Forgotten & Remembered - The Duke's Late Wife

by Bree Wolf

  Departing Camden Hall at daybreak, Rosabel had not felt a hint of regret at leaving her new home. After all, she had scarcely had time to make it so. She had wondered if her husband would see her off, but the Duke of Kensington had not made an appearance.

  Now sitting in the carriage, Rosabel was grateful for Bridget’s presence. She had liked the young maid immediately and was dying to learn more about her new husband as well as his daughter and former wife. Unsure of how to introduce such a sensitive topic, Rosabel slightly fidgeted in her seat, stealing glances at the woman sitting across from her.

  A small person herself, Bridget did not appear shy, but rather content to sit in silence. Her eyes faced out the window, taking in the landscape flying by. Her hands folded in her lap, she rested her head on the backrest and looked for all intents and purposes at ease.

  When the sun finally climbed higher, Rosabel bundled all her courage and said, “It is a beautiful day, is it not?”

  Bridget nodded, looking at her, an awed smile on her face. “It sure is, Your Grace.” She hesitated, but seeing Rosabel’s eager face continued, “I’ve never been far from home. Coming to Camden Hall was the first and only trip I’ve ever taken.”

  Rosabel nodded. “I have never been anywhere myself.” Glancing out the window for a moment, she returned her attention back to Bridget. “So, you worked at Westmore Manor before?”

  Bridget nodded. “And my mother before me. The family has always been good to us, which is why I was particularly glad when I was taken into service at the Duke’s estate.”

  Filing away every bit of information she could obtain, Rosabel asked, “Is your mother still in service?”

  Bridget shook her head no. “You see, I am the youngest of ten.”

  Rosabel nodded, and taking a deep breath asked, “And did you know the Lady Georgiana?” Feeling her nerve endings tingle, she waited, all but patiently.

  Again Bridget nodded. “I came into service maybe two years before she was born.”

  Georgiana cannot be that old then, Rosabel thought. “Can you tell me a little about her?”

  Bridget shrugged. “Not much. She was but five when we set off for Camden Hall. But I remember she was a delightful child, her mother’s image.” Eyes suddenly jerking up, Bridget looked at her. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace.”

  Rosabel shook her head. “Do not worry yourself. I do not consider the former Duchess a forbidden topic. She was Lady Georgiana’s mother and as such deserves to be held in high esteem.”

  A smile lit up Bridget’s face. “Your Grace is most kind. Lady Georgiana will be delighted to have a new mother such as yourself.”

  An embarrassed smile played on Rosabel’s lips at the young woman’s compliment. After all, since she was not tied to the Duke on an emotional level, speaking about his former wife did not pain her. She felt no jealousy. Instead, she pictured the woman’s little girl, left all alone at only five years old. Instantly, Rosabel’s heart went out to her.

  The rest of the journey passed in a pleasant manner. Occasionally, Rosabel dared to ask another question, but could not learn any more material information. The night they spent at an inn, resting their travel-weary bodies. Only Rosabel’s mind would not give her any repose. The little girl’s face, based on Bridget’s description, hovered before her, bright blue eyes, a button nose and a dazzling smile, framed by golden curls. Every now and then, the pictures shifted, and the golden curls turned black, and Rosabel recognized herself in the face before her.

  The loss of her parents had changed her in more ways than she could name. What had this little girl felt when her mother had suddenly died? And when her father had left her to grieve alone? Tears came to her eyes, and from a day’s distance away, Rosabel vowed to be everything she could to heal the wounds inflicted on such a young soul.

  ***

  When they set off the next morning, Rosabel was surprised to discover her spirits were indeed heightened. Though still apprehensive about the situation at large, she was looking forward to meeting Lady Georgiana and her new role in the little girl’s life.

  However, when the sun began to set and the carriage finally drove down the lane, passing through expansive gardens, leading up to the manor, a slight shiver ran down Rosabel’s spine. Looming like a giant in a darkening world, the house held nothing friendly in the way it peered into the dark. Remembering that same feeling from when she had first laid eyes on Camden Hall, Rosabel wondered if it was her state of mind which only allowed her to perceive her future home as a threat or if her husband had an uncanny taste of dark obscurities.

