“Thank you for your help, ma’am. I don’t know what we would have done without you.”
Joanna fought the desire to remind her she’d done no great feat. Instead, she simply said “You are welcome” then left the house as quickly as she could, glad to be walking away from Mr. Aldridge. “Of all the stubborn things to do,” she muttered.
Instead of taking the shortest way home, she turned to the ocean, taking a path down to the pebbly beach. As it was still early, she stood alone as waves caressed the shore nearby. The sea breeze stroked her cheeks, the salty ocean air filled her lungs and the waves sang to her soul as always. Yet the indignation that filled her mind would not flee. It frustrated her further that not even the ocean could clear her emotions of that man.
Church that morning was uneventful, though Joanna could not deny the feeling of grim pleasure that Mr. Aldridge was not in attendance, and therefore, unable to claim her seat as his own. She filed quietly out of the chapel after the services, still in an unpleasant mood. She made to walk home immediately, not wishing to make the effort of pleasant conversation, but Edith overtook her, slipping her arm through Joanna’s.
“What troubles you, dear friend?”
“It is nothing of consequence.”
“Everything is of consequence to a friend.”
Joanna smiled and relented. She relayed the events of the morning to her friend and finished with, “He claimed he was concerned for my reputation, though I attempted to inform him there was nothing to worry about. I sense there was something else, something he did not wish to tell me.”
A smile lit Edith’s face. “Ooh, a mystery then! We do not have many of those in Roselund Heights.”
Joanna grinned. “I fear it is less of a mystery and more a case of an unpleasant, stubborn man.”
Edith nodded, a knowing smile on her face. “Unfortunately, we have far too many of those in Roselund Heights.”
One would suppose that the untoward actions of a near stranger would render a person indifferent to said stranger. Yet such was not the case for Joanna. Though armed with ample cause to disregard him, she could not free her mind of thoughts of Mr. Aldridge. Always with the same association of intrigue and vexation.
Tuesday afternoon, Joanna was due at the Marchant home to keep the elderly Mrs. Marchant company while her daughter made her calls. She had been there for all of an hour before Mrs. Marchant narrowed her eyes at her.
“You are in rather an odd mood, Miss Leighton. What troubles you?”
Joanna looked up from her needlework, pressing her lips together into a resemblance of a smile. “Nothing, Mrs. Marchant. Why do you ask?”
Mrs. Marchant did not look up from her own needlework. “You are usually a much better conversationalist.”
Joanna shook her head discreetly. The old woman’s blunt disposition did not shock her as it once did. “I am sorry, I suppose my thoughts were elsewhere.” She returned to her needlework. “What would you like to discuss today?”
Joanna could feel her pointed gaze. “You might tell me about the young man you are thinking about,” Mrs. Marchant said.
Joanna felt herself stiffen and regretted the response instantly.
Mrs. Marchant’s triumphant smile could not be hid, though it was unlikely she wished it to be. “I was certain it was a young man who led your thoughts elsewhere. Do tell me what these thoughts may be.”
With all her might, Joanna tried to relax her pose, yet nothing could halt the tingling she felt across her skin. “There is nothing to tell.”
Mrs. Marchant looked up from her needlework, her expression incredulous. “Come now, Miss Leighton, we elderly folks hear little enough of love at our age. Indulge an old woman.”
Joanna laughed, continuing to sew. “Love, ma’am? I will not insult your intelligence and will confess I was thinking of a certain young man.” Mrs. Marchant beamed in a most prideful manner. “However, I will also tell you the feelings I have for him are most certainly not of love.”
The old woman’s probing gaze insisted Joanna meet her eyes. When she did, Mrs. Marchant seemed to search deep within them for some answer. “Are you confident in that?”
Joanna met her unwavering expression with her own. “Undoubtedly.”
At last, Mrs. Marchant broke her stare and returned to her needlework. “We shall see, Miss Leighton. We shall see.”
