Hope looked down at the table. “When I believed you were a man of humble circumstances, I planned to be married in my Sunday dress and spare the expense.”
He laughed again. “And now that you know I am not, you must have a fine gown indeed. I have a reputation to maintain, and no bride of mine will be seen at the altar in a Sunday dress. Of that I can assure you.”
She smiled. “Then I’ll send for the seamstress in the morning.”
“How long will it take her, do you suppose?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I’ll ask her when she comes, and then we can set our date.”
“Good. I hope she’s quick.”
Roscoe reached out and took her hand, and her heart nearly leaped from her chest. Oh, she hoped so too.
He stroked her knuckles with his thumb, then traced a small circle on the back of her hand. “I can’t even tell you how much I missed you,” he all but whispered. “Every moment was agony.”
“It was?”
“Utter agony. And you may not doubt me—you must trust that I’m telling you the truth.”
Hope smiled. “Oh, I would never presume to tell you how you feel, sir. That wouldn’t be right at all.”
“No, it wouldn’t be. You can never guess someone else’s feelings. But you can let them show you.” He raised an eyebrow.
“Show me? Whatever do you mean?”
He rose from his chair and pulled her up into his arms so quickly, it seemed impossible that he could move so fast. Then he brought his mouth to hers, urgently, ardently, possessively. She gathered the lapels of his jacket in her hands and clung tight, feeling her heart expand and then burst, overcome with the love she had for this man. She’d never felt anything like it before and expected that she never would again. By the time he finally let her go, she was ready to surrender—she was his, entirely, and always would be.
Chapter Twelve
The seamstress shook her head. “Pardon me for saying so, ma’am, but you need far more than just a wedding gown and another evening dress. You need an entire wardrobe. The mistress of Hazelbrook must be dressed appropriately for every occasion.”
“It’s true,” Mrs. Green said from her spot in the corner, where she had made herself comfortable with some knitting. “Spare no expense, Miss Middleton. Mr. Edwards will expect to see you properly turned out, and the cost is unimportant.”
“I’m not sure what I should get,” Hope faltered.
“And that is why I’m here,” Mrs. Green said. “We need six evening gowns, twelve day gowns, four Sunday dresses, and of course, the wedding dress,” she told the seamstress. “That will do for starters.”
Hope swallowed. “All those clothes?”
“All those clothes,” Mrs. Green said firmly. “Let’s begin with the wedding dress, two day dresses, and one evening gown. If you need to bring in helpers, so be it, and Mr. Edwards will pay their wages. This young lady must be dressed.”
“I agree,” the seamstress said, shaking her head. “And I must say, I was wondering how long it was going to be before you called me back. One gown won’t suffice for any well-bred lady.”
Hope smiled as the two women talked. How was she to have known what she would need? She’d never been placed in this position before, and she’d thought she was being practical and frugal. Apparently, these ladies didn’t believe in either of those things.
“Now, about the silks and satins. I have some beautiful colors here . . .”
Hope chose out a shade of rose that reminded her of a sunset she’d seen once. Then a yellow, a green, a lighter tint of blue than her other gown, a rich burgundy, and a plum. Then she was asked to choose the fabric for her day dresses. By the time she was done, she could hardly remember anything she’d selected, and she imagined that when the clothing was done, it would all be a big surprise because she would have forgotten everything.
“Excellent,” the seamstress said with a broad smile. “I’ll call in some helpers, and we’ll have this ready for you as soon as possible. Your wedding gown will be perfection—I guarantee it.”
After she left, Hope sank into a chair. “Being a fine lady is exhausting,” she said, and Mrs. Green laughed.
“Just you wait. Soon, I shall start asking you all sorts of questions about the linens and the curtains, what you’d like for dinner, what sauce should go on the chicken—you’ll get quite tired of me.”
“And I will tell you to use your own discretion and to do things as you’ve always done them,” Hope replied. “You’ve kept this house beautifully, Mrs. Green, and I can’t think of a single thing I’d change.”
