by Isabel Morin
NO OTHER LOVE
ISABEL MORIN
Copyright 2012 by Isabel Morin
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
My never-ending thanks to Abby Strom, whose support, advice and willingness to read draft after draft of this manuscript were never-ending. My thanks to Caroline Tolley, Katy Wight and Alexandra Mandzak for their crucial editorial help.
To my husband Michael, for coming along and inspiring me to finish this story.
Chapter One
May 28, 1841
The white three-story house sat gracefully atop a gentle rise, looking every bit the country seat of a wealthy Bostonian with its stable and carriage house, its pond and scattered trees. It was exactly what Rose had expected, yet dread filled her as she stood at the end of the long drive, facing Cider Hill for the first time.
For several long minutes she couldn’t move. Her heart raced with nerves and she would have given anything to turn around and leave without looking back. But failing her father wasn’t an option, nor could she stand there forever. The only thing to do was go forward.
She smoothed down her skirts and brushed the dust off her shoes. It wouldn’t do to arrive dirty and disheveled from the long walk.
So focused was she on the house before her, she didn’t hear the horse and rider approaching from behind until the thunder of hooves was nearly upon her. She turned around just in time to see a horse rearing above her, its legs flailing only inches from her head. She heard the rider trying to soothe his mount just before he was thrown backwards, landing with a thud on the packed dirt of the drive.
Instantly the horse calmed and returned to all fours, nosing the man as if in apology before wandering over to graze along the edge of the drive.
Horrified, Rose ran to the fallen man, dropping to her knees by his side as he struggled to a sitting position.
“I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t hear…”
The glare leveled at her stopped her cold. Under normal circumstances she would have thought the man quite handsome, but today his curling dark hair, strong cheekbones and firm jaw were no match for her distress.
“What were you doing there?” he asked, grimacing as he tried to stand. “Trying to kill someone?”
This was an ironic accusation given the reason she’d come to Cider Hill, but Rose ignored it. The man had regained his footing and now towered over her, but it was clear from the way he favored his left leg that it was injured.
“Please, let me help you,” she said, moving toward him instinctively, but he shrugged her off, his expression thunderous. Even in his weakened state he exuded power, his broad shoulders and muscled body evidence of his physical vitality.
“I’m perfectly able to walk on my own,” he ground out, taking a step.
Immediately his leg gave out beneath him, sending him down on one knee. His eyes closed, his face tightening with pain.
Rose knelt beside him.
“At least let me help you to the door,” she said, hoping to appeal to his common sense.
He said nothing for a time, and then a curt nod conveyed his acquiescence. Rose grasped his arm and helped him to his feet. When he was upright he draped an arm across her shoulders, the contact shockingly familiar as their bodies pressed together.
Without a word they began their labored way up the many steps leading to the door, Rose nearly staggering under the man’s weight. Why had she not offered to fetch someone – a groom perhaps – to help?
The whole morning was a disaster. Not only had she hurt someone, but her entire plan was in ruins. Had he not arrived, she would have gone to the servants’ entrance without notice from anyone in the family and been promptly assigned her new position. There was no chance now of a quiet entrance. Whether he was family or a guest, there was sure to be a great deal of fuss over him.
At last they struggled up the last step and reached the doorway. The man took his arm from her shoulders and leaned against the doorframe, relieving her of his weight. Rose stood beside him, grateful that her bonnet protected her from any sidelong glares. Without another word to her he reached for the doorknob.
Rose’s knees went weak and her vision dimmed as she tried to catch her breath. The door would open momentarily, and then the plan she had set in motion weeks before would be real. There was no turning back now.
“De fumo in flammam.”
It wasn’t until the man looked at her sharply that she realized she’d spoken the words aloud.
“Out of the smoke and into the flame? Why do you say such a thing?” he asked, his dark eyes intent as he frowned at her.
Fortunately she did not have to answer, for the door was flung open by an older woman in a crisp gray dress and lace cap. Perhaps this was Mrs. Craig, the housekeeper with whom she’d corresponded.
“Good heavens, Master Luke! What’s happened?” the woman asked, rushing to the man’s side. Together she and Rose helped him into a room a few steps down the hall. With a groan of relief he collapsed onto the sofa where he sat, obviously exhausted, while the older woman settled him more comfortably.
“Thank you, Mrs. Craig. That will do.”
“Shall I call Dr. Rhodes?”
Before he could answer, a distinguished-looking man and woman hurried into the room. Though older and stouter, the man was clearly the father of the injured man who now sat on the sofa, his leg propped up on pillows. Rose steeled herself at the realization that she was standing face to face with Jonas Fletcher, President of the Western Railroad Company.
Until that moment she’d been so wrapped up in thoughts of what Jonas Fletcher had done, she hadn’t even considered that there might be others responsible. Now she looked at his son. Could it have been him? Was he capable of murder?
“Are you hurt? What’s happened?” Mr. Fletcher asked, hurrying to his son’s side.
