Damnation, she must think that the carriage housed Lieutenant Jackson and not the new manservant for the cottage.
He stood to block her, should she try to run from the room to greet the man. That proved unnecessary, however, as Lady Rosaline darted to the window. “He’s here!” she shouted, with equal amounts of delight and longing coloring her tone. “My brother Drake has finally come to pay me a visit.”
That might be a simpler misunderstanding from which to calm Lady Rosaline. She wasn’t desperate for a visit from her brother, so she wouldn’t be quite as devastated when she learned it wasn’t him but instead a new servant. Roman relaxed.
Until Bethanne’s head whipped around to look at him, her eyes in a full state of panic. She bounded from the sofa to stand by the window, and all color drained from her face. “It’s Uncle Drake’s carriage. It’s his crest.” She shook her head, her eyes vacant. “Jo never sent a letter. She didn’t warn me.”
The sound of booted feet crossed the pea gravel, coming ever closer to the door. As a knock sounded, Finn’s feet pounded down the stairs and he shouted, “Mama!” Bethanne looked as though the world had come crashing to an end.
And he’d be damned if he could determine how to save her from it.
This couldn’t be happening. Bethanne stared dazedly at Roman, as though he could suddenly burst out with superhuman abilities and sort out the mess she was in the midst of—a mess she’d created, at least partially, for herself. All she could do was shake her head, as countless thoughts raced through her mind.
Finn leapt into her arms and kissed her on the cheek, even though she almost hadn’t caught him due to how hard she was shaking.
“Someone here.” His grin was as wide as the doorway.
“I…yes…” Yes, someone was most decidedly here, as evidenced by another knock at the door. She tried to move her feet, to walk to the door and let Uncle Drake in, but it was as though her half-boots had turned to lead. She couldn’t budge. Not even a blessed inch.
Roman stepped over to her and took Finn from her arms, passing him to Mrs. Wyatt. “Take Finn back to the nursery.” Then, when they were moving away despite Finn’s howls of protestation, Roman turned back to Bethanne. “You must remain calm.”
Calm. Yes. Somehow, she could do that. Well, she could if the pulse trying to explode through her veins would somehow slow itself to a halfway normal rate. What were the odds of something such as that happening? Likely slim to none.
Roman took her by the arm and guided her back to the sofa. He chucked her under the chin so that she was forced to look up into his eyes—steadfast, reassuring, gray eyes that never wavered. “This will be all right. I promise you…”
For lack of anything else on which to hold, Bethanne grasped that statement for dear life and refused to let go. It would be all right. Somehow, Roman would make sure it was all right. She nodded, and then he left her, pulling the parlor door almost to a close.
Over the roaring of her pulse pounding through her head, Bethanne heard the front door open. Then her heart stopped beating completely, freezing along with her hopes of ever keeping her secrets from her family.
“I don’t know you.” The gentleman’s tone was haughty and laden with suspicion—and belonged to none other than her hot-headed, foolhardy brother, Isaac.
Good God, was the world conspiring against her? It must be.
“Where’s Inwood?” Isaac demanded.
“That isn’t Drake’s voice,” Aunt Rosaline whimpered, her eyes wide and confused.
Bethanne shushed her as apologetically as she could, all the while trying desperately to hear every muffled word spoken between the two men.
“Inwood no longer works for Lady Rosaline. May I help you, sir?” Roman kept his tone low and polite. He sounded as though he could even be a servant.
Which might very well have been his aim, now that Bethanne took a moment to think about it.
Roman couldn’t know that this was her brother on the other side of the door, could he? Yet despite his ignorance on that matter, he was doing whatever he could to protect her—to protect the secrets she hadn’t confided in him. Bethanne shivered and tried to ignore the unfamiliar, warm sensations coursing through her veins. She’d done nothing to deserve Roman’s loyalty, and yet he had never wavered in his determination to aid her in any and every way he could.
“Take me to Lady Rosaline and Miss Shelton,” Isaac commanded, apparently accepting Roman’s ploy. At least for now.
Only half a second passed before Roman answered. “And who may I tell them has come to call?”
