The Old Maids' Club 02 - Pariah

by Catherine Gayle

  It felt…odd. That was all Roman could think to call it.

  The most perplexing bit of it all was Miss Shelton’s discomfort with the thought of her brother paying a visit. What could she possibly be hiding that she didn’t wish her family to discover?

  And then it struck him. Finn. Of course.

  When he removed his coat, the glass vial rolled out of his inside pocket, falling to the floor and making a path halfway across the room. It stopped just short of rolling beneath the bed.

  The glint of something else caught in the light of the candles, shimmering at him like a beacon and drawing his eye away from his vial. An emerald and diamond brooch rattled on the floor by his feet, huge and twinkling. Devil and blast, that must be what Lady Rosaline had given him. He’d all but forgotten that she’d given him anything at all.

  How on earth she could possibly think he’d forgotten such a thing, he’d never know. But then again, her thoughts weren’t at all clear.

  He’d have to take it back to her early tomorrow, before she realized it was missing. Doubtless, she’d go into a state of panic if she discovered it was gone. The brooch looked old, like it had belonged to her family for a great deal of time.

  Well, that would give him something to do in the morning. He couldn’t very well go traipsing across town at this hour of the night, banging on Miss Shelton’s door. Lord Devonport might demand satisfaction for something of that nature.

  No, he’d return it to her first thing tomorrow. Not long after dawn.

  Roman placed it in a drawer in the armoire, turned the lock on that as well, and then searched for something to while away the dark hours of the night.

  Sometime well before dawn, Bethanne awoke to the sound of Aunt Rosaline’s screams. She shot up straight in bed, tossed the counterpane aside, and darted out through the door and into the hall. The cold of the floor against her bare feet had her wishing she could scurry back beneath the covers, but she couldn’t let Aunt Rosaline wake their guests…let alone do something worse.

  At least she’d put Jo, Tabitha, and Noah on the opposite end of the house, near Finn’s nursery. He and Mrs. Wyatt always slept through Aunt Rosaline’s night terrors. With any luck, Bethanne’s cousins would, too.

  Mrs. Temple met Bethanne at the top of the stairs with a look of resolve in her eyes, lit by the candlestick in her hands, and together they burst through the door to Aunt Rosaline’s chamber.

  She stood on her bed by the headboard, a panicked hand clutched to the nightrail at her chest, pointing toward the door to her dressing room. “A soldier! One of those damned Yankee soldiers is in there.”

  The last time, it had been a savage. Bethanne supposed a soldier was better than a savage. At least slightly.

  Bethanne moved closer to the bed, listening for Mrs. Temple to close the door behind her. “Aunt Rosaline,” she said cautiously, reaching out a hand to steady the older woman on the bed. “There’s no one in here but us.”

  Aunt Rosaline jumped back, nearly toppling over the side of the bed, all the while swatting at Bethanne’s hands. “Get away from me! He’s right there! Can’t you see him?” With an all-too-familiar wildness, she pointed at the door.

  Mrs. Temple moved into place on the opposite side of the bed.

  By that time, Joyce had come into the room as well and was making her way toward the dressing room. “In here?” She poked her head behind the door, holding a lantern aloft to light the entire area. “I’m afraid there’s nothing amiss here, my lady.”

  “Blind! All of you, blind. What a lot of blithering imbeciles you are.” Tears had sprung free by this time, falling at a rapid pace and drenching the front of Aunt Rosaline’s white cotton nightrail. “Oh, I wish my Christopher was here. He’d protect me. But he’s not, and that soldier is going to kill us. He’s going to kill us all like he killed my Christopher.”

  Bethanne pressed her eyes closed for just a moment, praying, yet again, for patience. It was not Aunt Rosaline’s fault. There was nowhere, truly, that she could place the blame for this. It just was.

  Mrs. Temple cleared her throat. “Why don’t you come down from there, my lady, and we’ll all go check together. You can show us where the soldier is.”

