“Of course he did,” she said stoutly.
Rosalind smiled. “You’ve always said that. You used to always say that if he didn’t love us, he wouldn’t care to criticize us.”
“If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t have bothered.”
Jacqueline studied her wedding ring on her left hand. “Sometimes I wonder if a complete lack of caring might not have been preferred.”
Fran hissed in disapproval. “Jacs.”
“I don’t want to talk about Reginald.” Jacqueline turned to her. “Where have you been this evening?”
She felt herself blush a little, remembering what she and Nick had been doing out back.
“I know that look,” Fran declared. “Does this have to do with the handsome chap you were kanoodling with in your father’s study?”
“Kanoodling?” Jacqueline smiled. “Really, Fran, how do you think of these words?”
“If you’d seen them”—her old nanny pointed at her—”you’d say they were kanoodling, too.”
“We weren’t kanoodling,” Rosalind lied. “He was helping me look for, um, something.”
Fran snorted. “Lose your earring in the couch cushions then?”
“You didn’t mention you were seeing someone,” her mother said, angling her body toward her. “How long has this been going on?”
“Since I arrived home.” She thought about the way he whisked her out of the memorial to give her a break and kissed the breath out of her, and she felt herself go warm and gooey all over again.
Her mum studied her carefully. “You like him.”
She liked him a lot. She liked that he was smart, his considerate nature, and the way he touched her, as if he’d never get enough. She liked the reverent way he watched her, as though he couldn’t fathom his good fortune for the privilege.
“You quite like him, based on the smile on your face,” Jacqueline declared. She frowned between her and Fran. “Why is this the first I’m hearing about him?”
“I think that’s my cue to hie myself to bed.” Winking at Rosalind, she patted Jacqueline on the shoulder. “You two have a nice chat. Goodnight!”
Rosalind shook her head as her former nanny waddled out. “That was neatly done.”
“I’m serious, Rosalind. Why haven’t you told me about this man?”
She faced her mother. “You’ve been preoccupied with Father and his death. I didn’t think you’d care about my holiday fling.”
“Is that all it is?”
She glanced away from her mother’s knowing gaze. “He lives here, and I live in San Francisco. What more could there be?”
Jacqueline said nothing, her hands cupping her glass. After a long introspective moment, she said, “Tell me about him.”
Rosalind blinked. “Really?”
“Unless you’d rather not,” she said, hesitating.
“No.” She just couldn’t remember ever telling her mother about any of the boys she’d been interested in. Bijou’s mum, Lara, was always the one who’d listen avidly to their dating updates. “He’s nice.”
“Surely you can do better than that, Rosalind.”
“Well, I’m not sure what to say. We’ve never done this”—she waved her hand between them—”before.”
“We haven’t, have we?” Jacqueline said, wistful.
“Not that we can’t start,” she said quickly, feeling guilty. “I just don’t know what to say.”
“He’s handsome, I imagine.”
“Very.” She thought about Nick’s tall dark looks and wanted to purr. “But the best thing about him is his thoughtfulness. When I’m with him, I feel like only I exist in his universe.”
“What does he do?”
“He’s a solicitor. Sort of.” She pursed her lips. “He’s taking a short break from work. He’s thinking of changing careers.”
“You were with him tonight.”
Her cheeks went crimson.
Her mother gave her a slow, womanly smile Rosalind had never seen from her before. “He must be talented in other areas as well.”
“Maybe.” She cleared her throat.
Her mother watched her as she swirled the cognac in the glass and inhaled the aroma. Then she stretched out her legs and said, “I was such an idiotic romantic when I was younger.”
Rosalind shook her head, confused by the unexpected segue. “How do you mean?”
“I was twenty-two, younger than Titania, when I met Reginald Summerhill. He was older and an earl and so very proper.” She stared off in the distance, lost in her memories. “The future I pictured was full of rose petals and dancing.”