Rowena (Regency Belles Series Book 1)

by Caroline Ashton

  Rowena found herself back in to morning room before the power of speech returned to her. She detached herself from Mr Neave’s arm. ‘How did you know? Surely it was kept within the family?’

  ‘It was Harriette,’ announced Araminta Neave, rustling into the room in a cerise gown. ‘She wrote to me. I’d asked her to join me in London but her Mama had already made plans. She did chatter on though. Gave me all the news about Amabelle. Of course as soon as I told pa nothing would do but for us to set off at once to bear you company.’ She wandered across to the tall bureau and ran a finger down the glazed door, examining the books inside. ‘Do you read all these? How amazing.’

  ‘And just as well Miss Harriette did write...’ Mr Neave smiled widely. Two drops of perspiration chased down from his temple to his cheek. He patted at them with a handkerchief. ‘As we soon hope to be family I thought to myself Why not go to that dear girl and see how we can help in this hour of trial?’

  He reached out for Rowena’s hand but she whisked herself the other side of the table and made great pretence of arranging the sweet peas so the mauves and pinks were prettily mixed.

  ‘It really is most kind of you.’ She abandoned the flowers and forced a smile onto her face. ‘But I assure you I have all the help I need. Miss Quigley is here and my aunt is expected at any moment.’

  Araminta turned her attention from the bureau to the ornaments on the mantle shelf. ‘What a strange name. Who is Miss Quigley?’

  ‘She is my father’s cousin. She has been kind enough to live here since my step-mother died. In fact, I must see where she is. She will want to receive you.’ Rowena circumnavigated the table on the opposite side to Mr Neave. She backed towards the door. ‘Excuse me please.’

  Mrs Cope was crossing the hall with a larger tray. Ellie followed behind. ‘Here we are, miss. Lovely hot tea for your aunt.’

  ‘It isn’t my aunt. It’s Mr Neave and his daughter.’

  ‘Neave? Neave? I don’t know him, do I?’

  Unwise words about Mrs Cope’s good fortune rose to Rowena’s lips. She squashed them. ‘Please take the tea into them, I must find Miss Quigley.’

  ‘Miss Thomasina’s keeping to her room, miss,’ Ellie announced. ‘She said the thought of what her dear cousin was being forced to endure was –’

  ‘That’ll do, Ellie. Do you get yourself over and open the door afore I drop this tray all over the hall.’

  Rowena left them to it. She lifted her skirts and hurried up the stairs two at a time. Thomasina Quigley occupied the room at the opposite end of the corridor to Sir Richard. Phillips, still loitering outside his master’s room, looked at her and shook his head. Rowena pressed her lips tightly together and tapped on Thomasina’s door. A faint voice bid her enter.

  Cousin Thomasina lay on her bed, surrounded by shawls and quilts and clutching a vinaigrette to her narrow bosom. She raised her head from the pillows piled behind her head. ‘Is it done? Is my poor cousin at the end of his trials?’

  ‘Not yet, no, but I need you to come downstairs. We have unexpected visitors.’

  ‘Visitors? I am in no condition to receive visitors. Whenever I think of poor dear Sir Richard, I declare I –’

  ‘I am in no condition either, but they are here and we must do what we must.’ Rowena marched to the bed and flipped back the two topmost quilts. ‘Come along.’

  Thomasina found herself assisted to rise more briskly than she expected. Her pale eyes blinked rapidly. Rowena straightened her cap, arranged two of her shawls about her shoulders and marched her out of her room. She ignored Thomasina’s twitterings when she saw Phillips and guided her quickly down the stairs.

  In the morning room, Araminta had opened the bureau and extracted a book of poems. She waved the book. ‘Are these popular?’

  Rowena recognised its cover. ‘I have always considered Shakespeare to be so. You must let me present you to my father’s cousin.’ She urged Thomasina forward.

  The introductions were made and curtsies and a bow exchanged. Thomasina staggered to the nearest chair and subsided into it. ‘You must forgive me, I find today’s trials are rather too much to bear.’

  Mr Neave advanced. ‘What you need, dear lady, is a good breath of fresh air. My girl will be delighted to accompany you on a turn about your garden.’ Grasping her nearest arm, he pulled to her feet. ‘Here, Araminta, help Miss Quigley.’