  Such a blessing to have these servants to help. They all knew Aunt Rosaline as well as they knew themselves, and had the patience of saints. It would be nice if a bit more of their patience would work its way into Bethanne, from time to time. No matter how frequently she prayed for it, she never seemed to be granted a heftier dose.

  “Together?” Aunt Rosaline murmured through her sobs. “You’ll go look with me? You’ll see that I’m telling the truth?”

  “Together,” Bethanne assured her. “All four of us.” She held out a hand, hoping her aunt would take it so they could prove there were no dangers lurking in dark corners.

  After a few moments, in which Aunt Rosaline looked back and forth amongst them, eyeing them as though determining whether they could be trusted, she finally put her hand down in Bethanne’s. Mrs. Temple and Joyce assisted her in climbing down from the bed without toppling over on top of Bethanne, and then they all followed Joyce with her lantern.

  The cook threw the door to the dressing room open wide, until it clattered against the wall. She walked forward, holding the light up high so it would spread through the whole room.

  Bethanne tried to move forward, but her aunt’s grip on her elbow held her back. She tugged gently, encouraging Aunt Rosaline to come inside and look for herself.

  “He’ll catch us unaware.” A sniffle followed Aunt Rosaline’s pronouncement. “That’s what he did to my Christopher, you know.”

  “Come inside,” Bethanne prodded. “See for yourself that there’s no soldier here.”

  Joyce nodded with a placating smile. “It’s perfectly safe, my lady.”

  “Besides,” Mrs. Temple said, “if someone intends to kill you, he’ll have to go through all of us first.”

  Aunt Rosaline took a breath, pinched the bridge of her nose between two fingers, and then finally took a step inside. When she opened her fearful eyes, they went wide as she darted her head about the room. “Where…where did he go?”

  Arguing that he hadn’t been there in the first place would get them nowhere. Bethanne bit back a scowl, and hated herself for it. “I’m sure we frightened him off. He won’t be back, because he knows we’re looking for him.”

  Her aunt nodded vigorously. “Right. Of course.” She finally let go of the vise-like grip she had on Bethanne’s arm and took a turn about the room. “He won’t be back.” After a second scan of the room, she stopped in front of her vanity, running her fingers over the silver-backed brush and comb and a bit of jewelry. Then she screamed, placing her hand over her mouth so that the blood-curdling nature of the sound was somewhat stifled.

  “My brooch! He’s taken my emerald brooch.” She turned pained eyes on Bethanne, and her tears spilled over in a torrent. “My Christopher gave me that.”

  Madness. Sheer, utter madness.

  There could be no other explanation for her actions.

  As dawn was about to break over the horizon, Bethanne pulled her carriage to a stop at the mews outside Hassop House. The groom who took the horses’ reins from her eyed her warily, but said nothing. His silence, in this instance, was a blessing.

  “I’ll be back shortly. Please leave the horses as they are, but some water would be lovely.”

  A grunt sounded. She decided to take it as his acquiescence. Turning toward the main house, Bethanne took off in that direction. When she knocked at the door, several moments passed before the butler finally opened the door, his eyes still filled with sleep and his brown hair slightly askew. He looked at her, unseeingly at first, and then he gave a slight jump. “May I help you?” he asked with a cracking voice, a guarded expression taking over his features.

  “I have need of speaking with Lord Roman, sir.”

  He narrowed his eyes on her with a half frown. “Lord Roman? At th
is hour?”

  Behind him, a series of maids scurried into the corridors on their way to some destination or another. A few of them glanced over their shoulders, gawking at her. She wished the butler would not hold the door open so fully.

  Her visit was highly irregular. There could be no doubt about that. But that didn’t mean all of Hassop needed to learn of it, and there was no faster means for word to spread than a group of gossiping maids catching sight of her.

  Bethanne squared her shoulders and nodded. “Yes. I’m afraid it is a matter of some urgency.”

