulder length and tucked behind her ears, a short fringe wisping on her forehead. Elizabeth Grantley had refused to permit anything more drastic without the consent of Rosie’s mother. “Does it hide it?” She rolled the marbles to the sides of her mouth experimentally.

  “Yes, perfectly.” Theo approached with a piece of charcoal. “Take off your glasses now and let me see if I can darken your eyebrows and give you just a hint of a mustache.” Frowning, she applied the charcoal as Rosie stood stock-still, clutching her spectacles. “There. What do you think?” Theo stepped back to examine her handiwork. “I think it’s convincing if you don’t look too closely. And it will be dark.”

  “I think the whole idea is absurd,” Emily said roundly. “But since there’s no persuading either of you, I suppose we have to go along with it.” She examined Rosie, then took the charcoal from Theo and adjusted the line of the eyebrows. “That’s better.”

  “It’s almost eleven.” Theo had gone to the window to look out over the garden. “There’s no moonshine. It couldn’t be better.”

  “If it rains, don’t get your face wet,” Clarissa advised. “The charcoal will smudge.”

  “And don’t swallow the marbles,” Emily counseled.

  “Fusspots!” Rosie tried to laugh but it wasn’t possible with the marbles. “It will all be over in five minutes, I promise you.” She had no intention of remaining longer than absolutely necessary in the isolated gazebo with Charles Larchmont, even in disguise. She would concentrate only on convincing him of Mr. Balmain’s scholarship, his worthiness to join the hallowed halls of the Royal Society, and then she would disappear into the night and never have to worry about the emotional turmoil and the compelling urges that came over her in Charles’s vicinity. To thine own wish be true. She repeated it to herself as if it were a talisman.

  “You want to get there before he does.” Theo pushed her toward the door. “Oh, give me your glasses.”

  “I’ll keep them in my pocket. I can’t go without them,” Rosie said on a note of panic.

  “You must. If you have them in your pocket you might put them on automatically while you’re talking. And then you can give up all hopes of the Royal Society.”

  Rosie handed the glasses to Theo. “I’ll probably trip on my way down the path.”

  “I’ll guide you.” Theo took her arm and hurried her out of the room.

  “Marriage hasn’t changed Theo at all,” Clarissa remarked, joining Emily at the window, where they could see the dark, hunched shape of the gazebo at the bottom of the garden.

  “Did you expect it to?”

  “No. And it won’t change Rosie either.”

  Emily looked sharply at her sister. “You think?…”

  Clarissa shrugged. “I think Theo’s playing a double game.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  STAND AT THE back,” Theo instructed in a whisper as she ushered Rosie into the dark gazebo. “Wellby hasn’t turned out the lamps in the drawing room and they throw a faint light.”

  Rosie felt her way to the rear of the structure. “I can’t see a thing.”

  “You won’t need to,” Theo responded in a bracing tone, adding, “besides, you said you never wanted to see him again anyway.”

  “I don’t.”

  Theo grinned in the darkness. “Then you’ve nothing to complain about, love. Answer his questions succinctly, don’t get led up any garden paths, and you’ll be a member of the Royal Society before the year is out.” She dropped a quick kiss on her little sister’s cheek and slipped from the gazebo.

  Instead of returning to the house, however, Theo darted behind the massive trunk of the copper beech and waited. She wasn’t going to miss a minute of the upcoming play.

  Rosie shivered and sucked the marbles, finding it comforting, like sucking her thumb. She could see nothing, but she heard the squeak of the side gate, the sound of steps on the narrow flagstone path leading to the gazebo. Drawing the cloak more tightly around her, ducking her head backward into the hood, she edged into the corner.

  “Hell and the devil!” Theo swore from her position behind the tree as she saw the bobbing lamplight preceding the tall figure of Charles Larchmont. He was dressed practically, in buckskins and riding boots, a caped riding coat draped over his shoulders. And he was carrying a lantern. Sensible for a man roaming around strange gardens in the dark, but it might bring matters to a head sooner than she had hoped if the light banished the night gloom of the gazebo. If Charles saw instantly through Rosie’s disguise, she would fly off the handle and into the night, and would never see him again. For Theo’s plan to work, Rosie would have to make the decision to reveal her identity herself.

  Rosie saw the glow of the lamp filling the entrance to the gazebo. She shrank back as far as she could. “Put out the lamp,” she insisted in a fervent whisper. “They might see us from the house.” Her voice through the mouthful of marbles sounded satisfactorily peculiar.

  Charles held up the lantern, illuminating the small space, his curious gaze on the hunched figure in the corner. “But they know you’re here, surely. Your cousin Lady Clarissa wrote to me.”

  “Mrs. Grantley doesn’t know,” Rosie prevaricated, keeping to a hoarse whisper. “My cousins are hiding me. She banished me from the house when my creditors started dunning her.” Rosie silently begged her godmother’s pardon for this calumny tripping off her tongue.