“Isaac Shelton. Lady Rosaline’s nephew and Miss Shelton’s brother.”
“Nephew?” Aunt Rosaline barked out. “I’m hardly old enough to have a grown man for a nephew. This cad is trying to pull the wool over his eyes.”
Bethanne pressed a hand to her temples. “Please, Aunt Rosaline, not now.”
Roman cleared his throat. “Right this way, sir.”
Thumpity-thumpity-thump. Her heartbeat had taken on a new, unfamiliar rhythm, one which might never return to normal. What could she tell Isaac about what was taking place in her home? What could she possibly say?
More importantly, how soon could she convince him that all was well and escort him out, back on his way, so she could continue with her mess of a life as it had been?
A series of booted footsteps clomped along the floor, and then the door opened fully. Isaac rushed in before Roman. He smiled briefly at Bethanne, and then turned his attention to Aunt Rosaline, placing a chaste kiss on her cheek. He seemed oblivious to their aunt’s dazed expression, or at least oblivious as to what it might mean.
“Aunt Rosaline, it has been far too long since we’ve seen you. And you, Bethanne.” Isaac’s gaze caught hers for a moment, and held in the way he always did when he tried to impose his will upon her.
Behind him, Roman remained by the door as though standing sentry, watching over things. He looked to Bethanne, his eyes filled with a combination of protectiveness and compassion.
Botheration, he didn’t know what they ought to do, either.
Isaac plopped down in the seat Roman had vacated when he’d gone to answer the door. “You two must come with me to Ainsworth Court for Christmas.”
A dreamy expression took over Aunt Rosaline’s visage. “Ainsworth Court! You’re going to take me to see my brother.” Then her excitement flagged, and she turned fretful eyes to Bethanne. “Oh, but I can’t leave until my Christopher arrives!”
“Christopher?” Isaac’s brow furrowed in consternation. “Aunt Rosaline, of course Claremont will be there, as will the entire family.”
But on a day like today, when Aunt Rosaline was dressed in her red gown, she wouldn’t know anything about her nephew Christopher Faulkner, Lord Claremont—Jo’s elder brother, who happened to be the very nephew named after the man Aunt Rosaline had loved and lost well before any of them were born. She wouldn’t know who any of them were, or that she had any nieces or nephews at all, let alone a solid dozen.
“Isaac,” Bethanne began timidly, unsure what she was going to say but knowing she needed to say something. “I think it would be best if you and I speak privately for a moment.”
The words had hardly left her lips before Roman rushed into the room. “I’ll just take Lady Rosaline with me to the kitchens then.” He helped her aunt to her feet, though the elder woman looked up at him in bewilderment.
“He is coming, isn’t he, sir?”
Isaac followed them with his eyes until they were out of the room and the door closed behind them, and then he turned back to Bethanne questioningly. “Who’s the new manservant? He looks more like a gentleman than a servant. Rather queer, that. And what’s happened to Inwood? He’s worked for Aunt Rosaline for an eternity or two, if not longer.”
Bethanne’s breath caught. That was not what she wanted to talk to him about. She shook her head and cleared her throat. “Aunt Rosaline was talking about Christopher Jackson, not ou
r cousin.”
“Christopher Jackson?” Isaac repeated, his eyes narrowed. “Who in bloody hell is Christopher Jackson?”
Of course, Isaac wouldn’t recognize the name. He’d never paid much attention to those sorts of things, preferring instead to run off with his friends or some of the other male cousins near his age when anyone started talking about the past. His exodus was always hastened if they started discussing people he’d never met.
“Christopher Jackson was the man Aunt Rosaline intended to elope with—the man Grandpapa refused to let her marry.”
“He’s dead, though, right?” Isaac scratched his chin and frowned. “Died in the colonies or something.”
Bethanne nodded and waited for her brother to piece the puzzle together. He just stared at her, blankly, with no sign of comprehension.
She sighed. “Yes, he died. She doesn’t understand that today, however.”
