Healing Hearts (Roselund Heights Book 1)

by Miranda D Nelson

  Joanna pressed her lips together, unwilling to confess or deny whether that was true. Instead, she continued to the next painting.

  “Edith, please! My emotions are still too uneasy to trust at the moment. Please, let’s talk about it no more.” She looked around, hoping no one had been close enough to hear their conversation.

  What little color Fanny had drained from her face.

  Before Joanna could inquire, a smooth voice said, “Lady Francine, I had heard you had returned to town.”

  They turned to see Mr. Farnsby, his winning smile and expectant gaze in place.

  Joanna felt Fanny tense beside her.

  “Good evening, sir.” Fanny curtsied, but wobbled as she rose.

  Joanna took her elbow to steady her, then turned to Mr. Farnsby, dislike for him putting aside any need she felt for propriety.

  “Is there something we might do for you Mr. Farnsby? I believe we expressed Fanny’s desires very clearly to you already.”

  He turned his eyes toward Joanna and she sensed he was attempting to draw her in. The effort was powerless. She could not understand why so many of Roselund Heights’s young women went swooning after this man.

  His gaze turned calculating. “Perhaps you ought to let Lady Francine speak for herself. She is capable of doing so,” he said as he turned to Fanny again. “Is she not?”

  Fanny was silent for several moments. “I… I do not…”

  Rose stepped forward and put on her most charming pout.

  “Mr. Farnsby, would you believe that not a single gentleman here has asked me to walk with them?” She looked up at him through her lashes. “I trust you can remedy that.”

  Mr. Farnsby’s smile grew. “Indeed I shall.” He looked past her to Fanny. “Perhaps another time, Lady Francine.”

  He extended his arm to Rose and her pout melted into a grin when she took his arm, winking at the women as she turned away.

  Fanny exhaled sharply, then blinked rapidly before looking at Joanna and Edith. “Thank you. And remind me to thank Rose later. I am sorry she must spend time with him now.”

  Joanna scoffed. “Do not worry yourself, Fanny. We all know Rose is not happy if someone is not flirting with her. Even if it is Mr. Farnsby.”

  Edith chuckled. “She does not seem put off by his attentions in the least.”

  Fanny frowned.

  “Are you all right?” Joanna asked, placing her hand on Fanny’s arm.

  She nodded. “Yes. I feel so foolish though.”

  “Do not dwell on it a moment longer. Come, we have been standing here too long.” Joanna took her arm and pulled her forward to the next painting.

  Half an hour later, Rose rejoined them. “Well, did you all enjoy the rest of the paintings?”

  Fanny reached forward. “Yes, and thank you, Rose, for taking Mr. Farnsby away.”

  Rose patted her hand. “My dear friend, it was nothing at all.”

  She looked back over her shoulder to where Mr. Farnsby strode out the door. “The man can certainly pay a pretty compliment, can he not?”

  Fanny’s cheeks turned scarlet. “He certainly can,” she whispered.

  Edith started a conversation with Fanny about one of the paintings and Joanna leaned close to Rose.

  “Use caution, Rose,” Joanna reminded her quietly.

  But Rose only smiled. “Do not fear, Joanna. I simply enjoy his attentions. My heart is not at risk.” She looked again to the door. “Once he realizes that, however, I am certain I will be of no great help to Fanny anymore.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He is only interested in flirtations if he has a chance of capturing a girl’s heart.”

  Joanna felt a renewed dislike for the man. “That is horrible.”

  Rose nodded. “And yet, somehow effective.”

  After a few moments, Joanna bade her farewells to her friends and retrieved Mariah. They moved toward the doors, where Mr. Aldridge stood, biding farewell to his guests.

  “I hope you enjoyed yourself this evening,” he said.

  Joanna smiled, nervous to speak to him after their earlier exchange. “Of course. Your work is wonderful.”

  “Thank you.”

  Their eyes locked and Joanna’s heart swelled at the look he gave her.

  She turned away to find Mariah watching them, poorly hiding her smile.

  Mariah curtsied to Mr. Aldridge. “Thank you for a delightful evening, sir.”

  He bowed. “Have a good night.”

