by Renée Dahlia
“I’m teasing.” Ashwin’s tone made it less believable and Priya wanted to roll her eyes at the way he deflected.
“Perhaps we shouldn’t have this conversation now. Congratulations are in order. Eliza and I can discuss her career goals at a later date.”
“I’m right here.” Eliza’s gentle reminder made Priya’s breath hitch. She was as bad as her brother; talking about Eliza, rather than including her in the discussion about her own life.
“Of course. I’m terribly sorry. Ashwin and I often forget ourselves when we are in the company of others—” Priya glanced at Rosalie, “—and we tend to bicker like only siblings can. My apologies.”
“Apology accepted. It is nice to see a family care so much for each other. It makes me miss my own family.”
“Are you close to them?” Priya asked.
“Yes. They pushed me to chase this opportunity. To dance, I mean. We write each other all the time, and I try to send them a telegraph every week too. My father is a journalist at the Philadelphia Tribune.” Eliza’s brown eyes shone with emotion and Priya wished she could begin again. Her blood still surged with annoyed heat at the way Ashwin hadn’t been open with Eliza. Typical man; making assumptions about Eliza’s life without asking her. She flatly refused to notice any parallel between that and the way she’d let fear get between her and Rosalie. A wave of doubt sent a chill across the back of her neck. If she was this afraid of being honest with Rosalie, what did that really mean?
“His letters must be wonderfully in depth. Are your family coming to the wedding?” Rosalie handed Eliza a flute of champagne.
Eliza released one of Ashwin’s hands to take the glass, then shook her head. “No. The cost would be too great.”
“We will pay.” Priya vastly preferred solving other people’s problems than confronting her own foibles. “Carlingford Enterprises has clients with ships travelling the world all the time. It would easy to arrange a berth for your family.”
“Oh? You would do that?”
“Yes. Most definitely.” Ashwin’s attention hadn’t left Eliza for the whole conversation. There could be no doubting his love for the dancer, not in the way he gave her his entire attention.
“But the cost?”
“Please don’t worry about money. Let that be my concern.”
Priya growled under her breath. “No. Ashwin, you can’t begin a marriage without the truth. It’s obvious to me that you haven’t told Eliza everything. Mother and Papa would be so disappointed to hear you haven’t discussed everything with Eliza.”
“There hasn’t been time.” He squirmed and Priya wanted to poke him again. Metaphorically.
“Oh bollocks. And you accuse me of having trust issues when you haven’t even told Eliza about the full extent of the role she’ll be expected to play once she marries you. Does she know about Uncle Sanjay and his position in society?”
Ashwin had the decency to look sheepish. “No.” It was one thing to let someone assume wealth, and quite another not to tell Eliza that she would one day be Lady Dalhinge.
“Damn it. I’m so sorry Eliza. It seems my brother has missed some crucial information about our family. Precisely what did you expect you would do on your marriage to him?”
Eliza held Priya’s gaze with a firm one of her own. “I trust him. I don’t need to know all his business to know what type of person he is. Ashwin has told me he works for a family business and my own observations have told me that he is a man of some wealth; it’s obvious from this box and the clothes both you and he wear that you have some access to money.”
“You see, dear sister, you have nothing to worry about.”
“Ashwin, I worry about everyone, and if you haven’t told her the truth. Eliza, why exactly did you think you’d have to stop dancing?” Priya heard a little chuckle and glanced at Rosalie who sipped her champagne. Her eyebrows were slightly raised, and her eyes danced with enjoyment.
“I come from a very middle class background. I assumed that once I marry I would look after his house and children. I was very surprised when you said I should keep dancing. It is welcome news.”
“You love dancing. I would never ask you to give up something you love.” Ashwin implored her. “And if people say that the future Lady Dalhinge has no place on the stage, I suggest they don’t know what they are saying. If Eliza wants to dance, then she shall.”
“Thank you.” Eliza disguised her surprise well, something that boded well for her future as Ashwin’s wife.