  Charles extinguished the lantern and they were in darkness. Rosie breathed more easily. Charles set the lantern on a table and perched casually on the arm of a rattan sofa. He regarded the figure of Mr. Balmain with a quizzical smile. The young man appeared to have a most unfortunate speech defect. It made him quite difficult to understand, but not in the least difficult to know.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you face-to-face, Mr. Balmain. Although, face-to-face is something of an overstatement,” he added.

  The listener behind the tree stifled a laugh at this pointed comment and prayed hard that if Charles Larchmont was a step up on Rosie’s game, he would be patient.

  “I must keep in hiding,” Mr. Balmain mumbled
.

  “Oh, yes, so I understand. Creditors … such inconveniences.” He extracted a snuffbox from his pocket and flipped the lid. “Do you take snuff, Mr. Balmain?” He extended his hand across the space that separated them.

  “Thank you, no.”

  “It’s a very fine mixture, made up for me by Lord Petersham himself,” he coaxed.

  “I don’t indulge.”

  “Ah.” He took a pinch himself. “Prudent of you, I’m sure.” He replaced the box in his pocket and folded his arm with an air of decision. “So, to points, Mr. Balmain. I trust your cousins…particularly Lady Rosie … have convinced you of my integrity. Such a splendid assistant she must be,” he mused. “Astonishingly knowledgeable for a slip of a girl. Don’t you agree?”

  Mr. Balmain managed a grunt.

  Charles was aware of a strange sucking sound. “Are you quite well, Mr. Balmain? You sound a little … a little strained.”

  “Perfectly well, thank you. You have some questions to ask about my present research?” Rosie managed to get out the whole sentence without dislodging the marbles, which evinced an annoying tendency to roll around her mouth of their own volition.

  Charles wondered how long he was supposed to participate in this charade. With difficulty he resisted the urge to sweep the infuriating biologist off her feet and demand the truth.

  “The experiment with the axolotls,” he said carefully. “The change in habitat? Your cousin seemed very excited by such an experiment, but of course she can’t possibly understand all the difficulties involved. She sounded as if she thought she was playing a game.” He laughed. “A useful little assistant, I’m sure. And most conscientious in her caring for the specimens.” He waited, politely attentive, as the silence lengthened.

  “She’s my right hand,” Mr. Balmain finally managed to say. “She understands everything about my research.”

  “Oh, I see. How unusual.” Charles chuckled quietly. “And you trust her to gather your specimens, too? I hope you’ll find that she’s harvesting Artemia salina rather than common or garden crustaceans. They do require specialized knowledge to identify.”

  How could she ever have even liked the man? He was as pompous and patronizing as she’d always believed. Rosie bit her tongue in her effort to control the surge of indignation. “I thought you wanted to talk about my research,” she said finally.

  “I beg your pardon. I didn’t quite catch that.” Charles leaned politely toward her, cupping his ear.

  “My research. The axolotls and Artemia salina.” Her voice was strangled with frustration and marbles.

  “Ah, yes. But before we discuss that, I would like to be certain that your work is not compromised by your assistant,” Charles said gravely. “You understand my concerns, I’m sure. If you’re not here to supervise her, I can’t in all good faith recommend you for election to the Royal Society in case your findings are tainted by lack of knowledge, general inexperience.” He shrugged pleasantly. “It’s most unusual for a female, let alone such a young girl, to be involved in such a field. Women are fine in their place, Mr. Balmain.” Another amused chuckle. “And we both know what that is.”

  She’ll have your eyes out, Mr. Larchmont. Theo again tried to stifle her laughter. Charles was playing the game as if she’d given him precise instructions.

  “But in a laboratory, sir?” Charles shook his head. “I know that my colleagues at the society will be as cautious as I am about—” He got no farther.

  Rosie bounced out of the corner, seeing only the shape of this odious, utterly detestable man in the dimness. “You are the most particularly pompous ass…” She tripped over a chair leg as she vented her outrage and stopped dead, hand clutched to her throat. “Oh, heavens! I’ve swallowed it!”

  “Swallowed what?” Charles grabbed her as she swayed off-balance.

  “A marble. I’ve swallowed one of them.” She spat the other out into her palm, staring at it in disbelief. “How could I have been so stupid!”

  “I can’t imagine,” Charles said dryly. “But what goes in has to come out eventually.”

  Rosie turned on him again. “You are the most insulting, offensive, dastardly bastard! What do you know about my research? How dared you cast aspersions on my methodology, my knowledge. I could run rings around you in a laboratory any time I pleased, Mr. Larchmont.” Her hood had fallen back and her eyes, usually weak and vulnerable, sparked with a fiery brilliance.

  Charles peered closer. “Sweet heaven,” he muttered. He turned aside, struck flint on tinder, and relit the lantern. He held it up. “What have you done to your hair, Rosie?”

  “What business is it of yours,” she snapped. “Get out of here. I never want to lay eyes on you again.”