  Joanna lowered into a curtsy, carefully avoiding meeting his eyes again.

  As soon as the door of their carriage closed, Mariah asked, “I assume you had an enjoyable evening?”

  “I did.” Not wishing to indulge Mariah’s curiosity, Joanna asked, “Did you have a favorite painting?”

  Mariah’s smile was evident in her voice. “I did. I very much favored the painting of you admiring the sea.”

  Joanna’s head whipped toward her. “It was not of me.”

  Mariah laughed. “The fact that you know which piece I speak of only proves that you thought it was of you as well.”

  Joanna turned toward the dark window. “It proves nothing.”

  “Do not be so glum, Joanna. I think it would be terribly romantic to have an artist be in love with me.”

  Joanna shook her head, though a flutter raced through her stomach. “You cannot know that.”

  Mariah laughed again. “For once in your life, Joanna, trust me. No one can doubt that gentleman loves you.”

  Joanna’s heart lurched, her excitement at the thought far outweighing the fear that lingered.

  The next morning, Joanna was restless. She could not extract Mr. Aldridge’s expression from her mind and she spent a good deal of time attempting to ignore the emotions she had felt.

  It did not matter, she told herself, she did not want love and never had.

  However, each time she tried to persuade herself of that reminder, a portion of her mind told her that was no longer the case. Much as she wished it were not so, she began to fear it was true.

  That afternoon, she sat in the library, her mind weary. As it was Tuesday, she was expected at Mrs. Marchant’s in an hour. She knew if she was not in a better frame of mind by then Mrs. Marchant would never leave her in peace.

  The door flew open to reveal Mariah, arms open wide. “I have come to rescue you from your dreary mood.”

  “I am not in a dreary mood,” Joanna said drearily.

  Mariah raised her eyebrows at her. “You most certainly are. For Mr. Aldridge leaves for town tomorrow and you will miss him dreadfully.”

  “How did you know he is going to London?”

  “He told me at the gallery last evening. He has been commissioned to paint portraits for a family there.”

  Joanna nodded. “Yes, he is leaving; but it is not causing me to be dreary.”

  Mariah waved her hand absently. “Well, whatever it is, come with me.”

  Joanna leaned forward in her chair but did not arise. “Where are you going?”

  “I am in need of a new dress and must select material for it.”

  Joanna sat back. “I cannot go. I leave for the Marchant’s soon.”

  “Nonsense. I will not take very long.” She paused. “Please come with me, Joanna. It is a good sisterly activity.”

  Joanna watched her for a moment, considering. If she went with her, she would be at Mariah’s mercy until she had completed her errand. Joanna might be late. It would be better not to risk it.

  Mariah’s face turned into a pout as if sensing her sister’s decision and Joanna laughed.

  “Oh very well, but you’ll have to hurry. I do not want to be late.”

  Mariah’s face burst into a smile. “Thank you, Joanna. You will not be disappointed.”

  It took ten minutes before they were ready to leave and another ten to walk to the shops. Mariah had no concept for the dress and so insisted that she see fabrics of every color and material the shopkeeper had.


  Joanna felt each minute pass by and knew she was going to be late. Mariah finally narrowed her choices to two vastly different fabrics for two vastly different style dresses, but could not decide which she would like more.

  Unable to wait any longer, Joanna said, “Just take them both, Mariah! I am sorry, but I must go.”

  “Won’t Miss Marchant wait for you to arrive?”

  “No, she has often left to make her calls before I arrive because she is certain I will be along shortly. But I ought to have been there fifteen minutes ago.”

  Mariah looked surprised. “Have I really taken so long? I am sorry, Joanna. Yes, go. I can decide on my own.”

  Joanna tried not to be angry as she left the shop. If Mariah could have decided on her own, why had she even come along?

  She hurried as quickly as was decently possible to Mrs. Marchant’s home, hoping the old woman would not be too upset. When Joanna arrived, the housekeeper stood waiting near the door.

  “Oh, Miss Leighton, thank goodness. Mrs. Marchant still coughs something terrible. We offered to pour her tea, but she refused. She demanded we leave her be until you arrived.”