As Joanna walked home that afternoon, Mrs. Marchant’s speculations plagued her. Of course she did not love Mr. Aldridge! She hardly knew the man. She wondered, however, at the consistency in which he filled her thoughts. It worried her, as she had no desire to grow so attached to anyone. A familiar pain raced through her heart but she forced it away, focusing instead on the pebbled path beneath her feet.
The ache returned as she stood in the entryway of her home, removing her bonnet and gloves. Her hands froze as they worked at the knot in her bonnet string, her eyes fixed on the painting above the table. It was a simple piece of art, just a few flowers in a vase, though the memories it stirred were far from simple. Tears began to bite at her eyes but she would not allow them to fall. Her throat burned, withholding a sob that threatened to escape. She clutched her gloves, willing her emotions into submission.
Joanna continued to stare at the painting, daring it to overwhelm her again. “It is only a painting,” she reminded herself, attempting to convince herself the words were true.
Mariah came through the front door and approached Joanna from behind, her cheeks rosy, her eyes alight with joy. “What a wonderful day it has been.” She paused. “I see you are admiring that thing again. Why must we keep that one here in the hall?”
Joanna closed her eyes against the pain she had only just managed to subdue. “You know why.”
Mariah’s voice quieted and she placed a tender hand on Joanna’s arm. “Yes, I do. But Mother painted so many others, much nicer than this. Why must this one greet us daily?”
“This one is special.”
The tenderness left Mariah’s voice. “But it is not even very good. The painting in the upstairs hall, for example, would be far better—”
Joanna whirled around, making Mariah take a step back. “This painting will remain here, Mariah. I do not need your approval.” She stormed toward the stairs, pain mingling with anger.
“It is my home too, Joanna,” Mariah shouted. “You must remember that.”
“Yes, but Mother left it in my care, not yours. Therefore, my will is what we’ll be following.” Joanna hurried up the stairs before Mariah could respond.
A week later Joanna sat in their small library, gazing out at the street and letting her thoughts churn like the waves of the ocean. Her unfocused gaze landed on one man in particular. She shook her head as she recognized Mr. Aldridge, who carried a package beneath his arm. She expected him to pass by and press on, and would have been grateful not to sit with him. Much to her disapproval, he stopped outside her door and looked up. Joanna leapt from the window seat, hoping he had not seen her watching him.
She waited in silent anticipation for the bell to ring, half praying it would not. When the cursed bell sounded, Joanna’s heart began to race and she placed her hand over it, willing it to calm. Why should I react so to Mr. Aldridge calling? True, none of their encounters had been pleasant, yet she had no reason to be uneasy. She took a moment to compose herself, ensuring a firm control of her heart before leaving the library. On her way up, she passed Mariah coming down the flight of stairs.
“Oh, Joanna. Susan is looking for you. Mr. Aldridge is in the drawing room.” Mariah’s expression did not hide her curiosity.
“I know, thank you.” Joanna paused, suddenly distracted by Mariah’s outfit.
“What is it?” Mariah asked, exasperation clear in her voice, though Joanna could not imagine why.
Joanna tilted her head to the side. “That jacket does not suit you at all. That shade of pink does nothing for your complexion.”
Mariah’s mouth fell open. “I adore this j
acket.”
Joanna shook her head, suddenly remembering that company was waiting for her. “You ought to change, Mariah. I have a brown one that would suit you much better. You may borrow it, if you promise to return it this evening,” she said as she walked up the stairs, assuming Mariah would ascend behind her and change as she had recommended.
Joanna paused before the door to the drawing room, uncertain what she would say to Mr. Aldridge, before taking a deep breath and opening the door.
Mr. Aldridge stood beside a table, unwrapping the package he had been carrying from its brown paper. He turned and offered a bow when she entered. “Miss Leighton, how do you do?”
Joanna curtsied. “Good day, Mr. Aldridge. I am well, thank you. You seem much recovered yourself.”
“I am.”
There was an awkward moment while both stood, not looking at the other, not speaking.
Finally he cleared his throat and said, “I am sorry I did not call earlier.”