  Araminta dropped the morocco-bound copy of Shakespeare’s sonnets beside the sweet peas. ‘Come along, ma’am. If pa says fresh air will be just the thing for you, then it will be. Pa is never wrong.’

  Thomasina squeaked. She cast an imploring glance at Rowena. A lively concern for what the beaming Mr Neave’s conversation might include spurred Rowena to action.

  ‘I really think it would be best to let my cousin rest in here.’

  Araminta did not falter. She had the stammering Miss Quigley out of the room before Rowena could reach her. With a conspiratorial smile at her father, Araminta closed the door in her face. Trapped and teetering on the brink of incivility, Rowena flattened her back against it.

  Mr Neave advanced towards her. ‘Now, my dear Miss Rowena. Let us settle matters between us.’

  ‘I beg we will not.’ Rowena trod across the floor to the refuge of the little table. ‘I am deeply honoured by your offer but I must decline. Papa will require all my attention after his ordeal.’

  ‘Indeed he will. That’s all the more need for you to be spared the task of ordering the house while you tend him. I have my people ready to join us in a moment. Just say the word and you need have no more to think about than the care of your poor father.’

  ‘You are most kind, but really I cannot accept.’ She cast around for a reason as the buoyant Archibald Neave advanced towards her, both hands outstretched. ‘For instance, consider the effect on Miss Neave’s prospects.’

  He stopped. The light died from his face. ‘What effect?’

  ‘Why, Amabelle’s flight. Any connection with us is bound to act to her disadvantage.’

  Her tormentor wafted a hand, his sunny expression restored. ‘Nonsense. I am so rich that any such affliction will be overlooked. Her dowry will be enough to set any feckless lord’s crumbling pile to rights.’

  Rowena tried to keep the stunned expression from her face. That anyone should refer to their financial largess in such a fashion amazed her. She was so astounded that the noise of a second chaise crunching over the gravel escaped her attention.

  ‘I really must ask you to cease, Mr Neave. I am indeed most honoured by your consideration but I really cannot accept.’

  Some sort of uproar blossomed in the hall, sufficient to filter through the solid oak of the door. Unusually for him, Phillip’s voice rose above it. Rowena inched round the table towards the tumult. Archibald Neave waddled after her faster than most would have considered possible, given his girth and tight pantaloons.

  ‘Now don’t you run away, I am determined to persuade you.’

  ‘I really must see what is happening. The doctor may have news of my father.’

  Neave caught her hand and stopped her flight. ‘Come, my dear, let us agree. I’m sure you will soon see how well we will do together.’

  ‘No. Really. I –’

  The door opened. A magnificently gowned individual, draped with sables despite the August sun stood on the threshold. The Marchioness of Tiverton surveyed the scene with cold eyes. She permitted her eyebrows to draw together and her mouth to turn down.

  ‘Rowena, I assume there is an excellent reason for you to be holding hands with a gentleman not of the family. Oblige me with it at once.’

  Chapter Thirty Two

  Never had Rowena been so pleased to see the sternly impressive features of her aunt and never had the stern features of her aunt been more impressive. Tugging her hand out of Archibald Neave’s moist grasp, she ran across the
room and clutched Lady Tiverton’s arm with a sigh of relief.

  ‘For goodness sake, miss.’ Lady Tiverton flapped a gloved hand at her niece. ‘Don’t maul me in such a fashion.’ She shook herself free. The length of sable slipped from one arm. She extended the other, allowing the furs to drag on the floor. ‘Take these. It’s too hot now but one never knows how it will be when travelling. I don’t care to risk being cold in the carriage.’

  While Rowena bundled the several feet of narrow dark fur into her arms and placed it carefully on the straight-backed chair beside the door, Mr Neave advanced to the new arrival, smiles wreathing his rotund face.

  ‘Lady T. What a pleasure.’

  His quarry looked considerably less pleased. ‘Indeed, sir. Might I enquire how you came to be here?’

  The answer came from the hall where girlish voices were raised in giggles. Harriette appeared with her arm linked through that of Araminta Neave. ‘Mama, see who is here.’

  ‘I know who is here, thank you, miss. And I have not yet heard why.’

