The Sullen Seamstress of Horenwall Manor: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Emma Linfield

  But knowing Rosaline, she probably would not say a word. You are still treading on thin ice, Ogbent.

  “It will not happen again,” Lord Ogbent said. “I must apologize to her.”

  “No, it will not happen again,” Norman said stiffly, “and I will relay your apology to her. Good night, Ogbent.”

  Still bristling with fury, Norman went to his quarters and went directly to the supply of wine. When he did choose to retire, sleep did not come to him easily that night as he turned on his bed.

  How can I make this right?

  Rosaline had quaked in fear while leaving her room the next morning. Had Lord Ogbent told the Duke? Even worse, had he said something to his wife? If he had, she knew she would be out in the street the moment the Duchess knew about it.

  All last night she had cried in terror. Was it not enough for the man to destroy Mary’s life like that? Did he have to do it to her too? Had he no conscience?

  Breakfast had taken a toll on her nerves as she jumped with every loud noise and could only stomach milk tea and half a roll. The cook had asked her if she was feeling well, and Rosaline brushed it off with a fake smile and a platitude.

  “Thank God, she’s gone fer the day,” Tilly’s voice huffed, “she and her mama.”

  She as in Miss Fawcett…and Lady Ogbent?

  “Do you mean Miss Fawcett, Tilly?” Rosaline asked with hope tightening around her chest.

  The maid nodded, “Yes, Miss Hall, for the whole day I was told.”

  Rosaline wanted to ask where but bit the question back.

  “And her papa too,” Tilly added, “From early this mornin’ I reckon.”

  God must have seen her tears and worry from last night to give her such a wonderful blessing. Her anxiety eased somewhat but it was not gone fully. “That is fortunate.”

  What could she do with all this time?

  She gravitated to her room and softly closed the door behind her. At her escritoire she took out the books the Duke had given her and cracked the last one, the only one she had not read, open. But her peace was soon interrupted.

  Answering the knock on the door she saw Miss Keats. “Miss Keats, how may I help you?”

  “His Grace has requested you to the workroom Miss Hall,” she said, “apparently, his fitting for his wedding waistcoat is overdue.”

  Her heart sank to her feet but her face did not show her dismay, “Thank you for telling me, I’ll be there in a moment.”

  The lady maid dipped her head and with a smile walked off. Rosaline mechanically closed the book and tried to bury her anxiety. The Duke must know about her encounter with Lord Ogbent by now and that scared her. was he going to ask her to tell him her side of the story?

  Knowing that she was delaying the inevitable, Rosaline left and went to the workroom to see the Duke sitting with one hip braced on a table. “Please, close the door.”

  Silently, she did so, “Are you now decided on the fitting, Your Grace?”

  He frowned, “Surely you know that was a ruse to get you to come here?”

  “I think not,” Rosaline replied, “I think Miss Fawcett finally broke through your shell. You truly want to marry her.”

  Noman’s eyes were burning with a fever pitch a hand breath away from hers. “No, I do not. I love you, Rosaline.”

  Her soul shriveled in on itself when she spoke the next words. She hated lies, and she hated lying to herself but this was the best way. The Duke had a child coming, and he needed to be with his family. “…But I do not.”

  The stricken look on his face sent an iron band to constrict her heart. She could feel his pain, and though she felt like someone had run hers through with a sword, this had to be the best way.

  “You do not mean that,” the Duke replied.

  She straightened her shoulders and solidified her resolution, “Yes, I do.”

  The blue eyes digging into her shifted from confusion, to pain, and the lastly to desperation. “Please, do not do this.”

  “I am only doing what it right,” Rosaline replied, “You have to understand.”

  “Rosaline,” said he, “What do you need me to do to prove that I love you? Do you want me to walk into a lion’s den? Would you like if I gave my riches to the poor? Offer my head on the chopping block? What do you need to me to do?”

  She stepped away from his earnest eyes as she knew he was ready to do everything he had said. Perhaps the Duchess was right, the power she had over him scared her but it could be used for good. “I need you to fulfill your commitment to your mother and your fiancée.”

  Her words sounded like a death knell, the Duke’s lips thinned and he stepped away, “…If that is what you truly want.”

  No, it is not, but it is the right thing...isn’t it?

  “Should we begin the measurements now?” she asked in the awkward silence.

  “I will have my tailor send over my measurements,” the Duke said tonelessly. “It will make it easier for you.”

  When he was at the door, he looked over his shoulder, “This is not the end Rosaline, I may have failed more than once, but I need you to have some faith in me.”

  With that, he was gone.

  Chapter 26

  “Norman?”

  The Duchess entered the room, “Why are you still here? Miss Fawcett is waiting on you for your outing.”

  “Business called, Mother,” Norman casually answered and opened a drawer to drop the file in. Unfortunately, it was the same drawer that had the box where the jade comb rested, and his mother’s eyes lit upon it.

