She swallowed audibly. “You’re justified not to trust me, and I know I have a lot to make up for, but don’t you think eventually we could be friends again?”
Hugging her arms, Rosalind glanced at the portfolio. She’d poured part of herself into that design, giving it more thought and care than most because she’d wanted Summer’s day to be special. And it was all fake. “I don’t know.”
Summer nodded, lowering her head. “All right. That’s fair, I guess.”
Knowing there was nothing else to say, she pushed the portfolio across the table and stood. “Your wedding dress is perfect. You’ll look like the princess you always wanted to be. A good seamstress will be able to make it, when you’re ready.” Swallowing all her regrets, she picked up her purse and turned to leave.
“Rosalind.” Summer rose from her chair and touched her arm. “Don’t blame Nick.”
She stiffened, slowly pulling her arm away. “Nick made his own bed.”
“Nick is loyal to those he loves, and he loves me.” Summer gazed at her unrelentingly. “He loves you, too.”
“I don’t want to talk about him.” Her heart felt like it would break.
“The lies were mine, not his. From the beginning he begged me to be honest with you. He told me this would happen. I just—” She sighed. “He loves you. I hate that I’ve come between you two.”
“That doesn’t change anything, though, does it?” Too little, too late, she thought on her way out. She stepped out into the London winter and shivered violently, drawing her collar closed.
“Here you go, lamb.” Fran set a plate of fresh-out-of-the-oven shortbread in front of her. “Some more tea?”
Rosalind shook her head, holding the cup that’d gone lukewarm against her broken heart. “No, thank you.”
Fran nodded and went bustling around the kitchen. Rosalind waited for the warmth and hominess to lift her spirits, but she just felt cold. Maybe it was time to go back home.
Past time.
Bea was back, and between her other sisters they’d figure out how to help their mother best. It looked like the will was really, truly lost, so that was a plus. She could go back to her business and drown herself in tulle.
Bijou would tell her to get on a plane and go back to people who loved her.
She sighed.
“Rosie, you haven’t had a biscuit yet.” Fran pointed at the plate. “You don’t want me to think you don’t love me, do you?”
“I love you, Fran”—she tried to smile—”I just don’t feel like one right now.”
“You love my shortbread.” Worry lined her brow. She propped her hands on her hips and tapped her foot. “You tell me what’s happened now.”
“What’s happened?” her mother asked as she came into the kitchen.
“Rosie isn’t eating my shortbread.”
Her mother frowned at her. “You always loved Fran’s shortbread. You used to sneak downstairs and break into the tin at night when everyone was asleep.”
She lifted her head, blinking. “You knew that?”
“Of course.” She pulled a seat close and smiled at Fran. “She gnawed on your shortbread even before she had teeth.”
“Such an adorable little thing she was.” Fran smiled weepily. “She was the only one of the lot who was truly angelic. Little hellions, the rest of them. But this one was an angel.”
“It was love at first sight with all of them, even Imogen, who I swore would drive me mad even as a baby,” her mother said fondly.
“I don’t understand,” Rosalind said, unable to keep it in. She faced Jacqueline. “You were always gone. Fran was more a mother to us than you.”
“Rosie.” Her old nanny gasped.
“No, it’s valid, Fran.” She faced her. “I was a terrible mother. Beatrice was born, and I was barely an adult myself, and I had no idea what to do with her. Beatrice, even as a newborn, had the force of will she has now, and I’ve never been comfortable around children. I found Fran, who was so much better at being a proper mother than I was, and I told myself I was doing a good thing by stepping out of the way and letting her take charge.
“It didn’t occur to me that there’d come a point when I wanted to know all you girls, only you’d have no time for me. That’s what I regret most.” Her mother faced her. “I took the easy, expected path, and I didn’t realize until it was too late that it wasn’t the road I should have chosen.”
“Would you do it differently, if you had the chance?” Rosalind asked, because she’d been wondering what she’d do differently with Nick—and Summer—if she’d known.