That seemed to strike a chord within him. Isaac narrowed his eyes and looked at her pensively for a moment. “But some days she does?” he asked slowly.
She pressed her eyes closed tight, knowing she ought to tell him the whole truth. The family deserved to know just how far Aunt Rosaline’s mind had gone. They needed to know that she was only herself on rare occasions, and that by the day, those occasions grew fewer and farther between.
Instead, she looked squarely into her brother’s eyes and said, “Yes, some days she does.”
It was the truth, to an extent. Yet Bethanne felt like a monster for not revealing everything to her brother.
Isaac nodded. “Well, we aren’t travelling today, so that won’t matter.”
Her heartbeat raced even faster. Aunt Rosaline couldn’t go to Ainsworth Court. The family couldn’t see her like this. And Bethanne absolutely couldn’t chance her aunt having an episode on the road. That was a disaster waiting to happen.
He kept talking, though, seemingly unconcerned that she hadn’t responded and had almost stopped breathing in her desperation to find an excuse to oust him from her home.
“I’ll stay with you here at the cottage for a few days, and when she’s feeling more herself, we’ll go together to Ainsworth Court.”
A loud clatter sounded from above, followed by a thunk.
Good heavens, what could that be? But she had other matters which needed her attention at the moment. Roman and the servants would just have to sort it out for themselves.
Bethanne shook her head and finally found her voice again. “No, Isaac. No, that won’t—”
“Mama!” Finn blubbered through his sobs as he burst through the doors and rushed straight to Bethanne’s side. He buried his face in her gown, streaking it with his tears. “Nurse fall down.”
Isaac caught her gaze, and in a brief moment she saw confusion turn to dawning realization as it passed over his visage.
There was no more time to fret. No time for panic.
In a single move, Bethanne lifted her son into her arms and rushed into the hall with him, oblivious as to whether Isaac was following her or not.
Mrs. Wyatt needed her.
The crash from above stairs was the last thing Roman needed to hear.
Lady Rosaline squealed in shock.
Almost as an afterthought, he settled her in a chair in the kitchen and caught Joyce’s eye. “Stay with Lady Rosaline. Keep her calm.”
The cook nodded, and he rushed out into the hall—not soon enough to block Finn’s tearful foray into the parlor, however. “Mama!” the boy cried, and Roman’s heart plummeted, but it was too late to do anything about that.
Mrs. Temple met him at the foot of the stairs, her eyes filled jointly with fear and fortitude, and together they rushed up.
“It sounded like it came from the nursery,” the housekeeper panted, leading the way to Finn’s domain.
The door was open, and the faint sound of Mrs. Wyatt’s moans met them in the corridor even as more footsteps clattered on the stairs behind them. He couldn’t worry about who might be coming up behind him, even if it was Isaac Shelton—nor could he worry what Shelton might do. Mrs. Wyatt was hurt. Roman pushed his way inside.
No blood. That was an excellent sign, though the nurse was crumpled on the floor in a wholly unnatural position, with her left leg bent at an awkward angle beneath her. He knelt to the floor beside her, and she lifted her head as he reached out to lift her.
“Put your arms around my neck,” he commanded, even as he situated his arms in such a way as to provide her with the maximum amount of support and the least amount of discomfort.
She didn’t obey. Mrs. Wyatt’s warm, brown eyes widened and she shook her head. “But my lord—”
“My lord?” Isaac Shelton half-shouted as he forced his way into the nursery. “Who in God’s name are you, and why are you impersonating a servant in my aunt’s household? In my unmarried sister’s household?”
Roman wanted to sigh, but it would serve no purpose. He turned his head slightly to look at the younger man, whose green eyes were so strikingly akin to Bethanne’s, save the fact that they were blazing holes through him right now. He had no doubt that Shelton would run him through at the moment, were the women and child not present.
Roman eyed the younger man with a look of authority. “Allow me to aid the nurse, and then I’ll answer whatever questions you may have,” Roman said calmly, but with the full weight of influence he had used with the men who served beneath him.
