The Shamrock & the Rose Read Free Page B

remembered her other
concern. “Oh, I nearly forgot. I think I was being followed
today.”
    “Followed, my dear? By whom?”
    “I cannot say. But when my carriage stopped
at Lady Ormond’s for my last call, the carriage behind us stopped
as well.” Rose crossed her arms over her chest as if to ward off a
sudden chill. “A man cloaked in black got out and watched me enter
the townhouse. His stare made me quite uncomfortable. I saw through
the window that he lingered there for some time. Thankfully he was
gone when I came out, but the whole incident left me
unsettled.”
    “He might have been a theatre-goer who
recognized you and was merely curious,” offered the countess. “Much
like Mr. O’Connell.”
    “Perhaps,” Rose allowed. “But do you truly
think it likely someone would recognize Lily Underwood out of
costume and absent the brown wig? If so…”
    “You have a point. Still, if the person was
close enough to really see your face, I suppose it is possible you might be recognized. But you say he disappeared
by the time you left? There may be no connection at all. Perhaps
all of this was a coincidence.”
    Rose prayed that it was so.
    * * *
    The ladies were already in the parlour when
the gentlemen arrived that evening. Rose was engaged in
conversation with Lady Picton, who was only a few years older than
she. Rose thought Emily’s black hair and violet eyes striking, and
the quick mind that went with them was a welcome surprise. She
found a kindred spirit in the young widow, who confided she had no
plans to remarry but saw herself much like her friend Lady
Claremont, independent and able to move on her own through London
Society. Rose was of a similar mind, but a maiden did not have the
same freedom as a widow.
    The three men entered the parlour nearly
together, providing Rose a chance to compare. They were all of an
age, around thirty, but one was taller and very handsome with curly
black hair and a lithesome form. Neither she nor Lady Picton
recognized him, but the young widow did know Lord Alvanley and Sir
Alex and identified them in a whisper.
    So the third man must be Mr. O’Connell.
    Rose was not surprised when Lady Picton
pointed out Sir Alex, who was speaking to the countess; she would
have known him by his military bearing. He had the rigid stance of
an officer, though tonight he was conservatively dressed in black
coat, gray waistcoat and trousers. Thick brows topped intense brown
eyes, but it was his hair that was most unusual, for while he
appeared a man in his prime, it was already gray. For all that, she
thought him attractive.
    “Miss Collingwood,” said Sir Alex, taking
her hand, “the woman all the gentlemen of London desire to meet,
the celebrated beauty and ward of the countess. I am pleased she
has found me worthy.” In his other hand he held a bouquet of roses,
which Rose handed to a waiting footman.
    A man used to having his orders followed,
thought Rose as he bowed over her hand. She wondered if he
considered himself the perfect choice for an admiral’s daughter,
but perhaps she was being ungenerous. He had served his country
well and deserved her admiration.
    “Why, thank you, Sir Alex, for both the
flowers and the compliment, though you praise me too highly. I’m
certain few in London even know of my existence.”
    “They will all want to know you soon, Miss
Collingwood. Word of your beauty is spreading,” he said. “Then,
too, your father was well spoken of by all in the Navy.”
    “Sadly, I never knew him, Sir Alex. I was
the product of my mother’s brief visit to see my father in
Portsmouth where his ship was undergoing repairs. He never returned
home after my birth and died eight years ago while still serving
the Crown.”
    Lady Picton sent Rose a sympathetic glance,
then she too was introduced to Sir Alex, who informed the young
widow that he served with her husband at Waterloo, the battle that
claimed his life.
    The next to be presented to Rose was the
portly Lord