  Sounds of violent coughs came from the nearby drawing room. Joanna smiled sadly as she removed her bonnet and gloves.

  That old, stubborn woman.

  “I will get her to drink it. Show me to her.”

  The maid nodded fiercely and led her to the drawing room. “Miss Leighton, ma’am,” the maid introduced as she opened the door.

  Joanna began speaking before she even entered the room. “I am so sorry for being late, Mrs. Marchant. My sister—”

  The words froze on her tongue as she laid eyes on Mrs. Marchant, who leaned forward on her settee, shaking.

  “Mrs. Marchant! Are you all right?” Joanna asked as she hurried to her side.

  She looked up at Joanna with panicked eyes, coughing and gasping for air. She lowered her handkerchief from her mouth and Joanna gasped at the brightness of the blood splattered across it.

  Joanna looked to the maid. “Go fetch the doctor at once!”

  A memory, long repressed, bubbled to the surface of Joanna’s thoughts. Her father calling to the housekeeper to bring Mr. Garvey as her mother lay, in the midst of one of her episodes, fiercely shaking and barely drawing breath.

  The maid scampered out the door and Joanna turned to Mrs. Marchant again, her mind racing. She did not know what to do. The old woman’s face was ghastly white and she could not quit coughing. Her breath came in weak gasps, and Joanna feared Mrs. Marchant might faint.

  Almost as soon as the thought crossed her mind, Mrs. Marchant’s eyes closed and her head lolled to the side. Joanna grabbed her shoulders and shook her.

  “Mrs. Marchant! Mrs. Marchant, please! You must wake up!”

  Her own voice echoed in her mind. “Mother, please! Please wake up!” Her father stood against the wall, watching with wide eyes.

  Mrs. Marchant did not stir and her breathing became more shallow. Joanna released her and hurried to the table, searching for the smelling salts.

  They will work this time. They must!

  She knocked over the teapot in her haste, spilling tea across the table, but she ignored the mess.

  She finally found the salts and ran back to Mrs. Marchant. Joanna waved them beneath her nose, but still she remained unconscious.

  Tears sprang to Joanna’s eyes.

  What can I do?

  Joanna shook her again and called her name to no avail.

  Where is Uncle Garvey?

  Mrs. Marchant seemed to still even more.

  Joanna’s mind filled with the image of her own mother’s form stilling, the shaking ceasing as she expelled her last breath.

  Panic rose into Joanna’s throat, nearly choking her. She raised two shaking fingers to Mrs. Marchant’s neck, just as she had done for her mother, feeling for a pulse.

  She felt nothing.

  Dread washed over her, her stomach churned and her heart fell to the floor.

  She’d turned to her father, tears blurring her vision, shaking her head.

  Mrs. Marchant was gone.

  Joanna had not seen death since her mother’s passing, and she had never felt so responsible for the death of a patient.

  If only you’d been here sooner.

  Joanna fell to the floor beside Mrs. Marchant’s body.

  If only you’d been able to do more to help Mother.

  The tears fell freely.

  Not a moment later, she heard footsteps approach and her uncle burst through the door. He looked at Mrs. Marchant, then at Joanna, before hurrying over.

  Joanna forced herself to stand and move out of his path. A corner of her mind whispered that perhaps something could be done. Though he’d been unable to rescue her mother, perhaps, now that he was there, her uncle could save Mrs. Marchant.

  He knelt beside the still body and felt for her pulse. He pressed his ear to her chest and soon leaned back, a deep frown on his face.

  Joanna’s hope fled. Mrs. Marchant was gone and there was nothing to be done. Joanna buried her face in her hands, overcome by sobs.

  A moment later, her uncle wrapped his arms around her. “What happened?” he asked softly.

  Joanna forced herself to focus on Mrs. Marchant and not the memories of her mother. “I do not know. When I came in, she was coughing violently, she could scarcely breathe, then she fainted. I could not revive her.” She leaned back and met his eyes. “I did try, Uncle, but she would not wake.”

  She’d felt like a child when she’d said nearly the same words to him at her mother’s bedside, just as she felt like a child now.

  He nodded.

  “Then she became still. When I checked for her pulse, I felt nothing. She was gone.” Joanna choked on the words and drew back into his embrace.

