Rose squeezed her hand, urging Amelia with a look to speak no more if it. The boy’s words, though spoken with sincerity, were but silly notions of an adventurous mind, and Rose didn’t want to arm her uncle with any further ammunition to prompt her to do something she was not yet ready to do.
Mr. Snyder dabbed honey over his biscuit. “That Mr. Heaton is quite the rogue, I hear. Untrustworthy sot.”
Rose’s uncle gave Mr. Snyder a quizzical look before turning to Amelia. “Pray tell, what did Daniel say?”
“He said that God had something important for Rose to do.”
Rose huffed and glanced at Mr. Reed. His hazel eyes twinkled playfully in the candlelight.
“You don’t say?” Rose’s aunt sipped her drink.
“Very interesting. Interesting indeed.” Uncle Forbes seemed deep in thought.
“The ravings of a childish mind.” Mr. Snyder sipped his beer—more carefully this time.
Rose held her churning stomach.
Uncle Forbes tossed his napkin onto the table and leaned back in his chair. “I have no doubt that my niece is destined for something great.”
Emotion burned in Rose’s throat at her uncle’s compliment. She smiled at him then turned away before anyone saw her eyes moisten.
After dinner, Rose’s aunt and uncle bade her to join them in the parlor for tea with Mr. Snyder, though she tried to beg off with an excuse of a headache. Must she endure more time with the annoying man? And without Mr. Reed present, there was nothing at all to interest her. Even Amelia stole away, offering Rose a look of sympathy over her shoulder.
She sipped her tea and glanced out the parlor windows where the open shutters gave her a view of the trees in the distance standing like prickly dark sentinels guarding the farm. Yet they hadn’t guarded her against Garrick’s attack. Mr. Reed had done that. Risked his career to save her. After supper, Uncle Forbes had dismissed Mr. Reed from further duties. Now that he could walk without a crutch, there was nothing to keep him here. Would he leave without saying good-bye? An emptiness gnawed at her belly. She had wanted to give him his uniform and weapons and take out his stitches before he traveled so far. But perhaps the surgeon on board his ship would do a better job. If Mr. Reed’s captain believed his story. Lord, please let him believe him. Everything within her longed to dash outside and bid Mr. Reed good-bye, wish him Godspeed, and feel his arms around her one more time.
But it was better this way.
Mr. Snyder stood by the fireplace, one arm draped across the mantel, wondering how to bring up the sensitive topic of Mr. Reed with Miss McGuire’s family. He decided on the direct approach. “Mr. Drummond,” he addressed Rose’s uncle who sat beside his wife on the sofa. “Now that your servant has left the room, I feel it is my obligation to inform you that I found him and your niece frolicking about in the woods, covered in mud and in a rather”—he cleared his throat—“provocative embrace.”
Mrs. Drummond gasped and fingered a coil of her red hair. “Good heavens, Rose. Is this true, dear?”
Oddly, the statement brought a smile to Mr. Drummond’s lips.
Rose pursed her lips, her cheeks growing red. “Not entirely, Aunt. For one thing, we were not frolicking”—she skewered Snyder with a pointed gaze—“and we were only covered in mud and huddling together in a bush because we feared Mr. Snyder was part of a British raiding party.”
Her uncle chuckled and folded his hands over his portly belly.
“As I told you before, Mr. Snyder,” Rose said. “My close proximity to Mr. Reed was, in short, due to your intrusion upon our afternoon ride.”
Snyder stomped his shoe on the hearth and huffed. He certainly hadn’t expected his accusation to sit well with the lady, but he hoped she would see the necessity of bringing the event to her family’s attention in light of their future together. Couldn’t she see that he was only concerned with her safety and her reputation? Ungrateful girl.
“There you are, Mr. Snyder.” Mr. Drummond pressed down a patch of gray hair that had spiraled out of control atop his head. “Surely that explains things to your satisfaction. I assure you, our Rose is a lady of utmost propriety.”
Snyder bit his lip. This was not going as planned. He had expected Rose’s uncle to scold her vehemently and to forbid her to spend time alone with Mr. Reed without her maid present. But the old man remained his usual imbecilic self. “It was not my intention to indicate otherwise.”
Rose stood and meandered toward the window.