“It seems you two have a lot to discuss.” Priya smirked at her brother and refused to glance at Rosalie. She needed to take her own advice and be open with Rosalie too. The only difference in their situation was that Priya had thought she’d been honest, and it was only tonight when she’d realised she’d been lying to herself, and by consequence to Rosalie. “And there’s no better time than now. Good night, Ashwin. Eliza. Welcome to the family. Come to dinner with everyone as soon as you can.”
“You are leaving?”
“Yes. Rosalie will accompany me, so you needn’t worry about my safety. It is imperative that you discuss your complete situation with Eliza now. Everything.”
“I promise. Gosh.” Ashwin grinned at her, in that typical pesky way he did when he teased her and it gave her no confidence that he’d actually talk to Eliza. She needed to understand the situation completely while it was still easy for her to decide she didn’t want to be Lady Dalhinge one day. It wasn’t a simple role to fulfill, although from the little she’d seen tonight, Eliza would make an excellent Countess. She was sharply intelligent as well as polite enough to swim among the sharks of society. Once she understood the role, she’d be a force to be reckoned with. Ashwin had chosen well.
“Promise?”
“Are you going to quiz Eliza later?”
“Yes. Yes, I am. I approve of her, even if that doesn’t matter to you, and that means I believe she deserves the full truth. No, scratch that. She would deserve the full truth even if I thought she was a poor choice. And if you can’t tell her precisely what she’s decided to say yes to, then it behoves me to inform her, and you know that I won’t pull my punches.”
Ashwin winked. “Off you go.” He made a shoeing motion with his hands, then turned to Rosalie. “Best of luck, Miss Sanderson.”
They quickly said their good nights, and Priya marched from the room before she could talk herself out of her decision to be as brave as she expected of Ashwin. She needed to tell Rosalie the truth; she had run because she was scared of her own feelings. She liked Rosalie, wanted Rosalie, more than she ought to. The reasons for staying away kept disappearing and it was time she stopped using her family as an excuse and simply summoned up the courage to be honest.
“Where to now?”
“I’ll get my car brought around and then we can decide.” Priya wasn’t going to suggest they go to Rosalie’s home, not while they walked along the crowded hallway with many of societies biggest gossips listening in.
Chapter 12
Rosalie held her tongue until they were inside Priya’s motorcar. She wasn’t opposed to being dragged out of the theatre by Priya; it was one of the few times in her life she was willing to give up control to chase the promise in Priya’s lowered tone.
“What have you planned?” Curiosity won over caution, as an ember of heat grew in her belly, curling around her gently as if Priya’s words were her hands sliding over her skin.
“Planned? Nothing. But if you were to invite me to your house, I would be hard pressed not to give you a positive answer.”
“You want to come to my house?”
Priya slipped her hand off the steering wheel and lightly brushed it over Rosalie’s thigh. A sharp jolt rushed up her skin into the base of her abdomen. She wanted more and nearly lay her hand over Priya’s one, but Priya moved to hold the steering wheel again. A pity, that.
“Priya. Would you like to come to my house for some tea?”
“Yes. I would like that. An
d kisses too?”
Rosalie’s breath caught and for a moment, she couldn’t respond. “What changed your mind?” The question she really wanted to ask was one that gave some assurance Priya wouldn’t startle and run away again.
“I realised I wasn’t being honest with myself. Being with you scares me and it was too easy to let my family’s tale of mistrust become the reason that I didn’t have to confront why I’m scared.” Priya’s abrupt honesty made Rosalie gulp. She hadn’t expected Priya to be so open. What had changed?
She had changed too. “The first time we met, I found myself in a similar situation. What we had that evening was so intense and I assumed... Well, I wanted a lot more and I assumed from your age that you weren’t ready.”
“Back in ‘thirteen? No, I definitely wasn’t ready then.”
“And now?”
“Yes, I think so. I’ve given this a lot of thought—maybe too much—and I’m ready to take a risk and kiss you.” Priya paused. “If you will allow it.”