  Araminta dropped a shallow curtsey. ‘Oh, that’s simple, ma’am. Pa has come to offer for Rowena again.’

  Harriette’s mouth dropped open. ‘Rowena,’ she gasped.

  Her mother’s mouth unclenched from its firm line. Her gaze transferred to Mr Neave. ‘That is quite impossible. The family has already made plans for my niece’s future.’ She surveyed the room and then the hall. ‘And where, might I ask, is Miss Quigley? With visitors in the house she should be here.’

  Araminta smiled winningly. ‘Oh, she found the pace of our walk too distressing so I took her back to her room.’

  ‘Indeed.’ Lady Tiverton returned to her topic. ‘Then it is even more improper for you to be talking to my unchaperoned niece, sir. Not to mention the fact that this is a singularly inappropriate time for such an offer.’

  ‘Nonsense, Lady T. Miss Rowena is in need of support and some certainty of her future after what might be a sad event.’

  Three pairs of feminine eyes goggled at him. The fourth pair smiled.

  ‘Pa, we’d best leave them in peace to make their greetings. Harriette says there is the sweetest bonnet in the window in . . .’ She turned. ‘Where was it Harry?’

  Conscious of her mother’s censure, Harriette coloured. ‘In Fincham Wortly. There’s a turning just off the High Street and past –’

  ‘It is quite immaterial where it is, Harriette will not be going. She is needed here.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure someone will tell us where it is. Pa, we can come back later if you’d like.’

  Rowena overcame the sense of unreality that had afflicted her at the open discussion of Mr Neave’s offer, including mention of her father’s possible demise after the trials he was currently enduring above them. ‘Please don’t. I have not . . . and will not . . . change my mind. I am deeply flattered but I cannot accept.’

  ‘Indeed not. This is no time for my niece to be set about by such a matter even if she were mad enough to consider it.’

  The acid tone of her comments eventually managed to pierce Archibald Neave’s self-confidence. ‘I take that very unkindly of you, ma’am. But I say I have no intention of withdrawing my help from such a precious female. It’s a decent offer of a comfortable, secure life where she’d want for naught.’

  ‘Indeed, and I am properly grateful, sir, but I must continue to decline.’

  ‘You have your answer Mr Neave. Harriette, escort Miss Neave to her father’s carriage.’ Lady Tiverton inclined her head the barest fraction. ‘I bid you good-day, sir.’

  Thus dispatched, Archibald Neave followed his daughter out of the room with a frown creasing his plump forehead.

  Rowena sank onto the nearest chair. Her aunt proceeded to the sofa. She arranged herself on it.

  ‘I have no idea what persuaded that person to offer for you, Rowena, but you should not have encouraged him.’

  A gasp escaped her niece. ‘Indeed I have done no such thing, ma’am. Quite the reverse. I have refused him at every turn.’ Rowena’s shoulders drooped. ‘He seems impervious to any negative suggestion.’

  ‘Indeed.’ The determined gentleman was dismissed with the merest shrug. ‘Now, sit up straight and tell me how my brother does.’

  ‘I don’t know ma’am. Doctor Norton is . . .’ Her voice faltered. ‘Is even now . . .’ She pressed a hand to her quivering mouth, unable to continue.

  ‘Bear up, Rowena. I’m sure the doctor will do his best.’ The tray with its cold tea attracted her attention. ‘Pray call for a fresh dish. I am parched with thirst after the journey.’

  Rowena stood and tugged the long tapestry bell pull dangling by the fireplace. Her cousin crept back into the room, her face pale. Her mother’s gaze swam in her direction.

  ‘Had you anything to do with that dreadful man’s arrival here?’

  Her answer came in the barest whisper. ‘I might have mentioned to Araminta that Uncle Richard was hurt.’

  ‘I see.’ A long breath was drawn in through disapproving nostrils. ‘Well in future, miss, be sure you keep family business within the family. I’m sure we can manage very well without becoming the subject of gossip among the lower orders.’

  The three women, one assured and calm and the others crushed and anxious, sat in silence until the fresh tea tray arrived. Phillips followed a laden Ellie into the room.

  Rowena jumped up, hands gripped together. ‘How is he? Is it done?’

  ‘It is, but it was a sore trial for him.’

