do you mean to go?”
“Anywhere. Everywhere. I’d take Daisy with me. We’d travel the world, wearing trousers and smoking cheroots and doing as we pleased.”
Alexandra had been hoping to hear “I want to be a painter.” Or a French-trained chef, or an architect. Whatever pursuit Rosamund named, Alex could build lessons on its foundation. But she was quite certain Mr. Reynaud would not approve of lessons in cheroot-smoking. Alex wouldn’t have known how to give them, anyway.
“That sounds like a grand life indeed,” she said, “but how will you support yourselves?”
“I’m perfectly capable of looking after us both.” Rosamund cast a glance at the table. “So you can clear away your nine sweets and leave us alone.”
“You know very well there are eleven sweetmeats.”
“Are there?”
Alex looked. Sure as could be, two sweetmeats were missing. The girl had managed to steal them, right from under her nose, and one of the two was already across the room in Daisy’s hands. Alex could hear the paper crinkling as the younger girl unwrapped it.
“Rosamund, may I tell you something? You will find yourself reluctant to believe it, but it’s the truth.”
The girl gave a lackadaisical shrug. The warmest gesture she’d made toward Alex so far.
“I like you,” Alexandra said. “I like you very much indeed.”
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