Free Baroness by Susan May Warren Page B

Pierre.
    They were gone.
    She spent the next day at home, bracing herself for a call. By the time Dash appeared on her doorstep—shortly after Lilly had snuck out with her new beau—she’d decided that her mother was too busy hunting down her vanished brother to supervise her wayward niece.
    Never mind check in with her formerly distraught daughter.
    Perhaps the Paris girls would escape with their indiscretions unhindered.
    â€œForgive me, Red? I’ve missed you so much,” Dash said two days later, as they strolled through Tuileries Garden. He had his jacket around her shoulders, the smell of beer on his breath.
    â€œI know,” she said softly and let him atone for his sins under the statue of Renommée and the glorious wings of Pegasus while the lights of Paris sparkled behind them. They stopped at the basin, the water reflecting the night.
    â€œWon’t you throw in a coin?”
    â€œWhy?” he said quietly, pulling her against him, his lips at her neck. “I already have all the luck I need.”
    Perhaps she was ready for her mother’s arrival, after all.
    Rosie didn’t, however, expect to see Jinx seated on the red velvet divan in the family room, little Finley asleep in her arms, Bennett reading a book in the Queen Anne chair. Rosie closed the door, nearly breathless with the taste of Dash’s touch on her lips.
    Jinx always knew how to command a room, from the moment she married Foster Worth and became the doyenne of society, even at seventeen, to now, a lady of society in her midforties married to his brother, shipping baron of Paris and New York, Belgium and London. Jinx knew what to wear, what to say, how to throw a party, and how to silence her daughter with a look.
    Even now, after midnight, in their stiff Parisian parlor, Jinx looked regal in a dark skirt, white shirtwaist, and a string of pearls at her neck. Her coat lay draped on the back of the divan, as if she and Bennett had only just arrived. Rosie paused when she saw her mother’s dark bobbed hair, tiny pin curls delicate around her face.
    â€œWelcome home, Rose,” Jinx said quietly. She smiled but it didn’t meet her eyes.
    â€œHello, Mother,” Rosie managed, and walked over to kiss her cheek. Jinx reached up, caught her daughter’s cheek against hers. Held it.
    As she pulled away, Rosie saw the results of their investigation in her mother’s eyes. “You didn’t find Jack.”
    Amelia came into the room, sleep still on her countenance, tying her apron on as she entered. She curtsied to Jinx then took her coat from the room.
    Finley roused on her lap and Jinx looked at Bennett, who put down his book and crept over to them.
    â€œHello, Rosie,” he whispered and scooped up Finley in his arms. He kissed Jinx on the cheek. “I’ll be down presently.”
    â€œWait,” Rosie said, and turned to Finley, pushing away his hair and kissing him on his pudgy, six-year-old cheek. She inhaled the reckless, innocent smell of him and then let him go.
    â€œSit, please.”
    â€œMother, I can explain.”
    Jinx began to tug off her gloves. “Imagine my surprise when I arrived home moments ago to see you outside on the front street—in the view of all of Paris—in the grope of some man. You’ve been busy.” Jinx shook her head. “Your rash judgment, Rosie…it’s going to get the best of you someday.”
    â€œMother, please. I was in the company of Dashielle Parks. I do believe he’s smitten with me.”
    â€œSmitten, or in love? Does he hope to marry you?”
    Rosie sank down onto the Queen Anne chair. “Perhaps.”
    â€œHe’s been courting you? He should have asked your father.”
    â€œTimes have changed, Mother. Men don’t ask to court women anymore, they don’t line up to fill your dance card, don’t drop vellum calling cards on the trays for you to choose from. This is Paris, and