  “What is that?”

  Grinding his teeth, Norman said, “A gift, Mother, one that I have been waiting to give for a while.”

  “Let me see?” she prodded.

  Reluctantly, Norman plucked out the box and opened it to bare the glimmering jade comb. “I found it in an Oriental shop when I went to London a few days ago.”

  The Duchess’ eyes lit up, “It is beautiful Norman, I am sure Miss Fawcett will love it.”

  Miss Fawcett, of course, she thinks it is for Miss Fawcett.

  “Why don’t you give it to her now?”

  Norman knew the perfect answer, “Because it is a wedding gift, Mother and as you see I am not wed now.”

  “Only because of your stubbornness, Norman,” the Duchess chided, “The wedding could have been done days ago, but you postponed it.”

  “For good reasons,” he said while replacing the box and dropping the file over it. Closing the drawer, he stood, “Do you know where Miss Hall is at the present? Miss Fawcett is insisting on that matching vest.”

  “I cannot tell you, but she can be found,” the matron delicately shrugged as they left the study, “From what I know, she visits Miss Moore frequently.”

  At the end of the staircase, where Norman had expected his mother to accompany him to the sitting room, she told him she was going to the churchyard.

  “I have not visited your father, Zachariah, in months,” she sighed heavily, “I think it’s only right to tell him that his son is getting married soon.”

  It was three days to the wedding, and Norman was getting tenser with every moment that passed. Mr. Dodge was working on the report but every moment that passed without it in his hands felt tortuous.

  Norman doubted the logic behind telling a dead man anything but did not argue with his mother. He reasoned that maybe it was a comfort to her as love did not die with the one who was loved. Kissing her on her cheek, he wished her safe travels.

  Approaching the sitting room Norman was a few feet away from the entrance when he heard an icy voice, “Is the cook an imbecile? Why are these cucumbers so thick? There is hardly any butter on this bread, the seedcake biscuits taste stale and the icing on this fairy cake is mush! The tea leaves are weak, and cream is spoiled. Is this how you treat your future Duchess?? Who do you think I am, a peasant? I will get rid of the lot of you! Now refresh my tray with decent food.”

  “Yes, My Lady,” a maid’s voice quivered.
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  Then he remembered, “She’s a bit hateful too,” Rosaline muttered so quietly.

  Norman stopped the maid as she came out and reassured her that her position was secure before sending her off. Stepping inside the room he pretended to not notice how the entitled lady’s scowl suddenly turned sweet.

  This is when she will know exactly what a true Duchess’ life is about.

  “Aren’t you happy that Horenwall has agreed to change the date?” Richard Ogbent asked his wife.

  Amanda’s eyes narrowed, “Do you expect me to be jumping for joy that you finally did something right?”

  The man’s sigh was heavy and marked with years of fatigue, “Amanda, I may not be the perfect husband, but you are not the easiest person to live with either.”

  The Viscountess spun on her heel and advanced on him like a shark in bloody waters, “Me? Was I the one who fell in love with a servant girl while I had my perfectly-available wife in the same house? Was I the one who ignored such wife to pander all my attention on a maid? Was I the one who got caught kissing such maid?”

  “For God’s sake Amanda, Mary rejected me,” the Viscount snapped. “Yes, I made the mistake of trying to find some comfort with her, and I admit it. She was a lovely girl but that did not stop you from destroying her, did it?”

  “She was a threat and I did what any mother would do, I got rid of her,” Amanda returned just as heatedly, “Do you think I was going to let some pauper take my place?”

  “She was never going to take your place,” Richard argued, “but you could have simply dismissed her. Instead, you put your mother’s diamond necklace in her bag and then accused her of thievery. You sent her to jail where she died, Amanda, for nothing!”

  “Keep your voice down!” Amanda hissed while looking widely around.

  “For what?” Richard said bitterly, “It is not as if anyone knows. Your crime has gone scot free.”

  The Viscountess was tempted to tell him he was wrong, that someone else probably did know, but she did not. She hated her husband for making her feel unattractive, unwanted and unappreciated, so her response was to make him feel hated and worthless.

  “At least you got Isabella her dream husband, and she is out now knowing what it is to be a Duchess,” Amanda sneered, “Make that your solace.”

  Norman was amused. Utterly, inexplicably amused. If Miss Fawcett shied away from one more person with that look of horror on her face, his composure was in danger of shattering and he would soon be laughing out loud.

  A day ago, after overhearing her say that she was the future duchess, he had decided to test her by taking her to meet his people. And by people, he meant the tenants of this particular farming community that raised goats and pigs for a living. These people were washerwomen and street cleaners, corn planters and wheat reapers. These were tenants who bathed by river and rainwater, and who wore faded clothes and worn out shoes, but they were also tenants with big hearts.