Mrs. Green’s eyes teared up. “Thank you, my dear. To be honest, I was a little worried that once you and Mr. Edwards were married, you’d want to redo everything, including replacing me. Some new brides wouldn’t want an old relic of a housekeeper around.”
“Nonsense.” Hope pulled herself out of her chair and crossed the room to pat the other woman’s shoulder. “You’re the heart and soul of Hazelbrook. I can’t imagine living here without you.”
“Thank you. And now I must go see to dinner. That roast isn’t going to trim itself, and Cook has some very odd ideas about parsley.” Mrs. Green scuttled off, and Hope laughed softly. Heaven forbid anyone should cross Mrs. Green when it came to parsley.
***
“A letter for you, miss,” Timothy said, bobbing his head as he handed it to her. Hope thanked him, then took a seat to read her mail. It was from Sarah!
My dearest Hope,
My prayers are with you every day. I hope you're doing well with your fiancé and your life isn't too boring as you learn to be a lady of leisure.
Minnesota, at least the part I'm in, reminds me a lot of home. I'm close to a large lake, which is almost as good as being right there on the ocean. It's mid-November, and we've already had a couple of snowfalls. I'm not sure I'm ready for winter, but that doesn't seem to matter much. It's here.
My new husband is not at all what I expected him to be, but I can't say that I'm disappointed. He's a good man. He emigrated from Germany when he was just a boy, and he has a typical German attitude about everything. It's strange not having a paying job. I know Karl can provide for me, but it's strange to rely on someone other than myself. I was on my own for too long.
Karl is a good, strong man, tall and broad-shouldered. He has a typical German look about him, or at least what I think of as typical. He's blond with blue eyes. I always thought I'd marry a romantic Irishman, but my Karl is obviously exactly what I needed, because he's the man God provided for me.
My only complaint is that I don't know a lot of people here yet, but that will come with time, I'm sure. I'm doing my best to get involved with the women of the congregation here.
I pray that you have found the man God intended for you, and that you are truly happy.
Much love,
Sarah
Hope grinned. She had so much good news, she would enjoy answering this letter.
Dear Sarah,
You sound so happy—I couldn’t be more pleased for you. I’m happy too, almost blissfully so. Right now, the seamstress is finishing my wedding gown, and I’m to marry Roscoe Edwards as soon as it’s done.
I can’t even begin to explain how I feel. I had anticipated a life of civility, perhaps even friendship, but I’ve fallen in love, which is so much more than I dreamed about. He’s a good man, if an unusual one, and I believe I will be happy with him for the rest of our lives.
I will write you again soon and tell you all about the wedding. Congratulations on your new happy life, and I know that once the people of Minnesota come to know you, they will adore you.
Take care,
Hope
***
The dress was ready two days later, and Roscoe insisted that they wed the very next day. Hope had no objection to that. She had no one to invite—her friends had all moved to other states and wouldn’t be able to travel for it. Roscoe didn’t care to include his business asso
ciates, which was a secret relief to Hope. A quiet ceremony in the small chapel down the lane would suit her perfectly.
Mrs. Green and a few others from the house were the only ones in attendance. Addie was waiting back at Hazelbrook, in charge of keeping an eye on the cake and the other treats Cook had whipped up. They weren’t in any actual danger, but Hope felt it necessary to give the girl an important task so she wouldn’t feel left out.
The organist played a short melody, and then Hope stood in front of the minister clutching a small bouquet of autumn leaves and berries. She would have preferred spring wildflowers, but she certainly wasn’t going to delay her wedding just for that.
Roscoe stood next to her, tall and imposing in his black suit. His eyes had lit up when he’d seen her—layer upon layer of beautiful white fabric, some sheer, some embroidered, and it all floated around her like a cloud.
The minister cleared his throat, and the two of them stopped looking at each other and turned to face him.
He began with the standard preliminaries, moving on with, “If anyone here finds an impediment to this match, please make it known.” He said this as though he’d repeated the words a thousand times, which he probably had—he was quite an elderly man, and Hope imagined he’d performed countless wedding ceremonies during his time in service. He was about to continue when a voice rang out from the back of the chapel.