Rose’s chest tightened. As soon as Mr. Fletcher heard what had happened, he would blame her for the accident and she’d be turned away, her one chance over before it had begun.
Luke Fletcher frowned darkly.
“Neither my horse nor I were expecting to find someone standing dead in the middle of the drive. But there she was as we came around the trees. Arturo spooked and, much to my chagrin, I landed in the dirt. I seem to have twisted my ankle.”
“I see,” said Mrs. Fletcher. She wore an elegant, expensive dress and gleaming jewels. An elaborate costume given the country setting. Her gaze dropped deliberately to Rose’s faded blue dress and scuffed boots, her expression full of disdain. She pinned Rose with a cold stare.
“Perhaps you could explain who you are and why you acted so foolishly.”
The young Mr. Fletcher’s mouth tightened and his shoulders tensed at this. Rose was about to reply, but before she could form an answer he spoke again.
“It wasn’t entirely her fault, Charlotte. I was going far too fast as I came into the drive. It was careless of me,” he said, much to Rose’s amazement. “I’m only glad I didn’t hurt Miss…” He turned to look at her, his brow furrowing as if only now realizing he didn’t know her name. “She was kind enough to help me inside.”
Just then a young maid appeared, holding the worn brocade satchel Rose had dropped outside and completely forgotten.
“Charlie’s taken care of Mr. Fletcher’s horse, but he found this,�
� the maid said, placing it on the table before them for all to see.
“Thank you, Lydia,” Jonas Fletcher said. He turned to address Rose. “I take it this is yours?”
Rose forced herself to look at Mr. and Mrs. Fletcher as a servant would – demurely, subserviently – even as the urge to accuse them all filled her. Behind that was the desperate urge to flee the house, so terrified was she of the plan she’d put in motion. A plan she had concocted with a beginning and possible end but very little notion of what would happen in the middle.
But it would have to be enough. Until the Fletchers paid for what they’d done, her own comfort was of little consequence.
Realizing she still wore the straw bonnet that hid her face from view, she untied the bow under her chin and lifted it off. Her hair was a damp mess after the long, hot walk from her friend’s house in Boston, but she was not out to impress anyone with her looks.
“My name is Rose, Rose Stratton,” she said. “I’m here because Mrs. Craig has promised me a position in your household.”
“I see,” said Mrs. Fletcher. “Well, that explains it. I wondered why a girl so poorly turned out would be here.”
Rose bristled at being spoken to so rudely but managed to hold her tongue. Luke Fletcher shot the woman a piercing look, as if taking offense on Rose’s behalf. Perhaps he felt that only he should be able to insult her, or perhaps he was regretting his earlier behavior.
“I didn’t realize you were coming today,” the housekeeper put in.
“I did write,” Rose said. “My letter must have gone astray. I didn’t mean to arrive unannounced.”
Mrs. Craig shook her head. “That’s of no consequence. We can certainly use you, if that’s acceptable to Mrs. Fletcher,” she said.
“Very well. I’ll leave her in your hands, Mrs. Craig,” the mistress replied, already losing interest. “Now if you’ll all excuse me, I have other, more pressing matters to attend to,” she said, exiting with a sweep of her skirts.
How odd that Mrs. Fletcher appeared so little concerned for her son. But then, he had called her by her first name, so they must be some other relation.
Jonas Fletcher turned to Rose.
“My thanks for helping my son,” he said, his smile sincere. “I’m only glad you’re unharmed. Hopefully the rest of your time here will be less eventful. In any case, we’re pleased to have you.”
“Thank you, sir,” Rose replied, surprised that such a powerful man was taking the time to address her. He wasn’t at all the imperious railroad czar she’d expected.
Picking up her bag, she glanced once more at the man sprawled on the sofa, his concerned father standing beside him. He looked back at her with something like curiosity or puzzlement, though why that should be she couldn’t guess. Nor did it matter.
Only her father mattered.
“I’m afraid the only place I have for you is as scullery maid,” Mrs. Craig began. “Normally I would give it to one of the less well-spoken girls and use you for serving and such. However, it was only fair that I let Dottie take the better position, as she’s been with us for over a year now and has earned an advancement.”
“I understand. I’m grateful for whatever you can give me.”
They were sitting at the table in the servants’ hall, a large room situated between the kitchen and laundry room. Mrs. Craig had commandeered a corner of it for use as an office. In front of her were lists and menus and an accounting of household expenses. She wore spectacles as she scanned her notes, but now she took these off and looked directly at Rose.
“Yes, well, Sally is a good judge of character,” she said, referring to the housekeeper who’d referred Rose. “She tells me I won’t be sorry.” Here she paused for a moment, as if choosing her words carefully. “I am curious why a girl of your obvious education needs to work here.”
“My schooling won’t affect my duties, nor make me think myself above them,” Rose replied. “I’ve been living on a farm for the past six years. I’m no stranger to hard work.”
“Very well then. You’ll room with Lydia. Through that door and up the stairs are the maids’ quarters. Your room is the second door on the right. Put your things away but come right back down. There’s plenty to be done in the kitchen.”
