“Hitch up the cart again,” she answered. “Perhaps she walked to town.” But then, why wouldn’t Rosalyn have seen her on the road?
Rosalyn fetched a shawl and one for Covey. She noticed what she hadn’t seen earlier in Covey’s room—her friend’s lace cap was on the bedside table, and her good bonnet was missing from the wardrobe. Perhaps she had gone to visit friends…but Covey never went anywhere alone.
Evening was drawing near. If they didn’t hurry and find her, they could lose her in darkness. Bridget volunteered to run over to the neighboring houses. Cook would stay and keep watch at home in case Covey returned.
“John and I will drive back into town,” Rosalyn said. There were only so many places Covey could wander.
They rode into Clitheroe, past the Norman keep, and down the street. Shops were closed, both sides deserted. People had gone in, out of the damp. Candles were being lit, and their soft glow marked how late the hour was growing. The fog was rolling in, drifting along the ground. Rosalyn could only hope Covey was someplace safe.
“There she is, my lady,” John said. “Over there in the churchyard. I thought she might go there.”
“Amongst the graves?” Rosalyn craned and saw Covey on her knees. “What is she doing?”
“Her husband, my lady,” John reminded her. “He’s buried over yonder, right where she is.”
Rosalyn could barely wait for the cart to stop before she hopped out and, carrying the extra shawl, ran to her friend’s side.
Covey didn’t act like she heard Rosalyn approach. She sat silent, looking more drawn and older than she ever had before. Her bonnet shielded her face from the rain, but her body trembled with cold. Rosalyn put the shawl around Covey’s shoulders, and the woman stirred.
“I would have brought you here if you had asked,” Rosalyn said softly.
Covey raised worried eyes. Rosalyn was relieved she seemed aware of her presence and this wasn’t another “episode.” “I don’t want to leave him,” Covey whispered. “I’m trying to be brave the way he would want me to be, but I’ve never left the Valley. My whole life has been here. And I don’t want to leave him.”
Rosalyn sank to the wet earth beside Covey and put her arms around her. Covey felt so frail. She would never survive the move to Cornwall. She’d die away from the beauty of the Valley.
And Rosalyn knew what she must do.
“We won’t leave,” she promised Covey. “Now, come, get into the cart with John.”
Covey grasped Rosalyn’s arm, holding her down. “Don’t marry for me. Don’t marry a man you do not love. I told your mother that, but she didn’t listen. I tried to warn her. I did.”
Rosalyn pulled back in surprise. “Covey, you’ve never said anything of this to me before. I didn’t think you even knew my mother.”
“I told you I understood why you couldn’t marry Colonel Mandland. Look at the pain your father suffered. You are very much like him. You feel things too deeply.”
The chill was no longer from the cold. “Please, don’t say that.”
Tears welled in Covey’s eyes. “Don’t be bitter. That’s why I never told you I knew her until now. She wanted to do what was right. She tried.”
“Some would say my mother didn’t have a heart,” Rosalyn said tensely. “If she did, I was never in it.”
“You poor child. I wish she’d made different choices. Our choices are our destiny. Rosalyn, don’t marry for me or Maiden Hill. Marry for love.”
“What if there is no one out there for me to love?” The question was haunting. “Perhaps I was meant to be alone. Perhaps I want to be alone.”
“No one wants to be alone, Rosalyn. No one.”
The truth of Covey’s words hit Rosalyn hard.
“Come, Covey, let me help you to the cart. We need to get you home and get you warm.”
Covey glanced around, as if just realizing how late it was. The mist was turning into a soft rain. “I didn’t mean to worry you. The church is only a stretch of the leg, you know.”
“I know, and I’m impressed you can walk here, but next time, ask me, and we will use the cart.” Her friend was so weak that Rosalyn could have carried her in her arms. John met them halfway. “Please take her home and have Cook put some hot broth in her.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Aren’t you coming?” Covey asked.
