The Sullen Seamstress of Horenwall Manor: A Historical Regency Romance Novel
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The Sullen Seamstress of Horenwall Manor
A Historical Regency Romance Novel
Emma Linfield
Edited by
Maggie Berry
Contents
A Thank You Gift
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
Extended Epilogue
The Ambiguous Enigma of the Hunted Lady
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Also by Emma Linfield
About the Author
A Thank You Gift
Thanks a lot for purchasing my book. It really means a lot to me, because this is the best way to show me your love.
As a Thank You gift I have written a full length novel for you called The Betrayed Lady Winters. It’s only available to people who have downloaded one of my books and you can get your free copy by tapping this link here.
Once more, thanks a lot for your love and support.
With love and appreciation,
Emma Linfield
About the Book
You can’t reach what’s in front of you, unless you let go of what’s behind you.
For talented seamstress Miss Rosaline Hall, her new task to fashion a wedding gown for the Duke of Horenwall’s future wife comes with a catch. The bride is none other than the lady who sent her late sister to jail.
Preferring the solitude of his study to polite company, Norman Kinsley, Duke of Horenwall, finds himself peculiarly disinterested in a seemingly perfect bride-to-be. However, he can’t say the same about the new fair seamstress with the fiery gaze.
With the world against them and an old crime brought back from the grave, Rosaline and Norman must work together to uncover the malevolent trap set against him.
Rosaline’s sister didn’t just die and her killer is right in front of them.
Prologue
The Village of Hampton
The Dukedom of Horenwall
May 1812, England
Miss Rosaline Hall,
The Dowager Duchess of Horenwall formally requests that you avail yourself for a meeting at the manor by eleven o’clock on the morrow.
The note, signed with seal of the Kinsley family was straight to the point, but it did not leave Miss Rosaline Hall with any sense of comfort.
In the short time since the Dowager Duchess hired her, barely a month, not once had she ever received such a vague order. The churning in her stomach increased as she read the note.
Am I getting removed? I have not had many assignments, only fixing a hemline or two…Does her Grace not need me anymore?
Trying to ignore her fears, Rosaline sat embroidering a piece of muslin. Sewing the tiny stitches was tedious and slow, and she could easily spend hours on just a small patch. Rarely was she so distracted that she did not pay attention to her work. And this was one of those times. She jabbed the sharp point of the needle into her thumb and jumped. Maybe she shouldn’t be sewing by lamplight at night.
Rosaline grabbed a rag and dabbed at the tiny wound. Then, she reached over and trimmed her lamp so the light could glow brighter.
Standing up, she smoothed her skirts around her. She wandered across the room to the sideboard. She lifted a pitcher, chose a glass from the tray and mindlessly poured water. She crossed to the lone window, rubbed her tired hazel eyes and peered into the distance.
The mélange of reds and oranges had transferred into deep stains of indigo now taking possession of the sky. The setting sun was slowly marking the end of another day. Had it really gotten that late? No wonder her eyes felt heavy.
The Horenwall estate was a magnificent span of countryside with soft rolling hills of verdant green, and valleys of beautiful wildflowers. The thousands of acres of thick forest was the main supply source of fruit, game, and crystal-clear water for the family manor that was built here.
“Oh, how I wish you were here, Mary,” Rosaline raised her eyes in a silent prayer. “You were the one who had the eye for colors. You were the one who could tell the miniature differences between scarlet and plain red. I wish you were here with me.”
Mary was six years her senior and a lady’s maid to the daughter of Viscountess Ogbent. A lifetime ago, Rosaline had believed that her sister was making strides in the Ogbent house, but that notion shatter when her sister was suddenly sent to prison. She had died a short three days after. Just thinking of her sister induced a recurrent throb of pain in her heart.
To this day, Rosaline had not been given the reason for her sister’s sentence. What hurt the most was, at the tender age of two-and-ten, she wasn’t even offered a chance to say goodbye at the burying of the body.
No parson had prayed over her and no mortician had examined the body. Her sister had been unceremoniously boxed up in a plain casket and dumped in a shallow grave that had no marker to tell where she was buried. It was cold comfort that she hadn’t been thrown in the massive pit like the majority of all criminals and paupers.
Miss Rosaline Hall,
The Dowager Duchess of Horenwall formally requests that you avail yourself for a meeting at the manor by eleven o’clock on the morrow.
