This gentleman who terrified her with his true and honest intensity and acceptance.
Rachel pushed herself up into a sitting position, her gaze still drawn by the letters as she plumped the pillows behind her. ‘Since meeting you, I appear to stumble and bumble about. Not as romantic or sophisticated as I had hoped.’ Yet in that bumbling had been found the romantic. A humanness so much more appealing because it was admitted and utilized as an aspect of his persona. A facet of his character.
She pounded her fists once into the bedding. “La you’re an attractive man!” Since when had she desired the complete and total man, including his faults? Not since Todd, and even that was different. So completely and utterly different.
Rachel reached out to gather the letters, breathing deep before retrieving the first one. Robert didn’t seem to be in a flirtatious nor romantic mood in the first few; happy, instead, to inform her of Damon’s less than mature submergence into the world of his family’s law firm. Not yet graduated from Richmond College’s law program, his parents were doing their best to persuade him out of his apparent apathy regarding his responsibilities to his family name.
Robert, who Damon often looked to for advice, wrote of his friend’s plight with a sympathetic and yet amused tone. While he hesitated to become much more involved than simple suggestions and encouragement, he did empathize with Damon regarding responsibilities and how they could sometimes seem so overwhelming.
Then Robert began to confide that Damon looked to the tender comforts of too many ladies to soothe his woes. ‘If anything,’ he wrote, ‘this will only infuriate Mr. Childers to a higher degree, pushing him to further separate Damon from his follies.’ Rachel had to agree, for she likely would have done the same.
‘Damon doesn’t understand why I myself have stepped away from the flirtations of a few months before. Though I explain to him about you and our future happiness, he always seems to laugh and shake his head and say ‘Why would you tell her?’
Why would I tell you? I don’t understand why he doesn’t see that honesty in a relationship is the only way to cultivate trust. How can I expect you to care for me if you don’t feel you can trust my decisions or even my actions? How can I expect a tender moment to be truly tender if you’ve a doubt as to my character? There would be no safety in the relationship for you.’
‘Safety’. Rachel smoothed the word with a singer finger… and then read on.
When Rachel found the first of the letters referencing the orphanage, an image of Bobby and April appeared within her mind and ushered in a smile. Their affection for him was obvious, as was his deep care for them, and that amount of care and concern reminded her of his confession of the intent to adopt. At the time, she had been surprised that he hadn’t pursued the subject. After such an… enjoyable visit, there wouldn’t have been a more appropriate time to pose the question to her. Yet he hadn’t used the situation or her mood.
Rachel scanned through the letters in search of Bobby or April’s names– “Ah.” She set the other letters aside.
‘February 12, 1883.
Dearest Lady of Letters,
As promised, I visited the orphanage mentioned in previous letters. The one in Boston? I had already decided to become a sponsor, sending books and supplies as well as supplementing their limited income and doing my best to encourage others to donate. But since meeting the children and spending these past days with them, I hesitate to think that might be enough.
You would love them, I’m sure, as so many of them are eager to love even a stranger. By far, Bobby and April have become my favorites.’
The remainder of the letter didn’t reference any specific activity or reason that endeared them to him, so Rachel set the letter aside and searched through the next for another more detailed mention. She found it in one of the last letters.
‘May 3, 1887.
Dearest Lady,
Today I found myself wishing you here, so that I could introduce you to these children that have become so engraved onto my heart. Letters and visits and games and stories have ushered them into a part of my thoughts and feelings that I never knew existed. Bobby and April especially. As I watch their courageous journey through each day of this life, without father and mother or family, God whispers. As I see the love in their eyes and the acceptance in their embraces and laughter, He whispers still louder.
Now I find myself praying that you might hear the same whisper. To love and accept. To welcome them into a family. A whole family. But how do I ask this of you when we meet? Even after a time of acquaintance, when would it be appropriate to tell you of these two and my overwhelming desire to offer them a home? I should wait, of course, until you’ve had the opportunity to meet them, but I don’t want for you to believe I only did so to manipulate your decision.
Instead, I’m left to blindly trust the Lord in tending the heart of the people He has chosen to be their family while hoping that family includes myself.’
Rachel softly smiled, her thumbs absently stroking the paper. What a struggle that must be for you, Robert. Having me as a prospective wife and still needing to fight back the desire to ask me to accept these children. Always the harder path. That was what he so often chose for himself.
She released a deep breath and set aside the letters, leaning back into the pillows to cross her arms and remember her own pleasant memories of childhood fun and adventure with the children of the orphanage. Of her growth because of them. Then the day spent with them again. Of the adventure. Of the softening within…
Rachel brought her hands up to cover her face as she released another deep sigh. Bobby’s sad confession. His brave smile. April’s shy acceptance. Their determination to be responsible… Could she master the role of business mogul, wife, and mother?
~~~
A handful of envelopes securely gathered by a blue portion of material was slapped down in the middle of the dark wood desk of the upper study. Henry Samson lifted his gaze to look into the determined emerald eyes of his only child.
