Say You Will(3)

Their mother turned and gave them a cross look that said Behave and Don’t embarrass me any more than I am.

“We’ll discuss it after this ludicrous service is over,” Beatrice promised.

Nodding, Rosalind became aware that people were watching them, so she lifted her head and channeled the infamous Summerhill pride. As she glanced over the crowd, that dark-haired man caught her attention again. He gazed at her with focused concentration.

Bijou would have said he was hot, and her friend would have been right. Rosalind was always looking for inspiration for her designs. This man inspired—to take her clothes off. She’d have been tempted to walk over to him and see if he was interested. Bijou would have told her funerals and sex went hand in hand.

If only it weren’t for the woman next to him, who watched Rosalind as if she wanted to inspect all her seams and test her fabric.

The service ended abruptly. Their mother strode out, regal and poised in her dark suit, followed by Portia, Viola, Chloe, and Fran. Beatrice and Rosalind filtered out after.

“The reception is in the drawing room,” Bea said. “Do you remember where that is?”

The sarcastic question should have annoyed her, but she couldn’t help smiling. “You mean you aren’t going to hold my hand and take me there?”

“Brat.” Lips curving, she made a point of slipping her arm through Rosalind’s and leading the way.

Jacqueline Summerhill stood in the middle of the room, talking to Fran. Fran whispered back intently and then turned her around by her shoulders.

Strange. Her mother and governess had never had a close relationship, definitely not one that included hushed discussions or physical contact.

But she forgot about that when her mother’s gaze locked on her.

Fran gave her a little push, setting Jacqueline in motion toward her.

Rosalind’s breath caught in her chest, the way it used to when she was a little girl, waiting for her mum to notice her—to give her approval.

As her mother approached, her expression was implacable. Rosalind braced herself for disappointment, knowing the Countess of Amberlin wasn’t demonstrative, in public or private.

“Rosalind.” Her mother paused uncertainly, but then took both her hands in hers, studying her as though she wanted to peel away all the years. Then she kissed both her cheeks before clasping her tightly in a hug.

Rosalind blinked, her emotions threatening to leak, and hugged her mother back.

Jacqueline was the one to step back first. She tucked a strand of Rosalind’s hair behind her ear and simply said, “I’m happy you’re here.”

Suddenly she was, too.

“Ros,” Viola said, taking her hands and holding her at arm’s length. “You look great. I love the scarf.”

“You look great, too,” she lied, noticing the shadows beneath her sister’s eyes. Because of their father’s death? It seemed unlikely. Of all of them, Viola had been the only one who’d never seemed to give a damn about what he’d thought.

Portia, on the other hand, had trailed after their father like a puppy, and his death showed in her red-rimmed eyes. Her expression as severe as the high-necked black dress she wore, she stepped forward and gave Rosalind a perfunctory kiss on the cheek. “You look American.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Rosalind said lightly. She and Portia were closest in age—a little over a year apart—but they’d never gotten along well. Apparently that hadn’t changed.

“Portia, will you and Viola check on the tea?” their mother asked as the guests began filtering into the room. Jacqueline waited until they were gone before she turned to her and Bea. “I need to talk to you two. Alone.”

She glanced at her oldest sister, who, ever cool, said, “Of course.”

“In the orangery.”

They watched her walk out. “Do you know what this is about?” Rosalind asked as they followed.

“No idea.” Bea frowned. “But she wants to chat with us now, when she has guests? That’s not like her.”

It certainly wouldn’t have been like her ten years ago. People changed though.

Jacqueline Summerhill, Countess of Amberlin—change? She heard Bijou’s voice in the back of her head saying, “Yeah, right.”





Chapter Two



“Close the door, Beatrice,” their mother ordered. “I don’t want anyone happening upon us.”

Rosalind exchanged another look with her sister before sitting down.

Jacqueline paced in front of the unlit fireplace, fidgeting with her wedding rings. Then she faced them and said, “Your father’s will is missing.”

Bea waved her hand dismissively. “The will is a formality that makes the transfer of assets easier and faster, but in this case, as his spouse, you’d inherit everything anyway. You don’t need to worry. I’ll handle everything until the estate is in your name.”