  Imposing on the sky, the pastoral manor slightly resembled an ancient castle, surrounded by a well-trimmed hedge and a moat-like creek pooling into a small lake on the eastern side of the property. Some windows glowed with light, which only served to remind Rosabel of a monster’s glowing eyes, instead of promising warmth and the comfort of human companionship.

  Her shoulders back and taking a deep breath, she stepped from the carriage and approached the steps, leading up to the front door. Bowing deep, a mostly bald man in spotless uniform stood on the upper stair. “Welcome, Your Grace. Welcome to Westmore Manor. I am Lawrence, the butler.”

  Giving a quick nod, Rosabel followed him inside, eyes flowing over her new home, trying to determine if her first impression had been correct. Unfortunately, it had. Rosabel couldn’t quite tell what gave her the impression but looking around, she felt reminded of a place untouched by life. A museum, or rather a tomb. Darkness lived in every corner, and Rosabel couldn’t help but doubt that the darkening sky was its only source.

  Turning her attention to Lawrence once more, she found him standing before a long line of servants gathered to welcome her and be introduced to the new mistress. A new shiver came over Rosabel, and she took a deep breath to keep her hands from trembling. They must not see how unqualified I am to fill this position, she thought. The former duchess had probably done a marvellous job of running this household. Irrationally, Rosabel wished she were here right now.

  From the corner of her eyes, Rosabel saw Bridget get in line with the other maids, one of whom squeezed her hand slightly, giving her a warm smile. Lawrence then proceeded to introduce the staff by stating their name and position within the household. Rosabel was sure she would not remember everything she was told, but still smiled and slightly bowed her head at each and every one of them.

  After dismissing the staff, Lawrence turned back to her. “I will show you to your chamber, Your Grace.”

  “Thank you,” Rosabel said, still feeling her hands tremble. “But I was hoping to be introduced to the Lady Georgiana tonight. Is she still awake?”

  “I believe so,” Lawrence said. “If you will follow me, Your Grace.”

  After ascending the winding, marble staircase, Rosabel found herself walking down a wide corridor, walls adorned with portraits of people she presumed to be family of generations past, at least most of them. Among them, she spotted a painting of a young boy, whose features struck her as familiar, but it wasn’t until she met his eyes that realization found her. As a young boy, her husband’s eyes had been just as blue, but not as cold. She saw laughter and joy in them and couldn’t help but wonder what had hardened him so. Had it been his wife’s passing?

  Finding herself in the east wing, Rosabel waited as Lawrence came to a stop at the very end of the corridor. He knocked, and after a voice called for them to enter, he opened the door, stepping inside.

  Her heart hammering in her chest, Rosabel took a deep breath, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. Then she placed one shaky foot before the other and stepped over the threshold.

  In the corner by the window stood a small table, and there on a chair much too tall for her short legs sat Lady Georgiana, barely six years old.

  Her wild, golden curls had been brushed back and pinned up in proper fashion, giving her otherwise soft features a strained expression. Her eyes, a deep shade of blue, almost bubbled over as they came to rest
on her. For a moment Rosabel thought she saw the impulse to jump off the chair and rush over to her play on the girl’s face. But instead of giving in, the little girl glanced at the stern-looking woman standing across from her and remained seated, her legs dangling excitedly.

  “May I introduce, Lady Georgiana Astor,” Lawrence said, and turning to look at the woman beside the table added, “and her governess, Mrs. Rigsby.”

  “It is a pleasure to meet you, Your Grace,” Mrs. Rigsby said, though from the tone in her voice Rosabel could tell it to be a lie. Eying her with open perusal, Mrs. Rigsby stood with her hands on her hips, head slightly angled, looking Rosabel over.

  Although her promotion to duchess was a mere two days old, Rosabel instantly objected to the woman’s open disrespect and would have like nothing better than to put her in her place. Instead, she smiled and said, “The pleasure is mine.” Then she turned back to the little girl.

  “Lady Georgiana, it is a pleasure to meet you,” she said, walking over to the table. “I am sorry to be interrupting your dinner.”

  A shy smile came to the girl’s face and a red blush crept up her cheeks. “Would you like some?” she whispered, fingers working to lift up the heavy plate.

