Broken Angel

by Nona Mae King

  If possible, Robert’s glower darkened as his jaw clamped down on the pipe with a click. “Father wouldn’t allow it.”

  “Allow what? Your meeting with my father?”

  “Or my contact with you,” he grumbled. “It did not matter that my conscience was about to drive me mad. It did not matter that the manipulation would prove more harmful than advantageous. They had come to an agreement and that was all that mattered.”

  Intrigued, Rachel inquired, “ ‘They’?”

  Robert withdrew the pipe from his mouth, frowning down at it as he crossed his left arm tightly under his right elbow. “All of them, with you and your betrothed powerless to do anything.”

  Rachel blinked. “He doesn’t wish the match?”

  “Oh, he had resigned himself to it,” Robert said through clenched teeth, “after conversations with his father proved nothing.” He scoffed. “He has supposedly been trained for independence in the controlling of a business as powerful as your combined families, and yet he can’t stand against his own father.” He clenched his jaw tighter. “You’ve shown more spine than he, risking even your legacy.”

  Rachel regarded him, watching intently as his jaw muscle twitched. It seemed to heighten his dramatic good looks and the powerful line of his jaw. The determination and irritation that exuded from him nearly set his short-cut straight black hair on end, shifting something within Rachel’s person that such a man would be so moved for… her. Even going against his father’s wishes. Who knew what risk that had taken for his own legacy?

  Releasing a deep breath, Robert scrubbed at his scalp as he stared down at the still empty pipe in his other hand. “Ah well. Choices have been made and now I’m at last prepared to face the consequences.” He focused on her. “There is no turning back now, Rachel.”

  She held his gaze, her green eyes emerald with determination as her chin tilted upward even more. “I don’t turn back in anything.”

  “Yes, well, that was before you decided to welcome me into your life.” Again, the boyish expression of handsome mischief. “Although ‘welcome’ is freely used, considering the circumstances.”

  Fighting back the amusement with a surprising desire to be irritated, Rachel looked away. “Circumstances are what we make of them.”

  “Here, here. I agree.”

  The hair on the nape of her neck stood on end as he continued to watch her. When she met his gaze and didn’t look away, his expression showed respect and… something she didn’t recognize. At least, not in relation to her.

  Then he smiled and presented a hand. “I had best go and leave you to the adventure of trying to find a new place in an old home.”

  She accepted his hand, tensing a bit when his thumb made one light stroke of her knuckles.

  “Unless you would care to have brunch?” he offered.

  “Thank you for the invitation, but I need time to myself.” Yet what the time alone would prove or uncover, she didn’t know. Of late, time in solitude only gave rise to regrets.

  “Of course,” Robert said. “There is much you still need to do in order to settle yourself. I’ve no wish to intrude onto that.”

  They approached the door, Oliver arriving a moment later with Robert’s hat, coat, and gloves. To Rachel’s surprise, reluctance to see him go directly contradicted the reluctance to have him stay.

  Robert accepted his things with a smile for the butler before facing her. “May I call tomorrow?”

  Again the reluctance shifted, but she forced it aside. “For coffee, of course.”

  His smile relaxed a bit as he hung his coat over his arm. “Then I shall see you tomorrow.” He placed his hat onto his head, tipping it toward her. “Rachel.”

  Rachel couldn’t stop the twitch of her lips upward as she bid, “Robert,” and felt odd that it didn’t feel odd to say it. Then he had gone, leaving Rachel to stare at the door in muted and numbed shock of her situation. “And so it’s done,” she mused.

  Turning from the front door, Rachel stepped forward to rest a hand on the balustrade at the base of the stairs, staring up toward the second story with a deep sigh at the memories, tears, and laughter. Once again remembering the child she had been and comparing her with the woman she had become. Yet strangers both. Now, to protect her independence she had welcomed another.

  “One stranger over another,” she observed. Then her hand momentarily tightened its hold. “But at least the choice was mine.”