Mrs. Drummond fingered the rubies hanging from her ears. “Of course not, Mr. Snyder. I thank you for looking out for our dear Rose.”
Mr. Snyder gave the lady a nod of appreciation. At least someone in this house saw reason. He skirted the high-backed chair and lowered himself onto its soft cushion. Dabbing his fingers on his tongue, he pressed back the hair at his temples and leaned toward Mr. Drummond. “Surely, sir, you agree that this sort of behavior is most unseemly, regardless of the cause.”
“I do.” Mr. Drummond scratched his beard. “But it appears no harm came of it.” A serene peace that Snyder had always taken as ignorance blossomed in the old man’s brown eyes. Snyder squirmed on his seat and glanced at Rose who still stared out the window. Starlight shimmered over her, setting her hair aglow as a breeze ruffled the loose strands dangling at her neck. He swallowed down a lump of desire. Why did she shun his every advance while at the same time granting favor to a servant? He had not missed the amorous glances she lavished upon Mr. Reed during supper, nor that the infuriating man had returned them. What did the obnoxious servant possess that he did not? His heart shrank. Wasn’t it enough that he lived with the shame of his family’s sordid past? Did he now have to endure the rejection of a woman who preferred the company of a common servant over his?
“Forgive my impertinence, Mr. Drummond.” Snyder attempted a different approach. “But perhaps if you hired another servant? Mr. Reed seems a bit … how shall I say”—insidious, insolent, and far too handsome—“unsuitable to be placed in charge of Miss McGuire.”
Mr. Drummond’s lips slanted. “I fear you overstep your bounds, sir.” His stern tone turned Rose around and brought a smile to her lips.
Mrs. Drummond set down her tea and laid a hand on her husband’s knee. “Oh Forbes, dearest, I find Mr. Snyder’s concern admirable, don’t you, Rose?”
But the look on Miss McGuire’s face exuded anything but admiration. In fact, it bordered on disgust.
Snyder lowered his chin, his gut constricting. He would not allow this toad, this mere servant, to steal the woman he planned to marry.
Mr. Drummond glanced down at a brown stain on his waistcoat as if he had no idea how it had gotten there. “Nevertheless, Mr. Snyder, you may rest assured that our Rose is in no danger with Mr. Reed. Besides, his stay here is only temporary. You have nothing to fear from him.”
“Fear, sir?” Snyder gave a hearty chuckle that sounded more spurious than he intended. “I do not fear the man. My thoughts are toward Rose’s safety and reputation.”
“I assure you, there is no need.” Kindness returned to Mr. Drummond’s tone. “It is Mr. Reed’s job to protect Rose, particularly on days when we cannot be home.”
“Ah yes.” Mrs. Drummond took a cloth and lifted the teapot. “I fear I am not here as much as I’d like. I’m often drawn away with my charities.”
“Oh do say you’ll be here tomorrow, Aunt Muira,” Miss McGuire said.
“I’m afraid not, dear. I must go to Washington tomorrow.” She moved the teapot over Snyder’s cup.
Rejecting Mrs. Drummond’s offer of tea, Snyder stood. “Which brings me to my point for accepting your kind invitation tonight. There is a ball at the Fountain Inn next week, and I would like your permission to escort Rose.”
“Oh, how kind of you, Mr. Snyder.” Mrs. Drummond nearly leaped from her seat. Thin lines crinkled at the corners of her green eyes. “Isn’t it, Rose, dear?”
Miss McGuire’s gaze skittered about the room. She
clasped her hands together and stared at her uncle as if seeking assistance with the answer, but his gaze was riveted to the carpet.
“Forgive me, Mr. Snyder, I am not feeling well,” she finally said. “Can we discuss this at another time?” Then clutching the folds of her gown, she dashed from the room and ran up the stairs, leaving Mr. Snyder stunned in her wake.
Containing his frustration, Mr. Snyder thanked the Drummonds for a lovely evening and then saw himself out. He barreled down the steps of the front porch, hoping the fresh evening air would cool his humors. It didn’t. Ill-mannered hoyden. How dare she treat him with such disrespect? He stormed forward, muttering to himself, and nearly ran into Mr. Reed, who stood ready with his horse.
He snatched the reins from the invidious man. “I know what is going on here, Mr. Reed, and I won’t stand for it.”