  Rosabel smiled, instantly taken with the child, but before she could utter a response, the governess interfered. “Nonsense, the Duchess has been on the road all day. Lawrence,” she called, gesturing at the butler who instantly stepped forward, “take Her Grace to her rooms and see to it that she is adequately provided for.”

  “Certainly,” he mumbled, a hint of disapproval in his eyes, but when Rosabel did not object he added, “If you will follow me.”

  Stunned, but unable to speak up, Rosabel took her leave of her new step-daughter, seeing a similar disappointment on her features that she felt in her own heart.

  ***

  Tucked into bed, Rosabel felt her eyelids heavy on her face. Though beyond tired, sleep just wouldn’t come. A month ago she hadn’t even known her husband, and now she was married, shipped off to a northern estate, a step-daughter to care for and a position to fill that felt like a shoe ten times too big. Rosabel knew she would not wear it well. She would stumble and fall, and she would do so under the eyes of everyone watching. Mrs. Rigsby for sure would love to see her falter, Rosabel was certain. For some reason, the woman had taken an immediate dislike to her.

  Outside the window, a heavy storm raged, rain drumming on the window as though mimicking her own emotional state. Thunder crashed, and a moment later lightning sent a bright spark, illuminating her room. Shadows danced and the old wooden panels creaked like a thousand hell hounds were trying to burst through the door.

  Just as Rosabel closed her eyes, forcing herself to give slumber a fair chance, a sound reached her ears that, even on such a night, seemed out of place. A slight screeching, barely audible, came from the direction of her door, and when another bolt of lightning zigzagged across the sky, she saw the handle of her door turning downward.

  Heart speeding up until Rosabel felt its beats pulsing in her ears, she swallowed hard, trying to keep her wits about her. Who would come to her room this late at night? She wondered. And without announcing themselves? It couldn’t possibly be her husband asking for his marital rights. The thought made her shiver nonetheless.

  When the door ever so slowly slid open, Rosabel sat up, and before her wits could abandon her called, “Who is there?”

  Instantly the door froze.

  “Who is there?” Rosabel called again. “Show yourself!”

  When no answer came, Rosabel reached for the oil lamp on her bedside table, increasing its flame. Not bothering to dress, she approached the door, still standing ajar.

  As she peeked out into the corridor, more shadows dancing along the walls, no one was there. Slowly, her heart settled down. Then, when she was about to turn back, the sound of a door closing echoed all the way from down the hall.

  “Georgiana,” she whispered, unsure how she had come to this conclusion.

  Shrugging on a robe, Rosabel hastened down the corridor until she found herself outside the little girl’s door. After a soft knock elicited no response, she took a deep breath and put her hand on the handle.

  Slowly stepping into the dark room, Rosabel hoped she wouldn’t wake the child, in case her hunch would prove wrong. But the second she came around the bed, her eyes fell on a pitiful creature cowering in the corner of the room, knees drawn up, arms hugging herself. Her eyes were wide like those of a cornered animal, and when another roll of thunder sounded in the deep, a frightened gasp escaped her small lips, her chest rising and falling with her rapid breathing.

  In that moment, Rosabel’s heart opened and she became Georgiana’s mother.

 

  Chapter Seven − A Mother After All

  Seeing the numbing fear in Georgiana’s face, Rosabel rushed to her side. She tried to scoop the little girl into her arms, but fear had frozen her into place, limbs rigid, gripping her own arms as a lifeline to hold on to. Her skin felt cold. Goosebumps, whether from the chill in the air or fear of the raging storm, covered her arms and legs. She shook all over, the tiny teeth chattering despite her jaw being clenched shut.

  At first she didn’t look at Rosabel, her eyes fixed on the window, showing the madness burdening this night. Mumbling soothing words, Rosabel brushed a hand over Georgiana’s hair, down her arms and over her cheeks. Slowly, she felt the distance Georgiana had put between herself, and the world around her melt away. She blinked, and her head slowly turned from the source of her fear to the young woman kneeling before her. “Mommy?” she whispered.

  The words felt like a stab to the heart, and Rosabel clearly saw the loss that still haunted her step-daughter. Smiling with all the reassurance that she could find within herself, Rosabel cupped the little girl’s face, looking into her dark blue eyes. “Do not be afraid,” she whispered. “You are not alone.”