  Four

  Tortures Past

  Rays of the morning sun infused Rachel’s bedroom with warmth and brightness, unseen as she stared at the frills of the pink canopy overhead; numb. That numbness spread, gaining strength and depth as she took to the task of ensuring the complete arrival of her luggage from the station. She had also set about the delivery of varying gifts to their neighbors, family friends, board members, and select others that would hold a strategic place in her acquaintance. She could not, however, procure a different room.

  To her chagrin, most of the mansion’s extra rooms remained in varying levels of minor renovations to prepare for the expected parties in order to celebrate her now canceled betrothal. As Rachel had not yet decided whether or not she would alter the date of the expected nuptials in regards to Robert, she had resigned herself to this room and what some sentimental females would have classified as a “torture”. But whether or not the room ridiculed her attempts to move beyond the shy girl of her past would always remain a choice that she would not make. The room was simply a room, and she refused to allow it more power than simply that truth held.

  With reluctance Rachel admitted that, for all intents and purposes, it seemed she was expected to live that shy girl’s life of subservience. Taught to be independent, she was now expected to relinquish that for society’s view of head-of-household and deferment of authority? Trained to feel nothing for no one, she was now to behave as a proper and genteel woman of society?

  “How ironic,” Rachel mused. There sounded a knock at the door. “Enter.”

  A chamber-maid no more than fifteen years of age entered, appropriately dressed in a black ensemble with a crisp white apron. She curtsied, her pretty face holding a sincere smile. “Good morning, Miss,” she greeted brightly. Her tone perfectly matched the lightness of the sun glinting off her raven hair.

  Rachel turned her head away. “It is,” she replied, although she supposed her tone was overly calm to be convincing.

  “Did you sleep fine, Miss?” the maid asked. She opened the door from the bedroom to the connecting bath beyond.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  The maid returned, still smiling, and turned down the covers. “Your bath is ready, Miss.”

  Rachel slipped from the bed and into the plush robe the maid held ready, wondering at the continued numbness within. She didn’t understand the reason for the feeling of isolation, and it felt different than her usual calm. Eyebrow arched, Rachel followed the maid into the bathroom and accepted her help into the claw-foot tub.

  “It’s to be a bit on the chilly side today, Miss,” the maid informed as she took up a sponge. “So just let me know if you’ll be needing some extra firewood for your room, or a shawl. I’ll get it for you right quick.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Oh, and your father’s got himself an appointment. He asked me to tell you he wouldn’t be back until after lunch.”

  Rachel’s eyebrow twitched. “Very well.”

  “And Mr. Trent dropped a note off this morning saying as he’d be back for coffee a bit later. Came by in the wee hours, he did. On his way from town, I imagine, though he didn’t say as to what he was doing. A nice gentleman he is, Miss. And so handsome and charming—” The maid sounded a soft gasp. “I’m sorry, Miss.”

  Rachel focused on the girl, observing her wide eyes and fearful expression. “What’s wrong, girl? What have you said?”

  “I-I shouldn’t be chattering on like that, Miss.”

  Focusing ahead, Rachel sounded a soft scoff. “
Chatter as you wish, girl.” There were items to be discovered from the off-hand remarks of others. Those facts and clues that revealed truths most would attempt to hide. A different side to men and women than what was commonly known. The more rarely confessed difficulties of a business or family. The challenge, of course, was differentiating between rumor based on spite and supposition based on fact.

  The maid resumed her chit-chat hesitantly at first, and then with more ease as Rachel neither scolded nor ignored. It revealed little of use. However, it did inform that Mr. Robert Trent was a somewhat regular visitor of a local orphanage, with his attendance occurring once or twice every six to eight months.

  “Why would a resident of Virginia interest himself in a local orphanage of Boston?” Rachel had asked.

  But the maid couldn’t say.

  Bathing completed, the maid helped Rachel into her robe while still chattering on of a local festival held the beginning of April one week previous. While dressing Rachel in a dress of ivory and cornflower blue, the maid spoke of the coming summer celebration that next July. And while leading Rachel to her vanity she confessed that she hoped there would be a dance at the city hall before the spring season was over – apparently a new event instigated by the most recent mayor. For some reason Rachel found the whole situation amusing.