  “Is that a mustache?” He ignored her, holding the lantern higher. “It is. Oh, Rosie, you are the most absurd creature.” He began to laugh.

  Your first mistake, Theo thought, peering around the tree trunk in time to see the lantern crash to the ground as Rosie flailed in a shortsighted but nonetheless ferocious assault on her tormentor.

  Charles wrestled with the lithe frame. Her speechless fury lent strength and he found it hard either to get a proper grip on her as she aimed painful kicks at his shins or to swing his body sideways.

  “Spitfire!” he exclaimed, finally managing to lift her off the ground. “Why on earth would you try to play such a trick on me?”

  Rosie stopped writhing in his hold. “Put me down, please,” she said dully. She had lost everything, including her self-respect.

  He set her on her feet, but kept hold of her waist.

  “You wouldn’t take a woman seriously. None of you would. You’ve just admitted it,” Rosie said with bitter resignation. “And now you’ve amused yourself, Mr. Larchmont, I’d like you to leave.”

  “As it happens, I haven’t amused myself in the least,” he declared. “It doesn’t amuse me to be made game of. What kind of fool did you think me that I would be deceived by such a transparent deception?”

  “A fool who would never imagine in a millennium that a woman could be a respected scientist,” she flared. “Fools like that can be deceived by any trick.” She tried to twist away from his hands.

  “But if I am not such a fool as to fall for such a trick, then it follows that I’m not such a fool as to believe that a woman couldn’t hold her own in my field,” he said softly. “Doesn’t one premise follow from the other, my lady scientist?”

  “But you said—”

  “But you said you were Ross Balmain’s assistant,” he interrupted. “Sauce for the goose.” He moved a hand to capture her chin, licked his finger, and rubbed at the charcoal mustache. “I seem to be making it worse, but never mind. You’re still wonderfully kissable as well as brilliant and a match for any male scientist. And I do most earnestly beg you to do me the honor of becoming my partner.” He kissed her before she could respond.

  Theo, with a little nod of satisfaction, slithered away into the darkness toward the house, content that they could manage the rest of it on their own.

  “Your partner?” Rosie said, when she could draw breath. “In what?”

  “In marriage and everything else.”

  “In your research?”

  He nodded.

  “And you would be my partner in mine?”

  He nodded again.

  “That would be particularly satisfactory,” Rosie said thoughtfully. “But I would have to be credited. I won’t be a silent partner, just because I’m a woman.”

  “Of course.”

  “And the Royal Society? How can I be a member of that?”

  “You can’t. But Ross Balmain can.” He drew her toward him again. “My dear little love, if you think you can play the role rather more convincingly than you did tonight, you can be known in the scientific field as Ross Balmain. I see no reason why that should conflict with your position as Lady Rosalind Larchmont.”

  “And no one need ever meet Ross Balmain,” Rosie said with a gleeful c
lap of her hands. “It’s exactly as I always intended it to be.”

  “Exactly?” he queried.

  “Well, I hadn’t thought of marriage,” she said. “But we could publish together, couldn’t we?”

  “Among other things,” he agreed solemnly.

  “I wish Theo hadn’t taken my glasses,” Rosie grumbled. “I can’t see your face properly. Are you laughing at me again?”

  “No. Now, you’ve agreed to be my partner in research, but you haven’t yet said that you’ll marry me.”

  “Oh, I thought I had.” Rosie beamed. “Of course I will. And since everything’s been resolved in such a particularly satisfactory way, perhaps we could go back to where we were on the sailing dinghy. There’s a lot I need to understand, and I do abominate not understanding.” She bent to pick up the fallen lantern and blew out its still-flickering flame.

  HER SISTERS had long given up waiting for her when Rosie finally let herself into the house. She felt her way upstairs to her room, where a candle burned on the table, her glasses beside it. She put them on with a sigh of relief and bent to examine her reflection in the mirror. Her face was smudged with charcoal, her lips kiss-reddened, her skin aglow. The green glass bottle on the windowsill was reflected in the mirror.

  Dreamily, Rosie went over and picked it up. She held it up to the candlelight. It glowed.

  “Well,” she said. “I’ve just won the moon and the stars. Where does that leave your prosy prescriptions? Wish all, dare all, win all, little bottle.”

  She set it back on the windowsill, absently tracing the delicate silver bands.

  Smiling that same dreamy smile, Rosie turned to drop raw flesh into the aquarium for the axolotls.

  JANE FEATHER

  JANE FEATHER is the New York Times best-selling, award-winning author of The Widow’s Kiss, The Least Likely Bride, The Accidental Bride, The Hostage Bride, A Valentine Wedding, The Emerald Swan, and many other historical romances. She was born in Cairo, Egypt, and grew up in the New Forest, in the south of England. She began her writing career after she and her family moved to Washington, D.C., in 1981. She now has over six million copies of her books in print.