  “Perhaps,” the butler replied, speaking a bit more loudly than before (presumably to be heard over the snickers and chatter of the parade of maids tromping along behind him), “if you could tell me of this matter, I could take care of it for you.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

  Aunt Rosaline hadn’t given the butler her brooch, after all. She’d given it to Lord Roman. Bethanne therefore had to get it back from Lord Roman. She certainly didn’t need to raise anyone’s suspicions as to why she’d be calling upon a gentleman and asking for him to return a piece of jewelry.

  If the maids learned of that… She shuddered to think of their reaction.

  He stepped out onto the doorstep with her, pulling the door almost closed, but not quite, behind him. “Miss Shelton,” he said urgently, “I don’t think you understand—”

  “No,” Bethanne interrupted him. “I understand perfectly well how I’m seen about town, sir. And I’m telling you in no uncertain terms, I cannot inform you of my purpose. I must see Lord Roman.”

  The butler let out a weary sigh. He eyed her for a moment, indecision puckering his brow and pinching the corners of his lips. After several long minutes in which she did not cower under his perusal, he finally said, “Lord Roman is not here. He sleeps at the dower house, but—”

  “Thank you,” Bethanne called out and hurried on her way before he could find some reason to stop her.

  “Miss Shelton!” he called out after her.

  She didn’t stop. Instead, she picked up the hem of her skirts and nearly ran off. The butler yelled something else, but the wind carried it away. It didn’t matter. He was likely only intending to warn her of the damage visiting Lord Roman would do to her reputation, despite the fact that she had no reputation left. Truly, he was a kind man to try to protect her in such a way. There were far too few men such as him left in the world.

  For the slightest moment, she allowed herself to think about what it might take to convince him to come work at the Cottage at Round Hill, but dashed it away as the silly idea it was.

  After only a few moments, Bethanne was scurrying up the lane to the dower house. She came to a stop in front of the door and was just about to reach up her hand to knock when it was ripped open before her.

  Lord Roman came barreling through it with no shirt and his pants half undone. He was drenched in sweat and had the look of a madman in his eyes…and he was heading straight for her.

  What devil had hold of him now? Roman had darted out of the house, so desperate for the cold, crisp air and the peace it could give his addled mind that he’d fumbled with the flap of his trousers, even as he’d struggled with the bolts on the doors.

  The near suffocation from the weight of his nightmares had been more than enough. He didn’t need the added torment he always felt in the presence of Miss Shelton.

  Yet there she was, an aberration in the near-dawn light, staring up at him with those huge, fear-filled green eyes. She’d seen him when he was still half-mad from the insanity of it all, and it showed all over her face. Not to mention in the way she trembled.

  Damnation, he wished for just one day, he could cease being the monster he’d become. Then, perhaps, he could get to know her. Then, perhaps, he could allay her fears.

  But no man could be what he was not.

  Roman took a moment to collect himself, making an effort to remove the wildness that must be haunting his eyes. And then he came to his senses.

  “Miss Shelton? It’s not yet dawn. Is there a problem with your aunt?” He let the door slam closed behind him, sorting out the flap of his pants as he hurried to stand before her.

  She didn’t answer though, just stood there watching his frenzied movements. Her breathing went from rapid due to her exertion to sharp, short intakes, as though she’d been startled out of her wits. As he could bloody well imagine she had been.

  “Is Lady Rosaline all right? Or the boy? Who is hurt?”

  Miss Shelton shook her head, backing away from him.

  “For God’s sake, why are you on my doorstep at this hour? What is wrong?”

  “My—my aunt’s brooch,” she finally stuttered, stumbling in her haste to back away from him again.

  The brooch? Roman blinked at her, sure he’d heard her incorrectly, or at least missed something important in what she’d mumbled.

  “I’ve come to collect my aunt’s brooch from you,” she said more firmly. “Joyce said Aunt Rosaline was wearing it last night when you joined us for supper, but it is missing now. I believe she gave it to you.”

  He hadn’t lost his mind. She truly had come, as an unmarried lady, to knock on a gentleman’s door, in the snow, well before dawn, in order to reclaim a blasted piece of jewelry. No, it was Miss Shelton who was mad, not Roman.