What was the message behind the Dowager’s note? Instead of returning to the chair, Rosaline went to the modest bedroom of the small cottage she had been given on the grounds of the Horenwall Manor and found a robe to wrap around herself. The evenings were chilly even though it was nearing summer.
Returning to the window, she looked toward the direction of the manor and was able to smile through her worry. She remembered the day she had been afforded the position of a seamstress to the Kinsley family.
Almost four months ago, she was coming to the end of her apprenticeship with Mrs. Caddell, a seamstress in the town of Hampton, and had her first experience with the Duchess. The memory was still fresh in her mind.
“Miss Hall,” Mrs. Caddell called as her portly form bustled into the room. In her arms were bolts of cloth that nearly eclipsed the woman’s face. Rosaline dropped her stitching and went to relieve the older woman, and achieved a soft sigh of reprieve from the other when she had.
“Mrs. Caddell,” Rosaline admonished, “you should have called me for help, you do know that the physician has insisted that you stay off your feet. Your knees are still weak.”
Despite her teacher’s gentle nature, Mrs. Caddell had a glare that could cut glass. “Miss Hall, if I had listened to the physician years ago, I wouldn’t have birthed my son or allowed my husband, God rest his soul, to suffer through his days without any herbal tinctures to ease his pain. This is nothing.”
“Please, sit and rest,” Rosaline beseeched her senior while doing away with the bolts of cloth. She then went back to her stitching while ignoring the lady’s piercing gaze in the middle of her back. Rosaline knew exactly what was ru
nning through Mrs. Caddell’s mind as the same thought was possessing hers—the upcoming visit from the Dowager Duchess of Horenwall.
At nine-and-ten, edging close to the age of twenty, a very decisive age for a young woman, Rosaline had chosen to perfect her craft of dressmaking, instead of acquiring a husband. Her decision had earned shaken heads and dismissive looks from many, but Rosaline felt that even if she did try to find a husband, her past would make her journey long and arduous. There were not many men who would marry an orphan.
“Miss Hall, are you prepared for this evening?”
Pausing in her work, Rosaline admitted the truth, “I am not, as I cannot speculate what had caused Her Grace to visit me…forgive me, I mean us.”
“I believe you do know, but I will leave you be,” Mrs. Caddell added.
Turning her face away to hide her flush, Rosaline concentrated on the needlepoint in the detachable sleeves Lady Greene had commissioned Mrs. Caddell to make. She was dressed in her best, the humble shop had been cleaned from top to bottom and Mrs. Caddell had refreshments fit for the lady waiting in the kitchen behind them. They consisted of tiny sandwiches, cookies, scones, a jar of expensive tea leaves, and a teapot filled with water that was kept warm over coals.
“I agree, Mrs. Caddell,” Rosaline said with her head still down.
She remembered that week of long days and even longer nights with her head down, pricked fingers and a spool of silk thread but in the end, her efforts had garnered acclaim she didn’t know could be given to her.
The morning had passed and as the afternoon drew near, Rosaline felt her anxiety rise. Why was the Duchess coming to them when, by a simple summons, they could have gone to her? Wasn’t that the way of the rich and privileged?
The questions kept running though Rosaline’s mind even as the crunch of a carriage’s wheels sounded in the air. Instantly, the young woman’s unease tripled in force.
Standing, Rosaline and Mrs. Caddell stepped outside to greet the lady. In the soft afternoon light, Rosaline waited with bated breath while a footman laid down the mounting block and opened the door.
A grasp of a thin but graceful hand led to the appearance of a lady, clad in a thin traveling cloak and a simple but elegant bonnet. With one look at the lady, her thin face, cutting blue eyes and frown lines in her cheeks, Rosaline felt that her life was going to change, but in which way she couldn’t possibly speculate.
“Ah, Mrs. Caddell, Miss Hall, good day,” the Duchess’ voice was calm and measured, but Rosaline’s worry did not dissipate.
“Welcome, Your Grace,” she and Mrs. Caddell greeted with deep curtsies.
“Thank you for honoring us with your presence, Your Grace,” Mrs. Caddell tacked on. “Please, come into our humble home.”
Inside the cottage, Rosaline felt the Dowager’s blue eyes on her but did not shy away.
“May I interest you in a cup of tea, Your Grace?” Mrs. Caddell offered as the three sat.
“I would be delighted,” the older woman returned with the measured tones that only aristocrats could master.
“And would you care for weak tea or strong tea?”
“Weak, please.”