Shelton’s eyes flashed, and he ground his teeth together, causing a muscle in his jaw to jerk. Roman knew that expression well…it was the expression of a man who waged an internal war, whether to do what was right or to do what his heart called out for.
Eventually, Shelton gave a curt nod. “How can I assist you?”
Bethanne’s eyes drew Roman’s attention then, or perhaps it was more the tears glistening in them and falling down her cheeks unhindered. She stood behind her brother, holding Finn close to her chest, looking as hurt and lost and dejected as he’d ever seen.
A bayonet to the chest would have caused far less discomfort than knowing he could do nothing to ease her hurt. Losing a leg or an arm in battle would have been less painful than being unable to remove the fear from her heart.
For the first time since Waterloo, Roman wished he had never sold his commission. Then he wouldn’t have known the devastation unraveling before his eyes within the woman he loved.
He shoved the felling wound to his heart aside. “Fetch something we can use to secure her leg.”
Mrs. Temple took over from there. “If you’ll follow me, Mr. Shelton. I’d think the spare fence rails we have should work. You can carry those up, and I’ll find some strips of linen to tie them in place.”
After a prolonged look filled with unnamed emotions, Bethanne took Finn and left, as well. That was just as well. Roman could think more clearly about what was to be done without… He shook the thought away and set back to work, securing Mrs. Wyatt in his arms.
This was not the time to lose his focus to emotion.
Time had come to a stop, it seemed. For who knew how long, Bethanne had sat at the bench of the pianoforte playing Beethoven in order to keep Aunt Rosaline calm, while Joyce played with Finn on the floor. After a while, Aunt Rosaline had nodded off in her chair near the hearth, thankfully—yet Bethanne had continued to play.
She needed the distraction. If she didn’t have that on which to focus her thoughts…
Countless times since they’d come to the music room, she’d heard the heavy, cocksure footfalls of her brother pounding up and down the stairs; the softer, slower padding of Mrs. Temple often accompanied him and occasionally traversed the path alone. At one point, Isaac had come down the stairs and gone out the front door, not returning for well over an hour. When he did, it was with another set of footsteps accompanying him.
Panic set in, and a fresh wave of tears flooded to Bethanne’s eyes. Had he gone off to fetch Uncle Drake or their brother Gerald, or any of the other men in the family?
>
“The doctor, I’m sure,” Joyce said reassuringly.
Bethanne nodded. Of course, she was right. The broken bone in Mrs. Wyatt’s leg would need to be looked after. Not only that, but her relatives were hardly close enough that they could be fetched so quickly. It would take days, not hours. With studied effort, Bethanne fought off her fears and refocused upon the notes on the page before her.
Sometime later, a knock sounded at the front door. Joyce slipped out of the room, leaving Finn playing with his blocks, and stepped into the foyer. She rushed back in moments later holding a letter with a red wax seal, her eyes as filled with fear as Bethanne’s heart was.
Bethanne stopped playing and ripped through the seal. Sure enough, it was from Jo.
We tried to stop him, but Isaac is on his way. Prepare yourself.
All our love,
Jo, Tabitha, and Noah
Turning the missive over in her hands, she had to laugh lest she go mad. Fools! All of them, fools. How had they thought to keep such secrets from the family? The idea that a letter could fend off discovery was laughable at best, and yet they’d latched onto it like it was a lifeline.
Bethanne passed the letter back to Joyce and resumed her seat at the pianoforte. She started to play again, as it might very well be the last time for a great long time she was allowed to do something so frivolous. Before she could stop him, Isaac would likely be sending for Father and Uncle Drake and every other man of her relation, and her life as she knew it would be at an end.
It was only after a great, long while that she heard the steady, rhythmic steps of Roman making their way down the steps, as though he were marching. To war? To her funeral? She listened intently as she played, trying to determine where he was going and what he would be doing. It wasn’t difficult to sort out his destination—he came to a stop at the door of the music room and remained there, quietly waiting until she stopped her recital.
When the final chord of the piece dropped off, still echoing in the room, she turned and faced him, her eyes scratchy and dry from shedding too many tears.
The Old Maids' Club 02 - Pariah Page 20