“John will bring the cart back for me later. To the rectory, John.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Rosalyn—”
Rosalyn shushed her. “ ’Tis my decision to make. Now go home and, John, hurry back.”
She didn’t wait to argue but pulled her shawl up over her head and crossed the road, heading for St. Mary Magdalene’s rectory.
At the front gate, she hesitated before lifting the latch and going to the door. Light shone from the windows, and there were the sounds of voices and laughter, as though the Mandlands’ children were highly enjoying themselves.
Before she lost her courage, Rosalyn hurried up the front walk and knocked on the door.
Seconds passed like hours. She heard footsteps approach, a man’s deep voice telling Joseph to leave Emma alone, and then the door opened and Colonel Mandland himself stood there.
He held a baby in his arms.
For a moment, Rosalyn couldn’t speak.
Inside, a fire burned in the hearth, and the room smelled of the sausages they must have cooked for dinner. Colonel Mandland did not wear a coat, and his shirt was open at the neck.
“My lady,” he said, a touch surprised. He shifted the baby’s weight to rest on his hip. “Here, come in out of the rain.”
She didn’t move. She didn’t dare go farther. Instead, she hovered in the doorway, uncertain. The cozy, cheerful atmosphere of the sitting room was too much of a contrast to the cold night. It made her realize how empty her own life was. Reaching out, she touched the baby’s precious, perfectly formed fingers. The child’s skin was smoother than the finest velvet.
She looked up at the colonel and said, “Is your offer of marriage still available?”
Chapter Seven
Colin wasn’t certain he’d heard Lady Rosalyn correctly. “You want to marry me?” he repeated dumbly. Everything about her since last Sunday had told him louder than words he was well beneath her notice.
Her expression pale and defiant, she nodded.
Her hair, usually pulled back so tightly, was now windblown and curling in the mist-dampened air. She pulled her shawl closer around her shoulders.
“Come in and let’s discuss the matter,” he answered, opening the door wider.
She shook her head. “No, I’m—” She frowned. “John will be coming for me. I don’t want him to wait.” She paused a beat and asked, “Are you afraid to tell me you have changed your mind? I know Belinda Lovejoyce has returned to the Valley. They say you were close.” Her words suddenly came tumbling out of her mouth. “But she married another. I think you should remember that.”
Was she truly as nervous as she sounded, or was the night air too much for her?
Colin decided to find out.
He turned to the children, who, quietly, for once, watched the little drama unfold. “Boyd, come take Sarah. I need to speak to Lady Rosalyn a moment alone.”
“Yes, Uncle,” Boyd said. “Hello, my lady,” he said shyly, as he took the baby from Colin.
“Hello, Boyd,” she answered.
Her acknowledgement opened the gate for the others. Emma stood and waved, as did Joseph. Lady Rosalyn waved back. Even bold Thomas seemed shy.
“Watch the others until I return,” Colin told Boyd. “I’ll only be outside.” He came out on the step, closing the door behind him. “Little pitchers have big ears,” he explained as he took her arm by the elbow and walked to the shelter of an oak some five feet from the cottage. “I’ve learned that the hard way. If Thomas uses one more swear word and tells his mother he learned it from his uncle, Val will evict me with her broom.”
S
he made no response. Not even a smile. Her head was bowed and her gait stiff.
Colin said, “The Clitheroe gossips never forget a thing, do they?”
“Why should they?”
“Belinda Lovejoyce Whatever-Her-Last-Name-is-Now was many years ago,” he confessed.
“She’s still very lovely.”
He stopped. They were in the shelter of the oak’s branches. It was still too early in the spring for leaves. “Lady Rosalyn, you aren’t jealous, are you?”
That got her attention. She raised her head and frowned. The high planes of her cheeks and the tilt of her nose were clear to see in the light from the house. The rest of her face was in shadows. “Yes.”
Her simple response could have knocked him over. Not for the first time did he wonder what kind of woman she was. There was honor and loyalty and a blunt honesty that he’d never found in anyone else.
