Say You Will(25)

She waited for Portia to ask about it, like a normal person would, but her sister shrugged and continued looking through the box.

Rosalind should have known better than to think her sister was normal. Shaking her head, she went to her room to take a long, hot shower. She dressed in an underlayer of silk topped by cashmere lounging pants and a hoodie with a scarf tied around her neck.

Taking her sketchpad, she started to go down to the kitchen—brainstorming Sara’s dress with a cup of tea and Fran’s ginger shortbread seemed like the thing.

But she walked by the countess’s quarters and changed her mind. The better place to think about Sara’s dress was in her mother’s closet.

She went to her mother’s room and knocked on the aged wood. “Mum?”

Ear pressed to the door, she waited for an answer. When there was no reply, she opened the door. “Mum? It’s Rosalind.”

Still no answer, so she peeked in and froze.

The room was an utter mess. The bed looked like there’d been a struggle, the bedclothes draping on the floor. The clothes she’d worn to the memorial lay discarded on the floor in the corner.

Rosalind picked up the silk blouse. She looked at the label—designer, handmade. She frowned. Her mother never treated her clothes callously like that. Clothes and books were the two things her mother valued most in the world.

Taking the blouse, she walked to the closet to hang it up. She flipped the light on, almost afraid of what she’d find.

But the closet was as orderly as it had ever been. Rows of shoes arranged like soldiers in neat rows, blouses, skirts, and dresses all arranged by color. The drawers were all uniformly closed, but she knew they housed frilly underthings and soft sweaters. At the far end, all the ball gowns hung, looking untouched and lonely.

This closet used to be her magical place. Her mother would emerge from it looking like a princess. When Rosalind was a child, she figured it was a fairy portal, and she’d walk in, wanting to be a princess too.

But one day as she’d watched her mum get ready, she’d understood the real magic was in the dresses, and that she had that magic herself. Her mother had told her she could make women look like princesses, too.

Jacqueline used to say her clothes were her dearest friends. A dress that fit perfectly never let you down, and it always cheered you up.

She went to the back of the closet and fished in one of the drawers until she found the photo of her mum in her wedding dress. Rosalind traced the dreamy smile on Jacqueline’s face. She’d never witnessed that smile in real life.

Taking the photo with her for inspiration, she sat on the floor in front of the ball gowns and wondered how she could make Sara feel that way.

The door to the closet swung open, and her mother blinked down at her in surprise. “Darling.”

“Sorry.” She started to stand up.

Her mother waved her back down. “Stay. You just startled me. You’ve always loved sitting there and thinking.”

“You remember?”

“Of course I remember.” Her mother took her earrings off and placed them on a tray, looking at her like she was delusional. “You were forever underfoot here. Of all your sisters, you were the only one who inherited my love for fashion. I shudder at the way Titania dresses.”

She smiled wistfully. “How does she dress?”

Jacqueline paused, blinking at her. “You don’t know Titania at all, do you?”

“She was barely a teenager when I left for Los Angeles. Imogen, too, though she’s easier to follow since her acting career’s taken off.”

A flash of remorse passed over her mother’s face. Then she kicked off her shoes and sat next to her.

Rosalind blinked in shock. The Countess of Amberlin never sat on the floor.

“The media makes Imogen out to be a fun-loving diva, but she’s always taken her career seriously,” her mother said, shifting until she was settled. “Do you remember how she used to put on plays in the evenings as a child?”

She shook her head. “I had no idea.”

“She always knew she wanted to be an actress, and she worked hard to achieve it. All you girls are hard workers. Even Portia,” her mother said, as though she could hear Rosalind’s mental snort.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.” Mother pursed her lips. “Titania was always diligent, too, but she never did anything conventional. Her photos are brilliant, quite honestly.”

She didn’t know, and that made her sorry.

“It’s quite a different view from down here, isn’t it?” Her mum craned her neck, looking around. Then her gaze fell on the wedding picture and she froze.