The servant smiled. “You do say?”
“Your behavior toward Miss McGuire is most inappropriate.”
Mr. Reed chuckled and tossed the hair from his face. He chuckled! “And yet, since you are neither her relation nor her suitor, Miss McGuire is none of your affair.”
“Neither is she yours, sir. At least not beyond your duties.”
“Indeed.” Finally, a frown scattered the man’s insolent grin.
“Mrs. Drummond approves of me,” Snyder continued, taking advantage of the small victory. “She has informed me that she intends to encourage Rose to accept not only my courtship but my future proposal of marriage.”
The servant raised a brow. “And Mr. Drummond …?”
“I am close to winning his blessing as well.” The gelding snorted as if even the horse knew Snyder lied.
“Then, I congratulate you, sir.” Mr. Reed bowed slightly. “But shouldn’t it be up to the lady?”
“Silly girls do not know their own minds.” Snyder tossed the reins back to Mr. Reed. Pulling his leather gloves from the saddle pack, he began to tug them on his fingers. “Rose will see the sense of our match. I can give her a good name, the prestige of my office, and a decent living.”
“How could any woman resist such an offer?” Mr. Reed’s annoying grin returned.
Snyder gazed into the impudent servant’s face, half in shadow, half lit by a lantern hanging from a nearby post. “Indeed.” He spat through a clenched jaw.
Reed tilted his head. “And you, of course, will receive her land.”
Snyder stiffened. He had underestimated this bumpkin. “Why shouldn’t I desire this land? It is the last available parcel that borders the Jones Falls River. And with the proper placement of a flour mill, in a few years it will be worth a fortune.”
The corners of Mr. Reed’s mouth tightened, and he gazed into the night. “Perhaps the lady would prefer to be desired for herself rather than for her land.”
Snyder tugged on his other glove. “I assure you there is no lack of affection for her on my part. But pretty ladies are in abundance in Baltimore.”
“But not pretty ladies who will inherit land such as this.” Mr. Reed winked at him.
Snyder eyed him. “I see we are of the same mind, Mr. Reed.”
But the servant huffed in disdain. “I am nothing like you.”
Mr. Snyder frowned, his ire rising. “I advise you to forsake your pursuit of her. You know I will win.”
“I have my doubts.”
Snyder snatched the reins again, longing to slap them across Mr. Reed’s face. “Do not cross me, sir.”
“Or what?” Again, that infuriating grin.
“I suspect there is more to that despicable British accent than you admit, Mr. Reed.” Shoving his shoe into the stirrup, Snyder swung onto his horse and tugged the reins. The horse neighed and stomped his front hooves. “Whatever you are hiding, I will find out your secret, Mr. Reed. Mark my words.”
CHAPTER 15
Alex loosened his clenched fists at his side and watched until the darkness swallowed up the last trace of Mr. Snyder. Turning, he leaned against the fence post and gazed at the Drummond home. Through the parlor window he could see Mrs. Drummond sitting on the sofa beside her husband, his arm flung over her shoulders. They leaned their heads together in deep conversation, interrupted by bouts of joyful laughter. Alex had never seen his parents enjoy each other’s company. He never thought such an intimate relationship was even possible. Mr. Drummond kissed his wife on the cheek then stood and assisted her to her feet. He grabbed the lantern and then, arm in arm, the couple left the parlor and headed upstairs. Alex shifted his gaze away. It landed on light spilling from a second-story window he knew to be Miss McGuire’s bedchamber. Not the sort of man who spied into ladies’ boudoirs, he was glad for the thick curtains, which forbade him an unintentional peek within. His eyes moved to the final wisps of smoke curling from the chimney above the kitchen where the light from a lantern faded. No doubt Miss Cora retired for the evening.
A lump formed in Alex’s throat.
Home. This quaint, rustic farmhouse exemplified the meaning of the word. Home wasn’t a large estate with cathedral ceilings and marble floors, where oil paintings of the masters, exquisite tapestries, and gold-gilded mirrors decorated the walls, where drafty halls extended outward like a maze, and opulently decorated rooms stood cold and empty. No, home was a place where people loved each other and shared their lives. It was something Alex had yearned for all his life and would probably never know, aside from these few glorious days.