His own qualities were put to the test when she asked tightly, “Perhaps you are still attracted to her? She obviously has eyes for you.”
“She has eyes for any man with money. Her father is not pleased she has returned home with creditors. However, she played me for a fool once. There will not be a second time.”
Lady Rosalyn nodded, barely acknowledging his remarks.
Frustrated, Colin stabbed his fingers through his hair and said, “What is this about? You’ve made it very clear you were not interested in my suit from the moment we met, and then now you show up on my doorstep asking me to marry you?”
“You snubbed me, too. At church, in the yard. We are even.”
“If we are keeping score.”
“Aren’t we?”
Colin pulled back. The woman had a mind as sharp as a barrister’s. “I was angry.”
“You haven’t paid a call since Saturday,” she said.
“You have been as prickly as that rosebush we planted and very clear in your intentions to throw my suit back in my face.”
“My pride is my gravest fault.” Her voice sounded strained, as if she wanted to cry and couldn’t.
He understood. The walls she had erected around herself wouldn’t let her.
“Have you ever been in love?” he asked abruptly, wanting to know who had destroyed her trust.
His question appeared to startle her. “Why do you ask?”
“It’s a fair question. You know a bit of my past, and if you don’t, Mrs. Blair and Mrs. Sheffield will happily give you details.”
“Actually, Lavonia Shellsworth enjoys chronicling your life.”
“Lavonia?” He made a disgusted sound. “She had her nose into everyone’s business even when she was Emma’s age, and half of what she knows isn’t true but the product of a bored imagination.”
Lady Rosalyn choked on what sounded like laughter. Colin capitalized on it. “What is the matter? Do you think I shouldn’t be so blunt? ’Tis nothing you haven’t thought yourself,” he challenged.
“But I would not speak the words aloud.”
“Maybe you should.”
She took a step back. He pushed on. “You don’t because you are a single woman. Society frowns on outspokenness in those without husbands to defend them. But a married woman has complete freedom.”
He knew the power behind that last word, and he could feel her response to it. He pressed, “So, I repeat my earlier question—have you ever been in love?”
“No.” She drew a breath and released it. “Pity, isn’t it? I once fancied a young man when I lived with my aunt Maribeth. Her husband is a Russian count. The young man I admired was the one they had chosen for the oldest daughter.”
“A chinless daughter with protruding teeth and a squint, no doubt.”
He caught the flash of her smile. She looked away, covering her mouth with her hand a moment to hide it. “My cousin had a beautiful singing voice.”
“People who squint often do. Helps them hit the high notes.”
Now she did laugh, and he grinned, pleased with himself. Her laughter always sounded a bit rough to him, as if she’d not exercised it enough. “You’ve lived with numerous relatives in your life, haven’t you?”
Her laughter died. “I had no choice. Because of Covey’s presence, Maiden Hill is the first place where I’ve been”—she hesitated slightly, and then said softly—“free to be out from the rules of others.”
“And allowed to care for yourself.”
“Yes.”
He nodded. He understood. “So what became of the young man you fancied?”
“He married my cousin, and then I was moved to my aunt Agatha’s.” She shivered. “The woman’s a dragon.”
“She’s the one Woodford wants to ship you off to.”
“Yes.” The curt word cut through the night, and she seemed to think she should soften it. “It’s not my relatives’ faults. It is awkward having an orphan in the midst at any age.”
“I don’t agree. In my family, the door is open for everyone. Of course, I’m having to sleep on the floor, but only because I can’t stand Boyd’s snores and the way Thomas’s feet smell.”
She laughed again, and he thought making her laugh could become quite addictive. “Of course, I’m not a beautiful, unmarried woman amongst relatives who squint,” he hazarded.
“I’m not beautiful,” she said flatly. “Nor do you need to flatter me. I can catalog my faults.”
