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

by Emma Linfield

  It did not matter that she loved Norman more than she remembered loving anyone else. It did not matter that his smile and delighted eyes made her soul soar. It did not matter that his touch warmed her and with his kisses she felt his soul connect with hers. It did not matter how delighted she was when he said her name.

  Nothing mattered anymore… because she had given it up. She had done it for the right reasons, but why did she feel so wretched?

  The first thing Norman did after entering the house that evening was to look at the large grandfather clock in the foyer. It was four o’clock which meant in the next eighteen hours or so he was going to be married and he felt cold.

  “Your Grace,” Mr. Colden said as he walked, “Mr. Dodge is here, and I have directed him to your study. He says he has an important report for you.”

  The only report he has outstanding is the one on the Ogbents. Finally! “I will be there in a moment Colden, thank you for sending him up.”

  With hurried steps he arrived at the study and greeted his steward, with his heart hammering in his throat. “Mr. Dodge, please tell me you have a report on the Ogbents.”

  “I have, Your Grace,” the man bowed and handed over a thick file, “The investigator did what was asked…”

  Taking the file, Norman’s brows contracted, “And what, Mr. Dodge?”

  “He found a situation that was not declared at first,” the steward added. “Most of the territory’s assets like the wheat fields and fruit orchards are as declared but apparently, the territory’s major asset in the mining of coal but a few years ago, the mines went dry, and while not having the means to pay the miners, he sold them to the Earl of Ambridge. The Earl invested in it, and soon enough a rich vein of coal was found. Unfortunately, all the produce goes to the Earl and the price he paid for the land has now doubled or even tripled in value. The Ogbents are losing thousands of pounds every year, while their land is mined out and they reap nothing from it.”

  While his steward was speaking, Norman ran an analytical eye over the report given to him. Ogbent had been speaking the truth for most of it but had conveniently not mentioned this major upset. The coal mines were producing much more than what was given to the family as payment and Norman realized that Ogbent wanted his investment to buy back the fields and nothing was wrong with that.

  Business transactions like these happened so frequently it became normal. It was only common sense to get rid of an invaluable asset but the rub came when that asset turned out to be profitable after all. What irked him was why Ogbent had not told him this in the first place. Was the man hoping to let it slide past him, and then when all was said and done, never mention it?

  Norman hated to be deceived and he hated deceivers, even more, when they dared to dine with him at his table and smile in his face. Good God, what was so troubling that he could not mention something as simple as this?

  “Is that all, Mr. Dodge?”

  “It is the most troubling one, Your Grace,” the steward added.

  The Duke’s eyebrow arched, “The most troubling one? Are you implying there is more?”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” Mr. Dodge replied, “Apparently, the investors they do get, do not stay long. I cannot tell if it is a money mismanagement issue or if the product advertised was made to be more than it really was. It may even be both. From what I was told, there was an investment opportunity to mine precious gems, but the only thing found was little clumps of quartz, not even fit to make a brooch.”

  “And he had to repay them,” Norman intuitively realized, “An act which diminished his position and tarnished his reputation.”

  “Yes, Your Grace. There is much more too, as in Miss Fawcett’s age and her history.”

  Her history? What could be so troubling in her history?

  “Wonderful work.”

  “Good day, Your Grace,” the steward bowed.

  “Let me see you out,” Norman offered.

  They left the room and while Norman was shaking Mr. Dodge’s hand, through the corner his eye he spotted the Viscount and Rosaline in adjacent corridor. They seemed to be having a civil conversation but it turned rather quickly.

  Seeing the Viscount touching his Rosaline, talking to her, and Devil take it, caressing her arm, his possessiveness had reached its peak. He had already made up his mind to break the engagement in the morning, but he had to deal with this now.

  “Lord Ogbent,” he greeted, “Good evening to you. If you don’t mind, may I have a word with Miss Hall?”

  “Not at all,” said he. “Good evening to both of you.”

  “My study, Miss Hall,” he said curtly.

  With clipped steps, he took the stairs and strode the room with Rosaline following him. There, he held the door out for her and closed it as he stepped in after her.

  “Do you mind telling me what was that I just witnessed between you and Ogbent?”

  She looked appalled, “It was nothing. He was apologizing for his overstep the other day. Why, is it a problem?”

  “Of course, it is,” Norman replied testily, “that man might be a bumbling idiot at many situations, but by the lies he has told in his asset declaration and the many he had conned into investing with him, he can charm the scales off a snake. Please tell me, has he approached you with anything else?”

  She swallowed, “Once, in the library, he asked me to go to his home so he can take care of me…. I refused him knowing what he had done with Mary, and besides I could never live in the same house with the woman he calls his wife.”

  “I am happy to hear that. I do not want you away from me Rosaline, I already told you…” he gently rested his hands on her arms, “I love you.”

  “That is hard to believe when Miss Fawcett is carrying your child.”