  “You did your best, Joanna. That is all anyone could ask for.”

  Guilt flooded Joanna’s heart and she shook her head. “No, I did not! I was late. If I had come earlier, perhaps—”

  A gasp sounded near the door. “What has happened?”

  Miss Marchant stood there, her eyes wide and her hands at her throat. Mr. Garvey released Joanna and went to Miss Marchant’s side.

  “Miss Marchant, I am so sorry. Your mother is no longer with us.”

  Joanna watched as the other woman’s face filled with pain and remembered her father’s face filling with that same pain. He’d fallen apart when she’d delivered the devastating news that confirmed his worst fear.

  Uncle Garvey explained to Miss Marchant what had happened while she stood near the door, crying.

  “I told her she ought to see you, Mr. Garvey, but she would not listen,” Miss Marchant sobbed.

  Joanna made her way slowly toward Miss Marchant, unsure if she would welcome her condolences, or be angry with her for having failed her mother.

  “Miss Marchant,” Joanna began, wiping a tear from her cheek. “I am so sorry. By the time I arrived, there was nothing I could do.”

  Miss Marchant nodded. “Thank you, Miss Leighton.”

  She said nothing else and Joanna felt as though she’d been dismissed.

  Joanna opened her mouth to apologize again, but the pain in Miss Marchant’s expression silenced her attempt. Despair rose inside Joanna until she felt she would drown in it. She hurried from the room, took her bonnet and gloves from the table near the door, and escaped before the tears fell in earnest.

  The image of poor Miss Marchant’s face, her eyes brimming with tears filled Joanna’s mind. But it was only a moment before her own memories rose in its stead. Her father, cradling his wife’s lifeless body, refusing to be taken from her side. Mariah clinging to her mother’s hand, sobbing into it. Joanna had retreated to the side of the room, bathed in her own misery. She saw her sister, motherless at only fifteen and her father, now a widower, with two young women to raise. It was in that moment that she had foreseen her new position in the family. It would be her responsibility to
mend them all. She had to be strong, for everyone’s sake. She’d stood, forcing her own emotions aside as she’d grown accustomed to, and attended to Mariah and her father, easing their pains as best she could.

  The memories were a blatant reminder of why she never wanted to fall in love, never wanted to marry. There were already more people than she cared to count that would hurt her terribly to lose. Why would she volunteer to suffer even more? Pain was inevitable, but she did not need to submit herself to more pain than she would already be required to bear.

  Joanna felt a cold weight settle upon her aching heart. It would not be easy, but she could not allow herself to be so vulnerable. The pain was too great.

  As she walked through her front door, she nearly collided with Mr. Aldridge. Her heart throbbed, but she snuffed out the emotion, refusing to let it flourish. Her heart ached in response, but she ignored it.

  Mr. Aldridge turned to her with a smile, but as he met her gaze, the smile fell from his lips. His eyes searched hers for a long moment.

  Mariah stood nearby. “Joanna, there you are. We were waiting for you.”

  Joanna pulled her gaze away from Mr. Aldridge’s, feeling her heart protest.

  “I was with Mrs. Marchant.” Her voice cracked on the name and tears rose, but she held them at bay.

  “Oh? Well, Mr. Aldridge has come to say goodbye before he leaves for London.”

  Joanna nodded, not looking at him. “Thank you for the courtesy, Mr. Aldridge. Have a pleasant trip.”

  She took a step to move around him, but he reached out and took her hand. She tried to ignore the shiver that passed up her arm, difficult as it was.

  “What is wrong, Miss Leighton?” he asked, his voice rolling over her, soothing her in ways she was not yet ready to be soothed.

  “It is nothing,” she lied.

  He used her hand to turn her toward him. “Miss Leighton, please! Something is not right. Tell me so I can help.”

  Her heart yearned to answer him, to let him aid her as he had before, but that dangerous road would only lead to more pain. She pulled her hand from his grasp and saw the surprise register on his face.

  “There is nothing you can do. Have a pleasant journey,” she said again before hurrying up the stairs.

  Joanna heard Mariah apologize profusely below her as she made her way up to her room.