Without being asked, Rosaline went to fetch the kettle and arrived with the pot to allow Mrs. Caddell to add the leaves.
A polite conversation ensued amongst the three while the knots were slowly twisting themselves into an already-tight rope in Rosaline’s gut. She could barely sip her tea for the throbbing inside her chest and when she did, she did not even taste the milk or the sugar.
“Miss Hall,” The Dowager Duchess said while gently laying down her cup, “Let me answer your unspoken questions. I imagine that you were thinking it would be much easier if you would have come to me, but I came to you instead. My son keeps beseeching me to venture out of the manor, and this quaint carriage ride through the countryside to your home will silence him for at least a month. Secondly, Miss Hall, I have seen your work on Lady Balfour’s ballgown and it is marvelous. I have never seen such delicate work in many years. It was as if a garden of white roses had stitched themselves into the neckline and hem of her dress. You have a prodigious talent, and I must also extend my praises to Mrs. Caddell who has trained you in such a wonderful manner. Miss Hall, I would like for you to be a part of my household, as we are now dearly in need of someone with your talent.”
The offer was one that she did not dare refuse. Thus, after three days of preparation, and a teary goodbye to Mrs. Caddell, Rosaline had boarded the carriage sent by the Duchess and had embraced her new life.
Now at twenty, Rosaline felt her affections go out to Mrs. Caddell who she owed her current position to and whom she never failed to visit every Sunday.
It was getting darker, but she did not move from the window. The song of cicadas and the soft hoots of the owls serenaded her as she stood there. The moon above shone with a ring of silver tinsel shining in the dark sky. The stars were starting to glitter, and Rosaline knew there was not much she could do to belay her fears but pray and hope for the best.
Miss Rosaline Hall,
The Dowager Duchess of Horenwall formally requests that you avail yourself for a meeting at the manor by eleven o’clock on the morrow.
Resolute, Rosaline closed the window and prepared for bed as she valiantly tried to banish her worry—but she still slept with unease.
What does Her Grace want with me this time?
Chapter 1
The graceful arches of the Horenwall manor, built in true Baroque style, instantly intimidated Rosaline as she arrived for her appointment with the Duchess. For a house that had been built one-and-a-half centuries prior, the young woman could only conjecture what the walls of the domicile had seen.
Marriages, deaths, arguments, separations? Love, hate, anger, spite?
Its left and right wings were shaped in a semi-circle to enclose the entrance courtyard and the circular driveway. Glancing up, Rosaline noted that the ochre stonework of the buildings that towered over her held a series of crown moldings that were carved with remarkable mastery.
Nervously, Rosaline clutched her cloak a bit tighter as she walked towards the entrance. It was the third part of her best suit, underneath was her most precious blue muslin dress and her head was covered with a bonnet that sported a matching blue ribbon.
The footman standing there dressed somberly in his dark livery, bowed to her, “Miss Hall, welcome. I have been notified of your arrival, please come with me.”
Swallowing around the lump in her throat, Rosaline nodded, “Thank you, sir, and good morning to you.”
Entering the foyer through the hooded door, Rosaline wondered if she was entering a cathedral. The space was large and encompassing, the walls were intricately wood paneled, and the windows were made in a chunky sash style. The heavily-detailed cornices on the columns and the detailed scrollwork on the walls only proved the wealth this family had at the creation of the house.
This room is larger than my entire cottage.
“Miss Hall,” the footman gestured to a black-clad maid who was now at his side, “This is Miss Keats, Her Grace’s lady’s maid. She will show you to Her Grace’s drawing room.”
Rosaline noticed the maid’s soft oval face and cap covering her hair. But what she especially noticed was the gentle green of her eyes.
“Welcome, Miss Hall, please follow me. Her Grace is expecting you,” said she.
“Thank you, Miss Keats.”
They took the imperial staircase to a parting that led to the first floor. Rosaline stopped herself from running her fingers over the glowing wooden handrail; her touch might sully the wood. They approached a carpeted hallway that led them past three closed doors and came upon the one at the end that was halfway open.
Miss Keats knocked, “Miss Hall is here, Your Grace.”
“Please, come in.” It was the same mild but commanding tone that Rosaline remembered of the Duchess.
Here was a lady dressed in matronly dark maroon an
d sitting on a chaise lounge in a queenly posture and they both curtsied.
Rosaline could once again feel the lady’s cutting eyes on her but did not dare look up.
Cowardice, thy name is Rosaline.