Beautiful Things: Second Sons Book One

Rosalie woke early and found her own way to the sunny breakfast room. Breakfast was set as a buffet, and some of the guests had formed a line to help themselves. Rosalie murmured ‘good morning’ to those she passed. She joined the line behind Lady Madeline. Quite to her surprise, Rosalie realized she felt bad for Madeline. She didn’t seem to fit in with this pack of preening peacocks.

Speaking of peacocks…

The marquess’ daughter floated into the room, the tail of her blood red dress fluttering as she walked. She swept down the length of the table, offering salutations to no one. Rosalie thought she must have imagined the way Lady Olivia spoke to poor Lieutenant Renley last night. She tried not to listen, but it couldn’t be helped.

Rosalie felt the way Olivia’s eyes traced her from head to toe, taking in the simple cut and style of her muslin walking dress. There was no way Rosalie could relate to a woman who opted to wear diamonds to breakfast.

“This is ridiculous,” Olivia muttered loud enough for Rosalie to hear.

She glanced over her shoulder to see the marchioness had joined her daughter.

“Forced to fetch our own food like servants,” the marchioness huffed.

“And apparently there is no assigned seating at breakfast,” Olivia added. “Just wait and see how those awful Swindons will monopolize His Grace. Some people don’t understand the importance of rank.”

Rosalie shut out their elitist chatter and helped herself to a plate of food. Then she found an empty seat at the far end of the long dining table. Much to her annoyance, Olivia claimed the seat to her immediate left. Across the table, Lieutenant Renley glowered at the odious woman from over the top of his newspaper.

Rosalie tucked into her breakfast, determined to make no talk of any kind—large or small—with her neighbor. She nearly lost her composure when Olivia snapped opened a newspaper of her own. Her hand flicked into Rosalie’s face as she spread it open, nearly making Rosalie tip her tea into her lap. Rosalie set her cup down with a rattle, giving the horrible creature an incredulous look, which of course Olivia could not see through her paper.

This gave Rosalie a devilish idea…an idea that had her reaching for the salt. Her childish prank was rewarded when the lady next sipped her tea.

“Blegh!” Olivia nearly cracked her cup with the force of slamming it down.

Everyone at the table started. Rosalie’s eye darted to where the salt sifter was now carefully concealed in the closest floral arrangement.

“Olivia, dearest? What is it?” said the marchioness.

“My tea was salted!” She snatched up the cup and stared into it, swirling its contents. “Someone has played a cruel and vicious joke and poured salt in my tea!”

“Perhaps you simply mistook the salt for sugar?” Rosalie said sweetly.

Olivia snarled at her before jerking around in her chair to face the wide-eyed footman. “You did this, didn’t you, you little weasel.”

“Olivia, dear, temper,” the marchioness warned.

The poor footman mouthed silently like a fish. “My lady, I would never—”

“Do you think it a clever joke?” she shrieked.

A rush of embarrassment sank into Rosalie’s stomach. How could she have been so impetuous? Of course, Olivia would blame the servants. Oh heavens, what if this silly joke cost the poor man his position? Rosalie would never forgive herself.

From down the table, Lord James called out, his voice ringing with calm and authority. “Phillip, did you accidentally salt Lady Olivia’s tea?”

All eyes in the room were on him and Rosalie wanted to die of mortification.

“My lord, I would never. I swear it on my life,” the footman pleaded.

“I don’t take kindly to being made to look a fool by a servant,” Olivia snapped.

Lord James was out of his chair in moments, sweeping down the length of the table. Rosalie wanted to cower under the table with shame. Instead, she sat perfectly still, hands folded in her lap. Lord James muttered something to the footman, and he darted away.

“There’s no place for such behavior in a civilized house,” Olivia shrieked after him.

“You have my apologies, Lady Olivia, Marchioness,” Lord James said. “Please allow Reed to clear this away and let us serve you some hot cocoa instead.” He nodded to the butler, who immediately began to clear away Olivia’s ruined tea.

“I will be telling His Grace how I was treated,” Olivia said. “And if I were mistress here,” she dared to go on, “that man would be dismissed without a reference!”

“That’s presuming a lot,” Lieutenant Renley muttered. He said the words so quietly, Rosalie could have almost imagined they went unsaid…had she not seen his lips move. Mr. Burke jabbed him in the ribs with a feigned movement of adjusting his napkin in his lap.

Lord James forced a smile and a nod for the lady and her mother, then retreated down the table. Everyone settled back into some state of calm. Unable to sit still for a moment longer, Rosalie slipped out of her chair and fled the room.

It took nearly an hour before Rosalie worked up the courage to execute her plan. Sharing her shame with the duke was out of the question. She had yet to meet the man one-on-one. She was too intimidated by the duchess—and too reliant on staying in her good graces—to dare approach her directly either.

For several agonizing minutes, pacing alone in her room, she considered going to Lord James. He seemed ready enough to handle the situation. Perhaps, having seen Lady Olivia’s officious behavior for himself, he would be more understanding of why Rosalie thought it warranted to play such a simple practical joke.

In the end, her courage failed her. Lord James intimidated her. Their every interaction so far had been stilted as he questioned her and challenged her. She got the distinct impression that he didn’t like her. No, there was only one person she could think to go to who might be willing to make it known unequivocally that the footman wasn’t at fault. With a sigh, Rosalie slipped out of the room and went in search of Mr. Burke.