“I have an objection to this union.”
The voice was completely unfamiliar, and when Hope turned around to see who had spoken, she didn’t recognize his face, either. He was a middle-aged man with graying hair and a small goatee.
“And who are you, sir?” Roscoe asked.
“I am Mr. Bradley, the lawyer retained on behalf of a Mr. Halifax,” the man replied.
At the mention of his name, Mr. Halifax stepped out of the recesses of the chapel’s entryway and stood next to Mr. Bradley. Hope was glad to see that he was all right—with the wound in his side, she wasn’t sure how he’d fared once he’d left Hazelbrook. But what was he doing here now, and what cause did he have to object to their marriage? She’d thought he was Roscoe’s friend, not his enemy.
“Mr. Halifax has provided me with documentation that Mr. Edwards is even now married to his sister, Agnes Elizabeth Halifax Edwards, who resides at Hazelbrook,” Mr. Bradley went on.
Hope choked back a laugh. “I’m sure there’s a mistake,” she said. “There’s no wife living at Hazelbrook.” She turned to Roscoe. “Tell them what a silly mistake this is.”
He pressed his lips together. “I . . . can’t, Hope.”
“What do you mean, you can’t?” She expected to see a twinkle in his eye, some evidence that he was teasing her, but there was nothing. “Roscoe? What’s going on?” A shiver ran down her spine, a dread that twisted her soul.
He grasped her wrist and pulled her down the aisle of the chapel. “If you must know the shadow I’ve lived with these last years, follow me. We’ll clear up this mystery once and for all.” His voice was dark and fierce, not at all the voice she’d come to love.
Everyone trailed him back to the house—Mr. Halifax and Mr. Bradley included. Roscoe kept a tight grip on Hope’s wrist as he led everyone upstairs and to the room where she’d tended to Mr. Halifax’s wound. She didn’t know why he was dragging her—she would have come willingly, even though she was terrified of whatever it was he was about to show them. Her stomach had been a lead ball ever since Mr. Bradley had first spoken in the chapel, and now she felt as though she might vomit. What was happening? What was he saying?
Roscoe only let Hope go long enough to unlock the door behind the tapestry. Then he motioned for everyone to enter.
Hope was not at all prepared for what she saw.
A young woman crouched in the corner, dark hair matted and hanging across her face. Her dress was in shreds, hanging from her frame like rags on a laundry line. When she saw Roscoe, she stood up and lunged for him, holding her fingers like claws to scratch him. He caught her and held her tight before she could attack him, and she stopped struggling. “Ladies and gentlemen, I would like you to meet Agnes.” He paused and swallowed. “My wife.”
Hope felt the floor disappear from under her. She reached back blindly, finding the wall and using it to keep from falling over. It was true? But . . . how . . .
Roscoe continued. “Old Mr. Halifax was an associate of my father’s. In addition to a son, young Mr. Halifax here, he had two beautiful daughters—Agnes and her older sister, Margaret, who was married. He came to my father ten years ago and suggested that I marry Agnes in the perfect business merger. Agnes and I were both agreeable, and we were wed.”
Roscoe looked down at the woman who was now weeping in his arms. Hope didn’t want to stay in the room. She wanted to run, to get as far away as she could, but her legs simply wouldn’t move.
“But then the truth was discovered. Mrs. Halifax had a mental disturbance, and she passed that tendency on to both daughters. Agnes had just begun to display the first symptom when her father suggested the match. He wanted her married and someone else’s responsibility before it became too evident what she was. At first, I believed it could be managed, that we could find a way to make it work. But she became worse and worse until she is as you see her now.
“She behaves like an animal—she tears her clothing, rips at her hair, attacks anyone who comes near her. I’ve hired servants to care for her, to feed her and bathe her, but she resists all efforts to help her behave as a lady or even a human. She won’t even eat proper food—she’ll only take bread and cheese in little bits. Ann here is the only person I’ve ever found who can manage her.” He nodded toward the servant, who stood quietly in the corner. “Believe me, we have tried to give her a normal life, but for her safety as well as that of all the others, we are reduced to keeping her locked up.”