  Then a voice from her past softly greeted, “Hello, Miss,” and the smile faded from Rachel’s lips.

  She turned, focus immediately drawn to the slender woman of Rachel’s same age, her hazel eyes glimmering with tears and welcome. The curls of the woman’s red hair were pinned at the nape of her neck and had hundreds of pleasant memories flashing into Rachel’s mind of fun and affection that burned through the numbness and invited a warmth of… belonging. Yet the training wouldn’t allow Rachel to do much more than reservedly smile. Even as she stood and gracefully stepped toward the woman, a small part desperately wanted to run to her and sob into her shoulder; as she had done so many times in years passed. But Miss Samson only held her friend at arm’s length, easily resisting the press to embrace her.

  “Maggie… you’re even more beautiful than you were before,” Rachel observed. “And your hair….” She fingered a loose tendril of red. “I am glad it’s as brilliant and unruly as I remember.”

  Maggie offered a teary smile the same time she self-consciously lifted a hand to her pinned curls. “You always were the one who loved it more than me. I never cared much for being called ‘carrot’ and ‘fire-top’.” Then she suddenly laughed and pulled Rachel into a tight embrace. “It’s good to have you home,” she whispered, apparently not aware of Rachel’s somewhat awkward return of the embrace. When Maggie pulled back, she offered a sad smile. “Please forgive me for not meeting you at the train. I was needed to help with an ailing child at the orphanage. I didn’t get back until just this morning.”

  Rachel waved it aside, a brief thought to ask after Mr. Trent fading in and out of her mind as she guided her childhood friend from the room. “Of course, Maggie. To be truthful, I didn’t expect to see any familiar faces. Certainly not that of my ‘maid’ and childhood confidant from years past.”

  Maggie looped her arm through Rachel’s as they made their way down the second-story hall toward the main stairs. “Your papa and mama were dears to keep me on once you’d gone. I but wish your papa had thought me old enough to go with you to France and get us both into mischief.”

  “As do I,” Rachel admitted. “Mischief-making would have settled well with me there.”

  Smiling, Maggie gave Rachel’s arm a squeeze. “So what mischief can we make now that your father won’t scold?”

  “I do believe I am expected to be respectful now, Maggie,” Rachel reminded, steadying her step down the stairs with a hand on the railing.

  Maggie sighed. “Ah well. I guess trouble-making went out the day Toddy and Mr. Parson hooked harnesses together.”

  Halting, Rachel’s expression went almost too blank as she focused on her friend. “Todd?”

  The woman gave Rachel’s arm a friendly pinch, though her eyes altered their perception of the other woman. “If you’d have written more, I could have told you. Or made him tell you hisself. The big ox. He kept saying as how you’d have written if it was to be. Since when did Toddy Richards get philosophical? But there he was, just smirking at me and telling me to mind my family, meaning my place here, and leave him to his.”

  The woman shrugged, once more drawing Rachel down the main staircase. “I never did see him pine away for you, but I’m of the mind he did. In his own way. Todd was always the hushed one when it came to feelings. That’s why I was a bit taken aback when you confessed he’d said he loved you in the back orchard. Remember?”

  Yet Rachel could only remain silent through the memories and remembrances from years passed that assaulted her senses and her calm.

  “You were but fourteen and just told you’d be off to France.” At the foot of the stairs, Maggie faced Rachel with a mischievous twinkle in her hazel eyes. “You should stop by Mr. Parson’s and give Toddy a shock.”

  Not understanding the cool that seemed to drop upon her, Rachel informed, “Unfortunately, I’ve engagements and requirements of my time that don’t allow the escape today.”

  Maggie gave Rachel’s hands a squeeze. “You take what time you need, as I’ve plans to redecorate your room after I’ve unpacked your trunk in the guest room I’ve smuggled aside for you. You’ll want to have all your wits about you when we get to it.”

  Rachel’s eyebrow arched. “Pardon?”

