Page 42 of The Perfect Rose

“I know that. But, if her mother is there, I can’t have her opening it. It would be kind of like a secretive mission. Is there a way you could disguise my offering so that if her mother was there, you could bring it back out with you, and nothing would be odd?”

Miriam’s face lit with excitement. “Oh, I like this already. I could take it in my sewing basket and pretend I’m going to ask for her help. In fact, I do have a project I was hoping she would give her opinion on.” She paced back and forth along the foot of her bed. “What is in the tea towel?”

Frederick rubbed his chin; how much did he dare tell Miriam when she was so obviously up to some sort of mischief of her own? “It’s a treat from the kitchen.” And a note, he added to himself.

“And why can her mother not be there when she receives this . . . treat?”

His shoulders slumped. “I’ve gotten her into trouble. The last person her mother would want to show her attention is me, for more than one reason now.”

Miriam squeezed his shoulder with one hand and patted his cheek with the other. “I’ll get it to her, don’t worry. But if you convince her to marry you, you are going to have a terrifying mother-in-law. I hadn’t thought of that.”

“I wouldn’t have to live with her though, and more importantly, neither would Lady Rose.” He handed her the parcel and turned to leave. “Do you need anything from me Miriam, anything at all?”

She shifted her eyes toward the writing table in the corner and back in the flash of a moment. “No. I’m doing well. Thank you.” She all but pushed him out the door. “Now go get ready for dinner. You smell like horses.”

Frederick left the room and checked his pocket watch. He still had half an hour before he would need to change for dinner. He needed to get a look at that writing desk.

He walked down the hall and opened and shut the door to his own bedchamber, then he snuck across the hall and hid in an alcove that led to the servant’s stairs.

After Miriam left her room and the sound of her steps began to fade, Frederick popped his head out from his hiding place. He came face to face with Ron, the footman. The man arched an eyebrow, cleared his throat, and tugged his ear. Apparently he was also aware of something that Miriam was up to. Frederick gave him a quick nod. “Thank you, Ron. I’m off to investigate.” It was his one chance to find a clue of Miriam’s plan.

Frederick hurried into her room and moved directly to the desk. Everything looked normal. Parchment and a wax seal were in the top drawer with a quill and a bottle of ink. Miriam’s journal was in the second drawer. He wouldn’t disturb something so personal as that. The bottom drawer of the desk contained old correspondence, likely notes from friends on her birthday and such.

Frederick thought back on what he’d heard. There had been a thud and then a scrape of some sort. It could have been Miriam just moving a chair. He turned in a slow circle, taking in anything he could that seemed out of place. Nothing. He heard footsteps in the hall and panicked. Miriam would be furious if she discovered him snooping around in her room. He looked for a place to hide and his eyes fell on the half-open window.

He pushed the window further open and looked down over the edge. It was only on the second story, but the drop would put him right into a flower bed. He saw movement down below. It was Miriam’s maid. Frederick moved to the side of the window to watch her without being easily seen. The maid cast a furtive look left and right before bending down and picking up a book; she dusted it off and hid it in the folds of her apron before returning to the house. A rock in the pit of Frederick’s stomach told him that that book was what he’d been hunting for.

He turned around and Miriam was framed in the doorway, ablaze with indignation. “Why are you in my room?”

Frederick swallowed. “You know me, I’m unpredictable.”

“That’s not an answer to my question, Frederick. I was doing a favor for you and this is what I get?” She raised her chin higher. “Please leave.”

If Frederick could have defended himself, he would have. But there was nothing to say. He wasn’t about to tell her that he was on to the mystery of that book; Miriam suspected him too much now as it was. He walked forward as slowly as he would if he were walking on some thin ice over a pond. “I’m sorry, Miriam. You . . . you would tell me if I were making some big mistake, wouldn’t you?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Of course you are making a big mistake. That note you wrote made Lady Rose cry! Just this morning, you told me you loved her. Kendra couldn’t possibly have poisoned you that much. What were you thinking?”

Frederick’s heart caught in his throat. His note made her cry? That didn’t make a bit of sense.

“Next time you want to break my friend’s heart, leave me out of it.” Miriam slammed the door in his face as soon as he passed through the threshold.

He heard her stomp across the floor and then the door shuddered as something wacked against it. Frederick would have wagered Miriam had thrown a pillow. It seemed she was more angry with him for giving Lady Rose that note than she was for breaking into her room and prying around in her personal space. And why was Lady Rose crying? Thankfully, he’d see her at dinner. He would set everything straight. He stalked off to his room to change.

Miriam was capable of commanding an army, now. Upon entering the dining room for dinner, no one questioned her when she told them they would be playing a game throughout the evening and that they needed to sit next to their teams at the dinner table. Three teams were announced, and Frederick found himself on the opposite side of the table from Rose, thus different teams. And to make things worse, he was on a team with Lady Gardner, Miss Trenton, and Miss Coolidge. He liked Miss Coolidge well enough, and he knew Miss Trenton from her friendship with Miriam these past few years, but Lady Gardner . . . that was taking things too far. Miriam might see carnage at this house party yet.

Chapter Twenty-nine

Rose sat between Lord Hanby and Lady Gilfordshire in the drawing room. The latter was completely engrossed in a conversation with Mr. Quentin Redford. Lord Hanby, although not a fast talker, was gifted with drawing out a conversation when he wanted to. Rose was hardly able to spare a glance toward the opposite side of the table to where Frederick sat. The stolen glances she took of him convinced her he was upset. She would have been as well if she’d been put on the same team as her mother. Although she was sorry he was upset, seeing him angry was riveting. She’d never seen him angry; the grimace that marred his handsome face was so opposite to his norm.

Lord Hanby touched her elbow to draw her attention back to him . . . again. “Is something the matter, Lady Rose?” He looked annoyed. She couldn’t blame him, she’d been a terrible dinner partner.

“No, nothing at all is the matter. I’m completely fine. I’m sorry to be a little distracted tonight.” Stop prattling, you’ll make it worse. She took a deep breath. “What was your question?”

“We are supposed to be learning as much about each other as possible for the game in the parlor after dinner tonight. Thus far, I know that your favorite season is summer, your favorite instrument is the harp, and your favorite color is pink.” He raised his eyebrows as if all this information was new to her. She recalled answering his questions perfectly well.

“Of course, and your favorite season is winter, your favorite instrument is the violin, and your favorite color is blue.” She tilted her chin to the side daring him to challenge her ability to follow the conversation. “What is your favorite food?”

Lord Hanby looked at his dinner plate as if the pheasant would tell him the answer. “Apricots. And yours?”