Hope finally found her voice enough to whisper, “What happened to Mr. Halifax . . . that night?”
Roscoe sighed and shook his head. “He came to visit his sister. One of the maids had made a crucial mistake and left behind a pair of scissors when she was in here to try to trim Agnes’s hair. When Agnes saw her brother, she attacked him with the scissors.”
While Roscoe spoke, Agnes’s gaze roved around the room until it landed on Hope. Her eyes grew wide and she lunged forward, breaking Roscoe’s strong grip, filling the room with that maniacal laughter Hope had heard so many times in the night. Before Hope could even draw a breath to scream, Agnes had raked her nails across Hope’s face.
“Agnes! No!” Roscoe pulled her away, wrapping his arms around her again. His eyes implored Hope for forgiveness.
Hope pressed her hand against her cheek and brought it away smeared with blood. For some reason, that sight enabled her to move again and she fled, running down the hall. She reached her room, locked the door, and undressed as quickly as she could, tossing her wedding gown over the back of a chair. She put on her plain yellow gown and her serviceable shoes, then curled up before the fire and sobbed, holding a cool, wet handkerchief to her face so the salt in her tears wouldn’t sting the scratches.
Surely this was all a nightmare. Surely she would wake up and find that it was her wedding day, and she would go to the chapel and become Roscoe’s wife. It was possible, wasn’t it? She’d had bad dreams before and she had been able to forget them. She would forget this one as well, and she would marry and be happy.
But as lovely as this sounded, she knew it wasn’t true. As unbelievable as it was, Roscoe had a secret wife, a crazy woman who had been locked away in his house. It was a dark secret, most certainly—a shadow, just as he’d said time and time again. Calling Agnes “a shadow” seemed far too generous, made far too light of the situation. Hope felt as though she had descended into the lower regions of Hades and looked into the fiery pit for herself.
Half an hour later, she heard a knock at her door.
“I’m not hungry, Mrs. Green,” she called out.
“It’s me, Hope.”
>
Her stomach lurched again at the sound of Roscoe’s voice. She didn’t want to speak to him. She didn’t want to see him or think of him or love him ever again.
“Hope, please. I need to talk to you.”
She sighed. That same natural loyalty that had forced her to visit Mrs. Wright was at work again, and before she knew it, she was unlocking the door and letting him in. He looked terrible—his hair on end, a scratch across his cheek, his eyes haunted.
“Are you all right?” He reached out to cup her jaw, but she turned her face away and sat down near the fire again.
He crossed the room and touched the wedding dress. “You looked beautiful this morning, white and pure and radiant. I’ve never seen anything so lovely.”
She had no reply for him. His every word was like a knife in her chest.
He knelt in front of her. “Hope, please. Look at me. Speak to me. You have no idea what I’ve suffered, what I’ve been through. Can you even imagine it—thinking you’ve married an angel and then learning you have, in actuality, married a demon? I tried everything, Hope—every doctor, every remedy, every tonic or pill that was suggested. I even took her to visit an Indian medicine man, and she tried to burn down his wigwam.”
He shifted so he was sitting at her side. “Once she became completely unmanageable and I was forced to lock her away, I resigned myself to my fate. I was tied forever to a monster, to a woman I had once admired but was now nothing more than a shell. All my attempts had failed, all my efforts, and now I was living a lie, hiding a horrible secret, unable to get help for her, for there was no help to be had. That was my life, that was my destiny, until Mrs. Green suggested that I send for you and there you were—truly, the hope in my life.”
“Did . . . Mrs. Green know . . .”
Roscoe shook his head. “I hired her the year after I placed Agnes in the hidden room. The lies I’ve told you, I’ve also told her, and she’s believed nothing different. She’s beside herself right now, wondering how I could have done such a thing to you. Much as I am feeling myself.”
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