  Again Georgiana blinked, and Rosabel saw recognition flicker in her eyes. The girl took a deep breath, never moving her gaze from Rosabel, and her small hands reached up to rest on the ones holding her face. “Don’t leave,” she pleaded, tears pooling in the corners of her eyes.

  Before Rosabel could answer, another round of thunder shook the house as though the earth was moving. Georgiana flinched, squeezed her eyes shut, and all but jumped into Rosabel’s arms.

  Sitting on the floor, holding the small, fragile body and soul of her new step-daughter in her arms, Rosabel felt tears of her own stream down her face.

  Unable to sort through her own feelings in that moment, Rosabel acted on instinct. Rising from the cold floor, her feet had turned to ice a while ago, she carried the precious load in her arms back to her own room. The storm raged more strongly on the side of the house where Georgiana’s room was located while her own was relatively quiet in comparison. She closed the door and, pulling back the covers, slid inside while Georgiana still clung to her.

  Small sobs rose from the little girl’s throat, and while the storm raged outside, Rosabel held her. She stroked her hair, whispered words of comfort in her ear and noticed with relief that the cold slowly left, and a soothing warmth spread through her body.

  As Rosabel rocked from side to side, her blanket wrapped around them both, Georgiana’s sobs became quieter and quieter until her rapid breathing turned into the quiet rhythm of sleep. Then Rosabel leaned back, relaxing against the pillows, and stole a glance at her step-daughter’s face, resting on her shoulder.

  Her wild curls looked like a tangled mess, hair matted against her forehead and temples. Her eyes were red-rimmed and a little swollen, and even in the dim light Rosabel could still see the dried paths her tears had taken down her cheeks.

  However, Rosabel’s heart saw none of that. Her heart only saw the little angel sleeping in her arms, abandoned by those who had loved her, and responded to it the only way it could, with a mother’s love.

  Rosabel could almost feel her heart grow as it swell
ed with the love that suddenly invaded it. So unexpected. So overwhelming. And yet, so simple.

  Brushing a hand over Georgiana’s cheek, Rosabel wondered why her husband kept his daughter at such a distance. How could he bear to be separated from his child? Did he not long to hold her? Was his heart truly made of stone? Or ice? Cold as ice?

  That night Rosabel did not sleep a wink. She just sat there, resting against the headboard of her bed, holding Georgiana in her arms, and watched the storm subside, and eventually the night give way to a new day.

  There was nothing she could do about her husband’s relationship to his daughter. For whatever reason, he seemed determined to ignore her. And as she could most certainly not bring the girl’s mother back from the dead, the only thing she could do was to offer her own heart and hope that in time Georgiana would come to love her back and feel comforted by her presence.

  As the early morning sun slowly ascended the horizon, Georgiana began to stir. Her breathing returned from the shallow rhythm of sleep, her arms moved, and not long after her eyelids started to twitch, her eyes opened.

  Smiling at her, Rosabel whispered, “Good morning. I hope you slept well.”

  Her face only two inches from Rosabel’s, Georgiana blinked, then lifted her head of Rosabel’s shoulder. Staring at her, she rubbed her eyes. “Who are you?” she asked. “You arrived here last night, did you not?”

  Rosabel nodded. “I did. My name is Rosabel.” She brushed a strand of hair from the girl’s forehead, but Georgiana didn’t seem to notice, instead her eyes wandered around the room. “This is my mommy’s room.”

  For a second, Rosabel froze. “I did not know that. Maybe I can sleep somewhere else.”

  Georgiana turned to look at her again, her gaze gliding over her eyes, down her nose and to her mouth. Rosabel felt as though she was being weighted. Then Georgiana shrugged. “You can stay if you like. My mommy doesn’t need it anymore.”

  Ignoring the hint of sadness in the girl’s voice, Rosabel said, “Thank you. Maybe later after breakfast, you can help me unpack.”

  A shy smile came to Georgiana’s face. “I’d like that. Do you have many beautiful gowns?”

  Rosabel laughed, “Some. But you must decide for yourself if they are beautiful. What is your favourite colour?”