“These should be proof enough of his character, Father,” she said simply, and her tone rang cold.
Henry lowered his gaze to the envelopes, looking up again when he heard Rachel turn and calmly walk out. She closed the door firmly behind her. A frown hardened his expression as he returned his focus to the letters, gathering them up with a quick and rough swipe. “Character? What type of ‘character’ manipulates the situation at the supposed ‘will of God’?” He scoffed.
Eleven
Dedications to Truth
Robert stared down at the flowing hand of the letter resting upon the coffee table. He frowned. The letter ridiculed him since dawn, plaguing his thoughts and conscience throughout his devotions and making it extremely difficult to focus on anything save the expression of remembered betrayal in emerald eyes. Each time he read the brusque refusal it served as a conviction toward a waiting confession, but each time he saw her the words were bitten back. Out of fear, very likely, that the admittance would forever separate them.
Robert shifted his focus to the ceiling as he leaned back into the couch. She has confessed to trust, Lord, so why do I feel this truth still needs to be revealed? I’ve set aside that future! I’ve put the choices and control back to their rightful place. Why must I give thought to jeopardizing that now? The expression of regret was never seen on her face in regards to the choice of accepting his attentions; so while the original acceptance had been for escape, he couldn’t believe that still to be the case.
Sitting up with a rough motion, the letter once more drew his focus. A refusal of one and an acceptance to another. Torn between two roles, one he had come to despise and the other that no longer let others choose his path; but one man– Robert snatched up the letter and balled it between his hands before throwing it furiously aside. Each man would hurt her, though he would have given anything to not.
Robert pushed himself roughly to his feet to begin pacing his room. While he desperately prayed himself f
rom this particular path, he knew the importance of truth in a growing relationship. To not offer her that last bit of knowledge…. When she discovered it on her own, the reaction would be all the greater; the betrayal and consequent judgment all the more extreme. The hurt so much harder to overcome and heal.
“No,” he hissed, striding toward the writing desk in the corner of the room to finally begin the letter to his father. “I will not also be a tool to cause pain.”
He would confess all, and the consequences be damned.
~~~
Henry Samson stared at the carriage’s cushioned seat across from him with an unseeing gaze, his arms crossed. The gratification at being right about Rachel’s tenacity, intelligence, and determination didn’t sooth the guilt or regret that began to build at the toll it had taken. While he knew her independence was necessary, he hadn’t expected the extreme calm and almost coolness to replace who he remembered to be an almost too-sensitive young lady.
Clearing his throat, Henry adjusted his crossed arms and moved his blank focus to the passing scenery outside. Nor had he expected Robert Trent, the rogue, to actually attempt a pursuit. If she didn’t follow-through with the arranged marriage between them, Henry was at a loss as to what he would be able to do to assure her care in the future.
Frowning, Henry kicked at the seat across from him. “The fool.” But whether he referred to himself or his intended son-in-law, he couldn’t say.
~~~
Composing the letter to the Board regarding her refusal of the established betrothal was the most difficult challenge Rachel had ever under-taken. Balancing diplomacy with firmness caused her to rewrite it several times before being even partially satisfied. When irritation settled at not being able to word it quite to her liking, however, she finally had to set it aside and dedicate herself to a return later that day.
She just finished making notations in the margins of possible changes and additions when Maggie entered to report that Mr. Robert Trent had arrived and that her father had stepped out for an appointment.
“Another?” Rachel arched an eyebrow and absently crossed her arms. Each morning, or very nearly, her father had disappeared to a mysterious appointment, never once informing her of the reason or motivation for each. She could only assume that they were of his own affair and that she would be made privy to them when the need arose.
Rachel exited to the second story hallway in time to hear Robert’s laughter. The sound gave her pause and caused her to move, instead, to the second story railing and look down to the front hall. Robert stood near Oliver and one of the footmen, Mark, listening to an adventure of the day before. Robert’s tall and athletic frame seemed to attract attention regardless of location and surroundings, but it was his smiling face that drew her gaze. There was an honesty about it that never ceased to tweak her intrigue and curiosity, drawing Rachel even more out of her calm and control.
“I just wish you had someone to help you. A nice gentleman who understands and supports you.”
Rachel considered Lucy’s words as she stirred the air around her neck and throat, regarding this gentleman met at the party, found again on the train home, and then more deeply discovered here. This gentleman who seemed to both understand and support her. This man who treated her with respect and kindness. This man who treated her as a woman while not minimizing the intelligence that defined who she was.
“I am highly attracted to you, and the more I learn of you the deeper the fascination.”
Yes. She understood the pull and the draw of a deeper knowledge welcoming a never-before-had attraction. A hint of trust ushering in a desire to more fully explore it; testing a boundary to see if the trust was well-given. How much trust shall I give to you, Robert, and how honorable will you be with that trust? Will it be cherished? Or will it be used with ‘best intentions’ in mind? The only way she could answer the question was to put it into motion.