  It was unheard of for a duke to be visiting his tenants so casually. Even for evictions, it was the steward who attended to those issues. For him to come there was akin to a king slumming with peasants, but he had to teach Miss Fawcett a lesson, and that lesson was that he did not live or work only for himself. Instead, it was his charge to look after these people and a Duchess did the same.

  Duchess Eleanor, who had accompanied them and was now speaking with the male tutor in the other building, had spent years lobbying for girls to be in the same school as boys, and to learn how to read and write. When they had grown out of grammar school, she had even sent some to learn with cooks, seamstress, weavers, some even went on to be governesses.

  So, to keep her sensibilities somewhat in place, Norman had arranged for them to visit the local schoolroom instead of the farm ground. He needed to see if Miss Fawcett had the drive to look out for those who were not her own.

  “Pleased ta’ meet ye, My Lady,” a girl, daughter of a shopkeeper who was not more than twelve, curtsied awkwardly. “That’s a vera pretty dress you have on.”

  The stricken look on the pampered young lady’s face severely tempted Norman’s self-control. Did she not know how to take a compliment, as spoiled as she was?

  “Thank you,” Miss Fawcett said warily, “It’s from France.”

  “Can ye speak French Milady?” another girl with a riot of freckles across her nose piped up.

  “I can,” Miss Fawcett said, “I started learning French when I was six years old.”

  “I’d like ta’ learn French,” a brown-haired girl with pigtails spoke, “Ma says it’s the language of kings an’ queens.”

  “It is,” Miss Fawcett replied as her wide-eyed, ‘fish-out-of-water’ look grew stronger with every passing moment, “and I’m sure some of you will learn it.”

  “How?” the one with pigtails asked dourly, “Ma says you have to get people to teach it to you an’ they cost a lot.”

  The wooden schoolroom rang with the silence, and Miss Fawcett looked thrown out of her depth. Mercifully, Norman stepped in, “I’ll seek a teacher for you from London, and she will teach all of you, at least twice a week.”

  “That is very generous of you, Your Grace,” the schoolmistress smiled at the nearly unheard-of act of charity, “Class, say thank you to His Grace.”

  Amid the cries of gratification, Norman bade his goodbyes and he and Miss Fawcett entered the nearby carriage. The look of relief was palpable on her face.

  Meeting the children was not the real test as anyone who had led a sheltered life as she had would have floundered. The real test had yet to come. He waited until she had calmed down before asking, “The children were impressed with you today, will you be willing to return tomorrow?”

  She tossed her head and sniffed arrogantly, “No, thank you, once was enough. I must wash my hands when we get home; that place was mired in filth.” When she realized the scornful words she had spoken, she tacked with a blush, “My delicate disposition you see. I get ill easily.”

  “Of course, you do,” Norman mused. Your masks are falling, Miss Fawcett.

  Spying out the window he spotted the Duchess approaching. School had just let out and the girls were out in the yard. Norman smiled when she stopped and spoke gently with the girls and even wiped a smudge from one’s cheek. An unpretentious, loving and caring woman was what he needed to be beside him. And there was only one person who fit that category—Rosaline.

  Sadly, she was gone from him.

  Twenty-four hours and counting down. Norman had arrived in his room to see his newly-crafted waistcoat of glittering gold on his bed and fleetingly wondered how much better it would glimmer inside his firepit.

  Fingering the piece of clothing, Norman could not see a single stitch with how fine and precise the needlepoints were. Rosaline must had slaved over this waistcoat for hours on end to make it so perfect. He turned in inside out and saw the lining of pale ivory with his family crest in the back done in gold thread.

  That too was so detailed and delicate that it pained him to see the lengths she had gone to make it so wonderful. His insides grew numb as the hours sped by. In less than a day he was going to be married to Miss Fawcett. Unless Mr. Dodge worked a miracle and gave him all the information he needed, it was going to be a hard sell to turn the Ogbents away on the little information he had.

  “Your Grace?” Mr. Dunn said, “You’ve summoned me?”

  “I have a magistrate obligation today,” Norman replied, “Get the particulars ready.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  Dropping the vest back on the bed, Norman decided to ignore it until the hour of his nuptials dawned. He had not seen Rosaline since that day in the workroom, and he had a feeling that she did want to see him either. With every slipping moment he felt she was moving farther and farther away, and he could not have that.

  It worst came to worst, he would just stop the wedding. His mother would be furious, and so would the Ogbents, but this was his life, and he answered to no one but himsel
f and God.

  “Your bathwater is ready Your Grace.”

  Turning away, he hoped time would be on his side.

  Rosaline had evaded the Duke, the Duchess and the Ogbents for days, but the one person she could not evade was herself.

  Every morning from the day she had lied to the Duke about her real emotions for him, she felt like she was dying inside. Her lie had been despicable, but it was necessary. The Duke had a family to honor and a wife to wed. Who was she to stop that?