  Norman felt like he had received a deathly blow to his head and his ears were ringing like church bells. His hand tightened on her shoulders so strongly she winced, “Pardon me? What did you say?”

  “Please, let go, you’re hurting me,” she winced.

  Instantly, his hands dropped to the side and made tight fists. “What did you say? Miss Fawcett is with child?”

  “And she says it is yours,” Rosaline added with her cheeks tinged red. “I just finished her last fitting and I saw her stomach. She told me that you two had congress and I…I lost all hope.”

  “Is a lie,” Norman said and grasped her arms once more. “Listen to me, Rosaline, look into my eyes; they are the windows to the soul, and you will see if I am lying. I never had congress with Miss Fawcett. All this time I had been distancing myself from her as I knew—I knew—something was not right. Now I know why she almost fainted when I prolonged the marriage and why Lord Ogbent begged me to lessen it. It all makes sense now. All of it!”

  The fire that suddenly blazed into his soul was mirrored by his glittering eyes. “By God! The report on her history!”

  “I’m sorry?” Rosaline said while Norman rushed over to the file on his desk. There he paged though it and when his eyes lit up a certain passage, his blood dropped to his feet. What he was reading asked him to wonder if there was a superlative form of the word scandalous because there had to be one based on what he was reading.

  “Your Grace?”

  “Come with me, Rosaline.” Norman said stonily, “I have planned to do this in the morning, but you just gave the last nail to their coffins.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He grasped her arms, “Do you trust me?”

  Why is he asking me this now?

  Numbly, she nodded.

  “Good,” Opening a drawer he took out a file and then headed towards the door. Cold ripples of premonition were running all over Rosaline’s skin as she hurried behind him.

  “Your Grace, what—” her voice had not even met the Duke’s ears as he was halfway down the stairs.

  “Mr. Colden,” Norman said, “have my Mother and Lady Ogbent arrive yet?”

  “Yes, Your Grace, and they have retired to the sitting room for an in
formal supper. I believe Miss Fawcett joined them also.”

  “Wonderful,” he said, “Send for Lord Ogbent to meet us there. Miss Hall, please come with me.”

  Fear—unmitigated, soul-decimating fear—was what Rosaline felt as she and the Duke approached the sitting room. With each step, the emotion got stronger and she did not even have time to stop at the door as the Duke blasted through it like a primal storm.

  “Norman!” the Duchess’ voice was castigating, “Where are your manners?”

  “Mother, I think you should be asking Miss Fawcett and Lady Ogbent, that very question. But I’ll ask it for you. Miss Fawcett, you are with child and I would like to know, why are you naming me as the father?”

  An ungodly shriek came from Miss Fawcett. “That is a lie! It is all lies!”

  “I do not think so,” the Duke retaliated.

  The Duchess cleared her throat, “Norman, may I ask, how do you know this?”

  “Miss Hall told me,” Norman declared.

  “Of course, she would,” Lady Ogbent sneered, “because she is just like that no-good sister of her. That’s right, Miss Hall. Whenever Mary was mentioned, you took a strange interest in her. Based on that I ran a search on you, and I know that you are that wrench Mary Hall’s sister. And just like her, you are nothing but a dirty, disgusting schemer trying to climb the social ladder.”

  “What is this about Mary?” Lord Ogbent demanded from the doorway. “And what is this about Miss Hall being her sister?”

  “I am her sister, My Lord,” Rosaline added meekly

  “See,” Lady Ogbent sniffed, “the wretch admits it. The both of you Hall women are nothing but money-grubbers. Richard, this wretch is trying to accuse poor sweet Isabella of fornication.”

  “If you protest,” the Duke said, “I can summon a doctor in the hour and then we will all know the truth!”

  Lady Ogbent deflated like a popped hot-air balloon and she sank to her seat with a sheen of sick white on her face.

  “What, no retort, Madam?” Norman taunted. With no reply from her, he handed off his file to his Mother, “Mother, I have been questioning this sudden arrangement from the moment you approached me with it, and I have the answer. The Ogbents have been lying to us from the moment they got here. About everything, Miss Fawcett is not two-and-twenty, she is five-and-twenty, and thank you Ogbent for that slip of the tongue that night in my study. Their assets are drying out, they have little money, their name is in the dirt with every bank and Miss Fawcett is now revealed to be carrying the child of another man.”

  Norman turned to the two ladies sitting on the chaise, “I had wondered why you slept half of the day, but decided you were just raised that way. Then I wondered why the housekeeper had sent requests to my desk for special teas and sugary treats, and then I was mystified about why you would not wait a few more weeks to get married. You were afraid of showing and then you were planning to pass this child off as mine, weren’t you?”

  “Your Grace—” Miss Fawcett timidly began but was cut off.