Rosalie nodded, her mouth dry with anticipation, and her voice was rough as she gave Priya the directions to her house. She leaned back in the seat, willing the car to go faster. She needed to be home now where she could kiss Priya without worrying about who might be watching, without interruption, so they could take their time with each other. By the time Priya had parked the car in the mews behind Rosalie’s house and followed Rosalie inside, her heart thudded in her chest, loud like the pistons in her car’s engine. She tugged off her gloves and swallowed.
“Shall I take your coat?”
“Yes. It’s very warm in here.”
“Mr and Mrs Walsh do for me. They like to keep the place nice and warm.” Rosalie wasn’t sure why she felt the need to explain her life to Priya, except that she did. Holding back a sigh, she realised she wanted Priya to feel comfortable here, and Priya lived her life with a certain standard that Rosalie could uphold. The need for approval sang strongly and she pushed it away. Just because she’d never quite been enough for her extroverted parents, didn’t mean she had to continue the same patterns in her lovers. She was damned over forty years old; her frivolous parents shouldn’t have this hold over her.
“They live here too?”
“Yes.” Rosalie heard the clipped tone in her voice and swallowed.
“I’m glad for you. It’s good that you have company to keep the house safely occupied while you are at work.” Priya’s gentle tone pulled her back to the moment. The light conversation was at odds with the thirst for validation in her head.
“I hadn’t thought of it that way. I’ve lived alone for many years now and like my independence.”
“Oh.” Priya gasped and tilted her head a fraction. “Perhaps I’m a little jealous of that. I’ve always lived in my family’s house, and even though I have my own space, I wonder what it would be like to have a place completely of my own.”
“You could buy your own house.” A bubble of laughter caught in Rosalie’s chest. It seemed that Priya had her own insecurities too. What a pair they made, or didn’t make, not just yet. She was getting ahead of herself. Again.
“I could. I could have my own staff too. How does that work in your case?”
“There is a separate apartment above the mews. I had it converted before the war as I didn’t need to have a horse and it was sitting empty. It’s a good spot for them, although Mrs Walsh does find the stairs challenging now. I’ve suggested she retires.”
“Don’t tell me. She says she doesn’t know what else she would do.”
“Yes. And I don’t want to disappoint her. I’ve offered to pay a pension for the remainder of their life, however, the work is simple with only myself to look after, and I think they enjoy having something to do as much as I like having them around the place.”
“I understand.” Priya slowly walked towards Rosalie. “I might occasionally want to have my own house, however, I don’t think I could live in a quiet house.”
“Are there many people in your household?”
“Mother and Papa, Ashwin, and myself, as well as Mr Sharma our butler, and a collection of staff. My grandfather built the property when Carlingford Enterprises began to thrive, and it’s much bigger than any one family needs. We often have guests.”
“It sounds rather like living in a hotel.”
“I suppose it does. I had contemplated moving into The Goring for a while.”
“What stopped you?”
Priya blinked. “The war, of course. The need for ships become urgent and everyone had to work. I found myself too busy to think about anything bar sleeping and eating.”
“I’m sorry I mentioned it.”
“It’s fine.” Priya shook her head as if to clear a memory away. “The first six months of the war were terribly exciting. We all thought we would win quickly...”
“It’ll be over by Christmas.” Rosalie quoted the oft-said saying from the time. If only everyone who’d stated that had been correct. Now the war was over, and the Spanish Flu had run its course, that sense of optimism had finally begun to grow again. There was much talk of the need for escape from all the weight of the past, and if it weren’t for the way her parents had always prioritised their fun over everything else, Rosalie might have found a way to imagine a frivolous future.