“Name one,” he said, wondering what she would say. From the way she usually wore her hair all pulled back, he sensed she was not pleased with it.
“My lips are too large,” she answered.
Her lips were kissable. “Who told you that? Aunt Agatha?”
“No one told me. I have a mirror.”
“I see,” Colin said. “But no man has told you this?”
She made an impatient sound. “That isn’t proper talk between a man and a woman.”
Colin could have told her it was the best sort of talk, and yet he was secretly pleased. She was untouched physically and mentally. The possessiveness he’d begun feeling toward her grew a bit more.
“There was another gentleman in London during my first Season,” she said. “He paid me marked attention even after my aunt Grace told him my circumstances.”
“What happened to him?” Colin asked, uncomfortable with the niggling of jealousy. He’d noticed her voice had softened at the mention of this man.
“He married another one of my cousins. In the end, he said we did not suit. I went through another Season with two of my younger cousins, but I didn’t take.”
“But your heart,” he pressed. “Has no one ever touched your heart?” Damn, when had he started sounding like a poet?
She moved deeper into the tree’s shadows. She did not answer his question. Instead, she said, “You have not given up on the Commons seat, have you?”
In fact, no, he hadn’t, and he hadn’t given up on her. He had been letting her cool her heels. His pride had been wounded by her coldness, especially in the church, where all had been witness. He would not have let her leave for Cornwall without one more attempt. He had been biding his time. “I’d hoped you would come to me,” he answered.
There was a beat of silence, and then she said, “I’m here.”
“Why?”
“Does it matter? Ours will be a marriage of convenience. Who cares about our motives?”
“I do.” And he discovered in truth he did. He took a step toward her. “You’ve worked so hard to ensure I knew my motives were repugnant to you.” And that I was socially inferior.
“It doesn’t seem right to be so cold about marriage.”
“Marriage should be thought of in the cold light of day. It is a major change in our lives. Now you appear on my doorstep in the night and you are the one to make me an offer. Asking why you’ve had a change of mind seems a very sensible question.”
He expected her to balk at his demand like any high-strung mare. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d stormed off.
She did inch away from him
as if tempted to run, but then she planted her feet firmly on the ground and said, “Covey. I’m here because of Covey. She can’t leave. She’s spent over forty years of her life at Maiden Hill. She has no children or family. Her memories are all she has now. I found her tonight at the grave of her husband, and I realized just exactly how much I was asking her to sacrifice for my pride. She’d not last in Cornwall. She’ll die, and I’ve learned she’s all I have. She’s the only person in the world who has ever given a care to what I genuinely needed or genuinely believed. I can’t let anything happen to her. She’s too valuable…too precious.” She lifted her chin in that resolute way of hers that he was starting to anticipate, daring him to contradict her.
“Then answer the question I asked earlier.”
“I thought I had. Or else I’ve forgotten the questions,” she said irritably. “What do you think I’m evading?”
“Has your heart ever been involved before?”
“No.”
Colin smiled, pleased. “A straight answer. That wasn’t difficult, was it?”
“Men are vain,” she answered, accurately pinning him.
“Yes, we are,” he said. This was a battle of wills. Rosalyn Wellborne challenged him like no other. “We shall do well, Rosalyn,” he said. Her name alone, without the affectations of a courtesy title, rolled off his tongue like music.
“We shall live separate lives,” she informed him. “Isn’t that what you said? Separate.”
Ah, yes, leave it to Rosalyn to dictate the terms. “Don’t worry. Arranged marriages are often the best.”
She frowned. “My mother’s was an arranged marriage. It was a disaster.” There was a wealth of unspoken pain in her words. This was the first time she’d let him have even a glimpse of her true self.
He remembered the story Val had told him. “What happened?” he asked, wanting to hear the tale from her.
Immediately, she backed away. “All I ask is that you are discreet in satisfying your desires,” she said with high-handed authority. “Belinda Lovejoyce would not be discreet.”
The Seduction of an English Lady Page 9