  “You will not speak until I am done,” Norman ordered, “You have kept up a convincing charade, Miss Fawcett, but the truth comes out eventually. You have hidden an ugly, hateful, self-centered soul behind a curtain, and portrayed a humble, meek, innocent picture to those who were foolish enough to believe it. Does the name Lord Bakersville, sound familiar to you?”

  Miss Fawcett went sickly white.

  “I thought so, and you Lady Ogbent,” the Duke addressed, “I have seen you belittle and trample upon those who you deem not worthy of your attention, most of all Lord Ogbent your own husband. If this is the conceit you trained your daughter with to treat her husband with, then she will never marry any man, especially me. You three came with an agenda to trick, deceive and wile your way into a family with morals and values while you had none.”

  “Horenwall—” Lord Ogbent interrupted, “Please, your anger is not deserved.”

  “Isn’t it?” Duke Horenwall said with deceptive calmness, “Will you tell me the true reason why Mary Hall, yes, I know of her, that she was Miss Fawcett’s maid, and that she was sent to prison, but I doubt your affair merited death when dismissal was an option.”

  The man blanched, “It was a long time ago.”

  “Not in the eyes of the law,” Norman replied, “During his reign, His Majesty, King Henry the Eight ruled, that a man can be convicted of murder during at any distance of time within his life, barring, of course, nullum tempus occurrit regi, which means, time does not run against the King. Are you sure about that, Ogbent?”

  “It was not murder,” the Viscount said weakly. “No one put a hand on her. She died of consumption.”

  “For God’s sake, if Mary Hall was known to have a weak disposition and she was sent to a place where she was bound to die, it is murder by malice aforethought. The definition of murder is, death of a man slain by await, assault, or malice prepensed, which means, if she was known to be sickly, and still sent off, she was sent to her death.” The Duke snapped.

  Rosaline’s back was on the door as she was trembling, but not in fright, in wonder. The Duke was defending Mary…a woman he did not even know! What the heart of his made of—gold?

  “Tell me now, Ogbent, how did Mary die?” the Duke said, “Note though, if I find a shred of proof that she was sent to her death willingly, I will get the Chief Justice to send you to prison.”

  No one uttered a word and the silence was eating at Rosaline’s skin.

  “She was sent to prison for stealing my diamond necklace, and I caught her. I did not know she was frail,” Lady Ogbent spoke up. “No one knew.”

  “Mary was no thief!” Rosaline heard herself say even before she recognized what she was saying. “I refuse to believe that.”

  Lady Ogbent stuck her chin out, “It is the truth.”

  “Is it?” the Duke asked dryly, “Because your definition of truth has been blurred around the edges.”

  “It is.”

  “No…it is not,” Lord Ogebent sighed. “Give up Amanda, our web or lies has already been detangled. The truth, Horenwall, is that after my failed attempt to seduce Mary, yes, I failed because she rejected me on the grounds of morality and common sense, Amanda put the necklace in her bag and then accused her of stealing it.”

  Rosaline felt her blood run cold and her body was frozen where she stood. Had she heard that right? Had Mary been framed? When it did sink in, all her emotions bubbled to the boiling point and she screamed, “You sent my sister to her death for nothing! For nothing! You monster!”

  “Rosaline!” the Duke called in alarm, but she had spun on her feet and was out the door. She did not stop until she blasted into the cold air of the garden with tears running a river down her chin. Her chest was quivering, and her breath was so shallow, she did not even feel like she was breathing.

  Her hands grabbed at her chest that felt like it was about to break in half and her mind was a cloud of agony. This was worse than she had thought. Mary had been sent to her death over jealousy. What person with a shred of compassion would have done such a thing?

  Mary’s death had been underserved—the man had said that he had failed attempt to seduce Mary. He had failed! It was cold comfort that Mary had been righteous in her doings but the outcome had still merited her death.

  “Rosaline…” her body was enveloped with the Duke’s warmth and he slowly rocked her, “…I am so sorry.”

  Pressed against his chest she shuddered, “She died for nothing… nothing. My sister’s death was for naught!”

  “In many ways yes,” he said in her ear, “but her death brought you to me, Rosaline, and I love you. I promise you this scandal will not die down, Miss Fawcett’s shame will be apparent soon, but I will not stop there. They will be ruined. The truth about Mary’s death will pain now and it will hurt for a long time, yes, but most of the pain will slowly fade, and happiness will take its place.”

  “When?” she whispered as she could only see long,
and very bleak days ahead, “When will that be?”

  He gently prodded her to look at him, and softly kissed her tear-marked cheeks, “When you become my wife.”

  Epilogue

  From the place on a balcony above the driveway, Rosaline silently noted that the same golden cape Miss Fawcett had worn during her glorious arrival was the same one she donned during her disgraceful departure.

  It was a day and a half after the spate of shocking revelations in the sitting room and the Ogbents were being sent home in shame. The carriage was loaded with their trunks and their driver sat in his place with his cap pulled over his eyes.