  ‘Did he come to his senses? Did he suffer?’

  The butler allowed himself to wipe a hand across his left cheek. His eyes looked tiredly at his audience. ‘Not that I know, Miss Rowena. There were no . . . noises.’

  ‘Perhaps if we stop demanding answers from someone who was not present . . . you weren’t present, were you?’ The butler shook his head. ‘Then the doctor might have come and inform us how my brother does.’

  Phillips bowed. Tiredness showed in every plane of his face. ‘He is in the stableyard at present, Lady Tiverton. Washing the . . . er, washing.’

  His inference was not lost on Rowena. She sank onto a chair, this time covering her mouth with both hands.

  Even Lady Tiverton blanched. ‘Surely it was not so bad. I think we need reviving.’

  Her words prompted Ellie still hovering by the door with the tray hoisted level with her chest to carry it across to the table. Harriette followed her and stood fidgeting while the tray was set down. Without looking up, Ellie bobbed a curtsey to no-one in particular and hurried herself, pink-faced, from the room before even one fresh dish of tea was poured.

  ‘Harriette,’ her mother commanded. ‘Pour.’

  Harriette picked up the pot with a trembling hand. Her eyes sent a silent plea to her cousin over its lid.

  Rowena managed a brief smile. ‘Don’t worry. You could never have imagined Mr Neave would take such a dreadful notion into his head as to come pestering me again.’

  Her words did not escape her aunt. ‘It is immaterial, what Harriette might have imagined. Or might not. She should not have disclosed our business to outsiders.’ She inclined her head a fraction to the butler. ‘I do not include you in that group. I’m sure you have known the family long enough to escape that classification.’

  Phillips bowed, his mouth clamped shut.

  ‘May I see Papa?’ Rowena asked him.

  ‘It would be as well to wait a while, Miss Rowena. Mother Haswell and Mrs Cope are . . . putting the room to rights.’ He bowed again and departed for his pantry and a reviving tot of spirits. Or two.

  As he left, a series of bumps and mutters drifted in from the hall. Rowena rushed to the door. Thaddeus and Gilbert were manhandling the still-room table down the main staircase, the only ones wide enough to allow its passage. Dark ruby stains spread across its surface. It would never
be used to pat butter or form cheese rounds again. Rowena swayed. The world before her eyes turned black. She propped a hand against the doorframe and heaved deep breaths into her lungs. Her vision cleared.

  ‘Are you well, Miss Rowena?’ Thaddeus downed his end of the table and arrived at her side. ‘Let me help you to a chair.’

  ‘No need. Thank you. I am quite well. I think I’ll go up to Papa.’ She left the groom standing by the door, looking after her with anxious eyes.

  The stairs seemed steeper than usual. And more of them. The climb to her father’s room took longer than she thought. Her steps grew smaller and slower, they dragged along the landing until she paused at his door. Eventually, her hand clenched round the handle. Dreading what she might see, she went inside.

  The sash widows were raised a hand’s width. The slightest of warm breezes drifted into the room to stir wisps of smoke from the small fire glowing in the grate. Mrs Cope stood by the bed, her fingers curled in fists gripped the sides of her long apron. A small red stain marked its hem. On the bed, Sir Richard lay under a thin, floral quilt. The bottom half was raised in a mound.

  Mrs Cope heard Rowena gasp. ‘He’s sleeping, luv,’ she said, forgetting the social niceties. ‘We put a box over his legs . . . leg to shelter it.’ She bit her lip. ‘Please God, he does well.’

  Rowena nodded. Her father’s breathing barely stirred the quilt. She could not take her eyes off him.

  Mrs Cope pulled an upright chair closer to the bedside. ‘Here, luv. Sit yourself down with him.’

  When Rowena did not move, the housekeeper tiptoed out of the room, closing the door gently behind her. Left alone with her father, Rowena stirred herself to walk to the bed. His face was pallid, almost as white as the pillow beneath his head. The lightest of sheens slicked his forehead and cheeks. Dark violet blotches stained his eyesockets. His lips had lost their shape and formed a line barely darker than his skin.

  A single tear rolled down Rowena’s cheek. She clasped her hands together, sank to her knees and, with her head bowed onto the prettily patterned quilt, prayed for her father to be spared.