Blast Mr. Snyder for trying to destroy this home. Alex’s hot, angry breath mingled with the humid air swirling around him. He would have loved nothing better than to flatten the man where he stood, but that would only cause more trouble for this precious family.
As soon as Rose heard her aunt and uncle’s chamber door click shut, she leaped from her bed, pressed out the folds of her gown and inched toward the door. No sounds save her aunt’s and uncle’s quiet murmurs filtered to her ears. Opening her door and cringing at the tiny squeak, she crept down the hallway and headed downstairs. In the foyer, she grabbed a pair of scissors, some bandages, and comfrey salve from her aunt’s medical satchel, which sat atop a side table, before she exited the front door. Fresh air perfumed with wildflowers swirled around her as she clomped through the mud toward the barn. After briefly greeting Liverpool, Rose climbed the loft and retrieved Mr. Reed’s torn uniform and sword from a trunk. The mere sight of his pistol made her chest tighten. Unable to touch the heinous weapon, she left it there and made her way around the other side of the house to the back of the stable. Prinney, whom she’d let loose from his pen earlier, waddled after her, grunting for her attention.
“I haven’t time now, Prinney.”
Mr. Reed opened the door to her knock and stared at her in utter shock. He had removed his overcoat and waistcoat, leaving only a tight linen shirt across his firmly lined chest. Prinney grunted and nudged her leg.
Rose swallowed and gazed past Mr. Reed into the gloomy room.
“Miss McGuire.”
“Mr. Reed.” She forced her chin forward. “I have come to remove your stitches before you leave.” She pushed past him, ignoring the way the light breeze frolicked among the loose strands of his dark hair.
“Why, I … Hmm.” He shoved a large rock in place to prop the door open.
His act of propriety at keeping the door ajar only endeared him to her more. Prinney ambled in after her as Rose took a deep breath of the humid air that smelled of mold, hay, and Mr. Reed. A cot holding a crumpled wool blanket guarded the right corner. His waistcoat, coat, and an extra shirt and pair of breeches left by Samuel hung on hooks lining the back wall. A cold potbellied stove perched in the left corner. On a table in the center of the room, sat a single lantern and a vase holding two pink roses. Pink roses? She stomped over the dirt floor toward his bed. Hay crunched beneath her slippers. “I am not without a heart, Mr. Reed.” She tossed his uniform and service sword onto the blanket.
He hobbled toward her. “That is one fact that has not escaped my attention.”
&nb
sp; She dared a glance into his eyes and found only sincerity—and something else … ardor, affection perhaps—within them. She looked away, trying to conjure up anger, hatred, anything to douse the affection burning within her. “How dare you pick my roses?” She jerked her head toward the vase. “I didn’t grow them for your enjoyment.”
He blinked. “Indeed? Well I have enjoyed them anyway.”
Rose narrowed her eyes.
He chuckled and held up a hand of truce. “In truth, I did not pick them. One of your beasties must have trodden your bush for I found these two flowers barely hanging on and about to fall to the ground.” Moving to the table, he touched one of the petals and bent over, taking a whiff. “They do brighten the place, don’t you agree?”
Rose shook her head as she watched Mr. Reed’s thick, rough hands stroke the delicate petals. And the way he enjoyed the flower’s sweet scent. It was the last thing she expected him to do—any man to do, let alone a British officer. She threw back her shoulders. “Please take a seat, Mr. Reed.”
Prinney grunted in agreement and pressed his snout against Rose’s leg.
Mr. Reed sank into the chair. “Am I to assume the pig is your protector?”
At his sarcastic tone, Rose tightened her lips. “This pig is Prinney, as you are well aware. And he has been a better friend to me than most people I know.” She lowered her gaze to the bandages, scissors, and salve in her hands. “And if you misbehave, I do have my scissors, sir.” She cocked a brow and put on her most formidable look, but it faltered when a giggle rose to her lips at the absurdity of her statement.
Mr. Reed joined her. “In that case, I shall comport myself as a perfect gentleman.”
Rose gazed out the door into the darkness. He had never behaved otherwise. She must remember what his people had done to Elaine. She must avoid gazing into those caring hazel eyes. She must avoid pondering why her heart leaped at the sight of him instead of tightened as it did with most men. She kneeled by his feet. “I need to cut through your breeches.”
Surrender the Night Page 18