“Sir?”
The corner of his mouth lifted. The smile, while small, revealed how handsome he truly was. Joanna was distracted by this revelation and had to force herself to regain her focus when he spoke again.
“I wished to express my gratitude for your assistance last week.”
Joanna bit her lip to hold back her retort. He had sent her away, and rudely too, and now he wished to thank her? If anything, this man proved more confusing than pleasant. “It was nothing, sir.”
Mr. Aldridge shook his head. “I owed you thanks but was instead rude and stubborn. It was not my intention to insult you, though I fear that is exactly what I had done.”
Though her initial reaction of frustration still lingered, Joanna could not deny the softening of her heart at his confession. “You have every right to refuse assistance.”
“Perhaps, but I ought to have been more kind about it. I know you were there to help,” he paused as repressed thoughts danced in his eyes. “If I can offer any excuse, it is that your identity surprised me.”
Joanna stifled a smile. “And I am sorry for that. I truly did not intend to keep that from you.”
He nodded. “In any event, I wanted to bring you this.”
He motioned to the table and Joanna crossed the room to stand beside him. She drew in a breath at what lay before her. It was a painting, a landscape of the South Downs meeting the sea at Eastbourne, the white chalk cliffs meeting blue ocean.
“It is beautiful,” she whispered.
“Thank you. It is a token of my thanks and my apologies, on the chance that my words were not enough to convince you.”
Joanna looked up at him, pleased by his easy demeanor, yet uncertain what to make of him. “I am flattered.”
The sincerity in his eyes simultaneously drew her in and left her apprehensive. It was easy to fall into the depths of those eyes, dangerously so. She forced herself to look away. The signature on the painting caught her attention and she looked at it closer, drawing back in surprise when she read the name.
“You painted this?” Joanna asked, looking up at him again.
There was no pride in his expression, only a humble sort of pleasure. “I did.”
Joanna examined the painting again, marveling even more at the skill of the strokes. “You did not tell me you are an artist.”
“And you did not tell me your uncle is the town physician.”
Joanna glanced at him, expecting to see him looking cross. Instead, he wore a small smile and she realized he was teasing her. She let herself smile as well.
“True, but as I have already apologized, you certainly cannot hold that against me any longer.”
“I will only agree to such terms if you will offer me the same courtesy,” he said, his eyes dancing.
Joanna felt her smile grow. “Agreed.” She was amazed at the difference in his temper and found herself asking, “Won’t you sit down?” and hoping he would say yes.
A shadow flickered across Mr. Aldridge’s face, stilling the emotions in his eyes. Nevertheless, he took a seat opposite her.
“Have you lived in Roselund Heights your whole life?” he asked.
“No, my father has a few acres of farmland in Suffolk.”
He raised a brow. “That is quite a distance. What brought you here?”
Joanna hesitated, not wanting to reveal too much to a near stranger. “The sea, of course.”
He nodded slowly. “Do you often return to Suffolk?”
“No. Father has let out the house now, though he manages the estate himself.”
“Do you miss it?”
It struck Joanna that she had not considered this in some time. “You know, I do not. I missed being in the country at first, I suppose, but I fell so in love with the sea, that I can scarcely imagine living away from it now.”
“That is a sentiment I can relate to. I have never lived near the sea until coming here. There is a serenity and peace to it that I feel many do not see.”
Joanna smiled, enjoying the feeling of a shared interest. The door suddenly opened and laughter filled the room as Mariah and her friend, Gabrielle, entered. They stopped and quieted instantly when they saw Joanna and Mr. Aldridge sitting together.
“Oh! My apologies. I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Mariah said, casting Joanna an obviously curious gaze.
“It is nothing,” Joanna said.
Mr. Aldridge stood, the stiffness he’d displayed in their previous encounters returning again. “I ought to be going. Thank you again, Miss Leighton.” He bowed. “Good day.”
Before Joanna could so much as stand, he had hurried out the door. Joanna sat, alarmed and confused beyond measure by Mr. Aldridge’s abrupt departure.