  “It couldn’t wait until daylight?” he demanded, his voice coming out almost as a bark. “Surely you didn’t think I would be so callous as to keep it.”

  “It couldn’t—”

  “And you had no more sense than to come yourself at this hour? You couldn’t be bothered to send a servant, or heaven forbid, ask Lord Devonport to call upon me and handle this task for you?” The infuriating, headstrong, vexingly beautiful woman was going to drive him mad, in more ways than he could count.

  “I did not wish to wake anyone—”

  “You didn’t want to wake anyone, yet you had no qualms about waking me, is that it?” Christ above, what had come over him? He never berated a woman. He absolutely never interrupted one, unless it was a dire emergency.

  She’d taken the last grain of his sanity, and likely had her cook bake it into a pastry sometime in the last few days.

  “If you’d allow me to speak…” she said quietly, yet with a heft to her tone he hadn’t assumed her capable of.

  Roman forced himself to remain quiet and nodded. Somehow, some way, he would control his temper and let the pixie say what she needed to say. Then he would let her know how very foolish she had been. Not sooner.

  She crossed her arms over her chest and shuddered—definitely much more than just a simple shiver. At least she’d had the sense to don her redingote before venturing halfway across town, but still, she’d catch her death from the chill. Taking her inside wouldn’t be proper, but then again…what about Miss Shelton was proper?

  He doubted anyone would see them, anyway. No one but possibly a Hassop House groom would be about, and none of them would dare take exception.

  Before she could start talking, he took her arm and guided her inside, then closed the door. He sat her in an armchair near the hearth, tossed a blanket in her direction, and then built up the fire behind the grate, all the while ignoring her indignant expression.

  When he was satisfied that she would soon begin to warm, he sat across from her. “Go ahead. I’m prepared to listen now.”

  She snapped her jaw closed, and a flood of delightful pink raced to her cheeks. “Would you…well.” With a wave in his general direction, she passed her gaze briefly to his bare chest before she snapped it back up to his face again. “Please?”

  She was blushing like a virgin over a bit of bare chest. Not the typical reaction one would expect from a supposed brazen woman, the unmarried mother of a child.

  Roman brushed the thought aside, stood, and retrieved his coat from where it was draped over another chair just inside the door. He put it on and lifted a brow in her direction. “Better?”

 
She nodded, so he resumed his seat.

  Miss Shelton fidgeted with the edges of the blanket she’d wrapped around her, in a manner that reminded him of Lady Rosaline with her quill. It was slightly unnerving, and yet fascinating. He watched her slim fingers dancing over the cloth, as though they knew some other purpose. Never before had he watched Miss Shelton’s nervous movements. He’d always been more drawn to her aunt.

  “I assume she gave you the brooch?” she asked tentatively.

  Roman nodded. “She said it was something I’d forgotten. That she’d been meaning to return it to me. I forgot about it over the course of supper. When I discovered it upon returning home, I intended to bring it back to her today.”

  “I assumed as much,” she said on a sigh. “My aunt doesn’t remember giving you her brooch, sir.” The words came out harshly, as though they were a struggle to speak aloud. She worried her lower lip between her teeth, and then a pink tongue came out for just a moment. “She woke in the night, screaming and convinced that there—that there was a soldier in her dressing room. When we finally convinced her that the soldier was no longer there, she discovered that her brooch was missing. It’s… She thinks the soldier stole it from her, and she will not rest until she has it back.”

  This woman was the most unselfish person he’d ever encountered. She was more concerned with her aunt’s wellbeing than her own reputation. “And that is why you’re here at this hour of the morning, then.”

  “Yes. If we don’t calm her soon, no one will be able to rest.”

  He couldn’t help but wonder how long it had been since Miss Shelton had rested. Really, truly rested.

  He didn’t ask her, however, and she kept talking. “I left her with Mrs. Temple and Joyce. They’ll be able to keep her calm better than I can. And I didn’t want to…”

  “You didn’t want to wake your guests,” he finished for her.