“Yes. And our factories had to expand rapidly. I don’t think I slept very much at all for that first period, and then—” Priya sighed. “—reality set in and everyone realised it was a forlorn lie. The war was going to be a long one with great human cost.” Priya reminded Rosalie of the reality of the last six years and the aching hurt etched on Priya’s face was reflected in her own heart. Maybe it wasn’t possible to put all this behind them and look forward to a happy future, or maybe the possibility that things could only get better was exactly what everyone needed. Priya, most of all. She carried such a heavy weight over her role in the war, a responsibility that demonstrated the depth of her care for everyone, that Rosalie couldn’t help but feel a tiny confusing amount of jealousy. Imagine if all that attention and care was aimed her way. The concept sparked dangerously, because if Priya cared for her that much, it would fill the void left by her parents. The notion that Rosalie was worthy of love didn’t feel real. It wasn’t tangible or achievable. If her parents loved their lifestyle more than her, how could anyone else think her worthy of more than shallow affection. Did she truly deserve to be loved by someone with all of their heart? Or was Priya a safe choice because Priya’s empathy meant she cared so much for everyone that Rosalie would never have all her love? With Priya, she’d always have to share and that was all she deserved. She shifted her balance onto her left foot, and waited, unable to think of a response to whatever Priya had been talking about. After a few minutes, she stopped staring at the Vanessa Bell painting that hung over her mantlepiece and focused on Priya, who’d gone a bit pale. What had they been talking about?
***
Talking about the war stole all Priya’s nervous energy and she just wanted to collapse onto the couch in front of the fire and cry for all the dead and injured. Like Ashwin said, empathy was a curse as much as a blessing.
“Are you well? You’ve gone all pale.” The concern in Rosalie’s voice didn’t help and Priya squared her shoulders and breathed in deep. The hint of Rosalie’s perfume filled her nostrils again—Tabac Blond, she’d said—with elegant notes of tobacco, vanilla, and clove that invited her closer, and she decided to concentrate on this moment, on being with Rosalie. Stop doubting and kiss her. She crossed the floor and closed the space between them.
“Rosalie.” Her voice went all husky as she pressed her body against Rosalie’s slightly taller form. Rosalie wore a tailored jacket over her evening dress and the starched fabric was stiff against the silk of Priya’s gown.
“Yes?”
“Please kiss me.”
Rosalie held Priya’s hand and lifted it up to her mouth. The brush of Rosalie’s soft lips across her knuckles sent a gentle wave of warmth u
p her arm and across her chest, and with it, the familiar ache of hurt started to dissipate. She closed her eyes and waited. Slowly, ever so slowly, the sound of heartbeat grew as an echo in her ears, until she could barely hear Rosalie’s unsteady breathing. When Rosalie leaned closer and kissed her, Priya’s knees softened and the only thing anchoring her to reality was the connection with Rosalie. This was the kiss she’d waited for, the one she desired more than anything, and she heard herself ease out a little moan. With a flutter of her eyelids, she peeked at Rosalie who was watching her closely. All that attention, and the way her eyes shone with a welcome, made Priya feel like she was the centre of the world.
She ran her free hand up Rosalie’s arm, over the stiff material of her jacket and up to the nape of her neck. The short hair of her bob cut grazed her fingertips, soft and yet somehow ticklish and needle-like all at the same time. Rosalie’s hair was soft, it was only the way it sent shards of sensation spinning across Priya’s skin that reminded Priya of the way her skin prickled and came up in gooseflesh when she stepped into a hot shower on a cold day. She pressed her fingers into the back of Rosalie’s scalp, pulling her closer, deeper into the kiss, and as Rosalie opened her mouth, Priya took her chance. She kissed Rosalie with everything she had, trying her best to show Rosalie how she felt, how her pulse leaped and rushed with every stroke of Rosalie’s tongue, and every accidental clash of their teeth. The kiss, their kiss, became urgent, desperate, and Priya wanted to rip off her gown with no thought nor care for the carefully crafted expensive fabric and design. She needed to be naked, to press her flesh against Rosalie and feel everything. Heat and fire flashed over her skin; she needed the cool air over her body before she became faint with the overwhelming kiss. This wasn’t just any kiss; it was the kiss of two people who had waited for so long for this moment and wanted it more than anything else.