Gabrielle whispered something to Mariah and they began to laugh again. Ignoring them, Joanna stood and crossed the room. She was next to Mariah before she realized Mariah still wore the pink spencer jacket.
“Why did you not change?”
Mariah scowled at her. “I had no desire to change.”
“You really should have. That really does look awful on you.” Joanna sighed. “Wait here, I will fetch mine for you.”
Mariah’s face colored. “I do not need your jacket, Joanna. As it is, we’ll be leaving shortly.”
“All the more reason you will need my jacket. I’ll only be a moment.” Joanna turned to go up the stairs, but before she set her foot upon them, the drawing room door slammed shut. Joanna turned to see Mariah hurrying toward the main floor, Gabrielle following close behind, looking surprised.
“Do not bother, Joanna. And do not expect me home for dinner.”
“Mariah—” Joanna called after her, but her sister left without another word.
By late afternoon the following day, Joanna realized she had only seen Mariah at lunch, and she had been very quiet then. Worried that she may be unwell, Joanna went up to Mariah’s room and knocked softly before pushing the door open. Instead of finding Mariah in her bed, as she expected, Joanna found an open trunk packed halfway to the top. Hat boxes stood stacked in the corner of the room, and a smaller truck lay open on the floor waiting to be filled. Mariah turned from the closet, a gown in her hands. Her expression turned stony as their eyes met.
Joanna frowned. “Are you going somewhere, Mariah?”
“I am.” Mariah folded the dress carelessly before dropping it in the trunk.
Joanna sat on the bed and removed the dress from the trunk. She unfolded it, then carefully began to fold it properly.
“Are you not going to tell me where?”
When Mariah remained silent, Joanna looked up at her. Mariah had not moved but stood with her hands on her hips, her head cocked to one side as she watched her sister.
“What?” Joanna asked.
Mariah snatched the dress from Joanna’s hands, hastily shoving it into the trunk.
“It will wrinkle—”
“I do not care!” Mariah returned to the closet, heaving a great sigh. “I am going to London.”
“To
London? Why?”
“I have been considering it for several weeks, but now I am determined.”
“Determined?”
Mariah threw another gown into the trunk, not even attempting to fold it. “I am moving there, Joanna. I wrote to Father this morning and he will be expecting me tomorrow. This will be my last night in Roselund Heights.”
Joanna had been about to reach for the crumpled gown but her hand froze in the air and her gaze flew to her sister. Her chest tightened.
“You are leaving me?”
Mariah did not even have the decency to appear guilty. “I am. I cannot stand living here any longer.”
“What is so terrible about living here? What has happened?”
Mariah looked at her with disbelief. “You cannot be serious, Joanna. You must know.”
Joanna stood and shook her head. “No! Please tell me what is troubling you. I am certain we can resolve it.”
Mariah threw her hands into the air. “It is you, Joanna!”
Joanna’s eyes went wide. “Me?”
“Yes! How can you not see how you control every aspect of life here? You must have a say in everything and allow me a say in nothing. I know I am the younger sister, but I am full grown and should have a voice over my own life.”
“Of course you do, Mariah.”
Mariah laughed callously, folding her arms across her chest. “Do not be stupid. My opinions carry no weight here, even in the simplest things. The curtains, Joanna? My jacket yesterday? How I fold my dress?” She lifted it from the trunk and shook it at Joanna. “It is ridiculous!”
Overwhelmed with shock, Joanna could only offer a weak, “I was only trying to help.”
“It is too much! I have attempted to endure your control as long as possible, but I can bear it no longer.” Mariah tossed the gown back into the trunk. “Our disagreements of late have shown me that you will never consider me responsible enough to make my own decisions. Father will be more lenient, I am certain.”
Joanna felt as if the air around her thickened. “You are serious then?”
Mariah turned, taking the pink spencer coat from her closet and examining it. “I am. I leave first thing tomorrow morning.”
Healing Hearts (Roselund Heights Book 1) Page 4