Rose was so tired she could hardly think straight, but she followed Mrs. Craig’s directions, ascending a narrow set of stairs to the silent, stifling hallway that ran above the servants’ hall and kitchen.
There were six rooms in all, three on each side. Either the male servants resided in another part of the house, or they had rooms in another building. Not being familiar with how wealthy families lived, Rose could only guess at how many servants a house like Cider Hill required. The question was, how many Fletchers lived here? Was it only Mr. and Mrs. Fletcher, or did Luke Fletcher and perhaps others members of the family reside here as well?
She hesitated at the appointed door, irrationally fearing what lay on the other side. It would not be her bedroom on the farm with its familiar view of their fields, the cheerful yellow curtains her aunt had sewn, the quilt from her childhood bed.
Taking a deep breath she opened the door. Inside were two narrow cots with a rickety table between them. A half-burnt candle sat atop it, looking as lonely and dejected as she felt. A bonnet, dress and apron hung from pegs set into the wall. Beside the door stood a scarred chest of drawers, on its top a tangle of hairpins and ribbon and a tiny painting of a woman, her cheeks tinted a pretty, flushed pink.
How she would have loved to lie down, close her eyes and lose herself in sleep. Instead she comforted herself with the knowledge that she would not be here long. She was here only to find justice for her father, after which she would never set foot in Cider Hill again.
It took but a minute to hang her clothes on the pegs and tuck her unmentionables into the bottom drawer of the dresser. When everything was in its place she made her way back though the hallway, down the steep stairs, and into the kitchen where Mrs. Lynch, the cook, explained her duties. Before long she was armed with a pail of water and wire brush, scrubbing out the cookstove.
***
Luke sat across from his father in the quiet of the study, sifting through his survey maps and trying to concentrate. Unfortunately, all he could think about was Rose Stratton.
He’d behaved badly, too angry and embarrassed to act civilized. He’d not fallen off a horse since he was a boy of twelve, and it was damn aggravating to do so at the age of nine and twenty.
The trees lining the road had screened her from view, but he’d also been riding too hard. Nor did it help that he’d been worrying that the railroad line was going to take longer than he’d anticipated to complete, keeping him in Massachusetts far longer than he ever intended. He’d only been back for a few weeks and already he was itching to head west again. But his father needed him and he wasn’t one to leave a job unfinished, so here he’d be until the line was completed.
Which meant he’d be seeing a good deal more of Rose Stratton.
She’d been far kinder than she needed to be, considering how beastly he’d acted. She’d even supported him all the way to the door, a fact that would mortify him for some time to come. Even worse, he’d laid the blame for his accident entirely at her feet. Quite the gentleman.
But how had she come to learn Latin, and why the reference to danger? Was she simply anxious about her new situation? Surely she didn’t imagine that Cider Hill posed any danger to her?
She was full of surprises to be sure, but it was the moment she took off her bonnet that had left him dumbstruck. Until then he had caught very little of her features. Then suddenly the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on was standing before him, her face like a cameo with its delicately sculpted cheekbones, full and finely shaped mouth and small, patrician nose. Silky tendrils of hair the color of autumn leaves had slipped from her coil and tickled her neck.
This was the woman he’d leaned on as he sweated through his jacket. She’d looked too s
lender and fine-boned to have withstood the weight of a brute like him. Too refined to be working as a domestic.
So deep was he in his own thoughts, it took him several moments to notice that his father was asking him a question.
“Did Whistler’s plan make sense to you?” Jonas repeated, looking at him curiously from behind his desk.
It took Luke a moment to regain his focus. “What? Oh, yes. I’m in favor of following his suggestions. He’s the best engineer there is as far as I’m concerned. But we have to do our part and get the land issues settled first.”
“I agree. I’ll discuss it with Nathan again this week.”
Luke nodded his head to show agreement, though in truth he was spectacularly uninterested in the railroad at just that moment.
“I wonder what Mrs. Craig has decided to do with the new maid?” he asked, unable to help himself.
“Why do you ask? Do you harbor ill feelings over the accident?”
“Quite the opposite,” Luke replied. “I hope she doesn’t think ill of me, after the way I behaved.”
“I shouldn’t worry,” Jonas replied, donning his spectacles and turning his attention back to the documents before him.
“She struck me as capable and well-spoken,” Luke went on, though it was clear his father had lost interest in the topic. “I only hope she’s given a position that will make use of her abilities.”
“Mrs. Craig will have it all well in hand,” replied Jonas without looking up.
It was true that Mrs. Craig ran the household impeccably. But what if she didn’t realize how unusual Rose was? It would ease his mind to look into the matter. Didn’t he owe it to the new maid, given how badly he’d treated her?
He stood up abruptly, the pain in his ankle a sharp reminder of what happened when he moved too fast. A reminder he ignored.
Now his father did look up.
“Is there a problem, Luke? You’ve been distracted ever since dinner.”
“It's nothing. I suppose I’m just a bit restless. I think I'll step out for a few minutes, if you don’t mind.”