  The woman regarded Rachel for a moment before very slightly shaking her head. “Oliver didn’t tell you?”

  Intrigue lifted the eyebrow slightly higher. “Tell me what, pray?”

  “We’re bringing down those things from the attic that your mother promised you. I put off the decoration of your room until you returned so that you could have a hand in it. Your papa suggested it.” Maggie crossed her arms. “Didn’t he say something when you came home and saw nary a thing had changed?”

  Rachel blinked, her mind and tongue shocked silent.

  Sniggering with hands on hips, Maggie shook her head. “Men!” Then she once more took hold of Rachel’s arm to give it a fond squeeze. “Remember the fun we used to have dreaming the plans for your room?”

  Struggling to gather her wits back enough to answer, Rachel calmly stated, “I do,” at the same time she attempted to reason why her father would neglect to mention the proposed change.

  Maggie drew Rachel into another embrace. “It’s so wonderful to have you home, love.” Then, after placing a sisterly kiss upon Rachel’s cheek, Maggie motioned upstairs. “I’ll be seeing to things. You wander.”

  Rachel stared after her friend. Then, with a press of lips, she ushered the thoughts of Todd away and proceeded farther down the front hall to the sitting room to the entry’s left. Todd was part of her past. A past she had set aside the day she had journeyed to the port in New York. He’s to stay there, Rachel, she instructed. For there was no time to entertain thoughts of a childhood sweetheart when she had yet to secure her future life-partner.

  Yet, pausing in the doorway of her mother’s sitting room, Rachel couldn’t help but allow a brief revisit to memory. She simply could not keep them distant. Not when they brought to mind the comforting presence of her mother, the safety of a whole family, and the love of a fath–

  Rachel stepped from the doorway with a somewhat sharp motion, making her way toward the writing desk in the north-facing window. Slowly lowering herself into the straight-back chair, she found herself gently touching all those articles within the nooks and crannies belonging to her mother. The action seemed to close a distance that had gaped since she had heard of her mother’s failing health. Bringing, also, the regrets.

  Pressing her lips into a thin line, Rachel gathered up a pen and stationary while reminding herself of the duty that had brought her to the sitting room in the beginning. Be about your business, she scolded. You’ve a
verbal contract to undo. A verbal contract that she herself would have expected to be honored if roles had been reversed. Rachel frowned down at the Samson family watermark, tapping her finger against the desk in a steady rhythm of mild irritation. How best to approach the refusal of a betrothal? State the truth and he’s liable to sue for Defamation of Character or Breach of Contract.

  Rachel scoffed, “Breach of what contract,” in a near hiss.

  Based on what Robert had said the previous day, she was quite certain the man had only agreed to the betrothal to save himself the repercussions. That fact made Rachel want to deny the betrothal in the gentleman’s presence, risking a suit for a momentary surrendering to her pride. Unfortunately, she knew too well such would have been unacceptable behavior; for her and for what it could do to the family reputation.

  Rachel scoffed again, this time inking her pen to begin the refusal.

  Sir,

  It has come to my attention that we were to be wed in one month's time upon the arrangement of our parents. This letter is to inform you that the joining of our two families by marriage is quite impossible. I have promised myself to another and am unwilling and unable to withdraw from the engagement.

  There is no ill-will intended on my part by this letter, only a statement of intention. I recommend that you also make other plans for your future, for I will not be included in them.

  Respectfully,

  Rachel Byron Samson

  She set down the pen in an air of finality, folded and slipped the letter into an envelope addressed simply as ‘Previously Betrothed’ and then sealed it. “That is that,” she mused as she pushed from the writing desk. Unfortunately, now she had taken on the duty of wooing and courting a stranger, doing her best to also secure her position as heir even though she flouted her father’s wishes. It was a daunting prospect, and not without a little irony that she – A woman! – would likely perform a great portion of the courting. Daunting prospect or not, this is my future. And she had dedicated herself to a less blind pursuit of that future thanks, in part, to her debates and discussions with the gentleman on the train.