Robert glanced toward the second story while listening to another tale from Mark and captured her scrutiny, offering her a softer version of his boyish smile before looking away again. The shift within at the offering was strong, as it always was when he looked at her with those brown eyes that held an emotion never seen before. Rachel freely admitted that she enjoyed the shift, and the addiction to the exploration of the reason behind it wouldn’t be left alone.
Robert excused himself from Oliver and Mark’s company and then turned to ascend the stairs with somewhat quick steps. Rachel adjusted her position to watch him, the rhythm of her fan continuing even as the beat of her heart quickened. Then he stood across from her, smiling as his movement once again ushered to her the scent of musk and masculinity that she had come to… enjoy.
Rachel arched an eyebrow.
He smirked. “Intrigue so early, my dear? I’ve barely had time to gather my wits enough to bid you ‘good morning’.” He offered her his hand, which she accepted, and gave hers a gentle pressure. Then he tucked it into the nook of his arm and motioned toward the stairs.
Rachel fell into step beside him, scrutinizing his profile and somewhat haggard expression with an arched eyebrow. Although, she supposed classifying it as truly haggard was too strict, as there was only a hint.
“I hoped you could be parted from any and all previous engagements after breakfast,” Robert admitted while casting her a sidelong glance. “I’ve already warned Oliver about the possibility and, unless he hears differently from you, a carriage will be prepared for the escape.” A smile blossomed on his features, his brown eyes holding less of the troubled expression than only a moment previous. “Of course, there’s always the possibility that an enclosed carriage-ride so soon after… well, that the escape will have you plotting some harm to my person.” He sent her a sidelong wink. “One can only take so much sugar, and I’m sweetness itself you understand.”
Rachel hid her smirk behind her fan.
Steadying her last step from the stairs, Robert then stepped forward to hold the door to the dining nook open for her. “Miss Samson.”
“I beg your pardon, Miss.”
Rachel turned. “Yes, Oliver?”
“Your father is expected to be gone the remainder of the morning, but he would like to dine with you this evening.”
Eyebrow arching with mild surprise, Rachel inclined her head. “Very well, Oliver. Thank you.”
“It seems the rooster has left the chick to the fox,” Robert offered, guiding her toward the set table in the dining nook.
“So it seems.” But the irritation at her father’s continued secrecy preyed on her nerves as well as the smile, which disappeared.
Robert tapped his fingers against the back of her chair momentarily before moving to sit across from her. He cast her several glances while they spread napkins across laps and straightened silverware. Then he cleared his throat, which drew Rachel’s gaze.
“Rachel, I’m sure he would tell you if the appointments were important.” He leaned slightly forward as he stretched a hand toward her. “Perhaps he’s plotting a surprise ‘Welcome Home’ reception?”
“Perhaps.” Rachel moved her focus to the window behind the head chair. Surprises and things of that sort were no longer expected from her father.
“Rachel.” Her green eyes focused on his brown ones. “Rachel, let’s make a pact, shall we?”
“A pact?” she repeated, eyebrow arched.
“Yes. If one of us is irritated to the brink of temper with a parent, the other must bother and tease and joke until the irritated one laughs or smiles.” He presented his hand, expression serious. “Pact?”
Rachel regarded him and then his hand, again presented in such a way as for her to grasp it as a man. Lightly tapping a single finger on the table, she gauged the pros and cons of the proposed pact before reaching out to accept his clasp. Then she met his gaze. “Pact.”
Robert sent her a boyishly adorable smile. “Let the games begin.”
~~~
The carriage rumbled to a stop.
&nb
sp; “Ah!” Robert grinned out the carriage window to the scenery of cottage and rough land. “We’re here, and thus the surprise of today’s escape is revealed.”
He opened the carriage door, eagerness propelling him outside at such a speed that he nearly tripped. He turned to steady Rachel’s descent. “Careful.” She wordlessly regarded the cottage with the cobble walk and wildflower garden. “It’s a rough site, I must admit, but it still holds a charm that I haven’t found elsewhere.” Robert led her forward and then into the house. He gestured around them. “It was built by my great-grandfather. He was a transient in England until he came here.”
Fascination and intrigue sparkled within Rachel’s green eyes she turned to an examination of his face. “What did he do here?”
“Farming. Sheep. Cattle. He attempted all his neighbors suggested and was successful at mostly everything.”
Rachel examined the tasteful and simple layout of the home. Robert had always loved the cottage. More than likely due to the fated summer when he had been allowed to have a personal involvement in its future design.
“Then?” Rachel pressed.
Robert looked over at Rachel with a tender smile. “Then he met my great-grandmother and fell in love.”
Rachel’s lips were caressed upward. “Ah yes. Wealthy Miss Mary Braxton, I believe you said. Who was she again?”
“She was of a wealthy family that saw his potential and profited from it. They were married, moved to Charlottesville, and he became enamored with the challenge of the business world.” Robert gestured to the house. “This is where he came from and this is what he always remembered. Simple. Full of his creative touch.”
Broken Angel Page 21