Her attempt to change the subject succeeded and talk diverged well away from the cottage and its resident. Something told her she’d get an earful later. She heard her own voice blathering nonentities. “I’d love to meet some of the other neighbors.”
On that scintillating note, the door opened, and Ellie entered the room. Lady Brook had not met her yet, so several minutes elapsed while performing introductions. Ellie and Lady Brook were quite taken with each other, and soon engrossed in a discussion of the competing merits of rosemary and chamomile and whether the herbs were as useful as medicines as they were as beauty products.
Miss Barton shot a piercing look at Rosanna and whispered. “See? You must not believe yourself safe strolling about alone. Word could get back to the haute ton that you are wandering around the woods.” Indignation infused her words, but discretion caused her to stop the flow of invective, for she did not want Lady Brook to realize anything amiss.
“Ladies, I must leave you now. I have two ailing retainers at home to return to. Both my butler and potboy are down. One with the gout, the other with croup.” Lady Brook gathered her reticule and repositioned her shawl. “Thanks be, there are remedies for both on a shelf in my stillroom. Enough of that pedestrian talk, however, I do not want to tire you with my medical doings.”
Rosanna demurred. “I can only aspire to your medicinal abilities.”
“Thank you, dear. Now I’d like to ask whether I may count on you three ladies for a smallish dinner I am planning for the evening after next?”
Rosanna glanced over at Ellie, who lifted a delicate brow, before giving a cautious nod of assent. The poor thing—living in fear as she was. The time had come to nudge her out of the limited scope of the manor. Surely, Lady Brook’s invitation brought no danger. It wouldn’t hurt to get out.
“A dinner party? That sounds delightful. What time shall we arrive?” Rosanna turned toward Miss Barton, seeking approval. Having only thought of Ellie’s reaction, Rosanna’s heart sank at the mask of trepidation mantling Barton’s face.
“Come at seven. My cook will outdo herself.” Lady Brook rose to leave, and the other three ladies did as well, all gathering around the neighbor to bid her adieu.
“This visit has been exceedingly pleasant, I am so glad for such amiable neighbors.” Rosanna said what she thought appropriate, but the minute it came out of her mouth, she remembered Peter. Oh, well, no one else is thinking that, just me.
The second the door closed behind Lady Brook, two pairs of eyes bored into Rosanna. The questions hung in the air.
Rosanna sat down again, nerves tingling at the expectation of opposition. “My dear Miss Barton, I perceive you have a qualm or two?”
“I’ve not ever before attended as a guest at a dinner party with my betters.” Miss Barton’s words were halting, fear was written all over her plain face. “I think I should stay home.”
“It’s quite unexceptional for a lady’s companion to be included in all her invitations, and Lady Brook clearly invited you. You’ve no reason to be concerned.”
“I fear I shall be sadly out of place.”
“Nonsense. After all, you’re the one who taught me how to go on in society. With my mother deceased since my early years, you, Miss Barton, filled many a gap, including that of social etiquette instructor.”
Miss Barton’s relieved expression revealed cautious pleasure at being included in the invitation. “I concede, but only if you’re sure.”
“Quite sure. Lady Brook exudes a calm graciousness which bodes well for a pleasant dinner party. Also, the neighborhood is somewhat sparsely populated and devoid of anything to draw an influx of strangers.”
“I, too, have a concern.” Ellie spoke and held up her ink-stained index finger. “Who will be there, do you suppose? Anyone who would possibly recognize me?” She lowered the finger and began to nibble it, revealing her anxiety.
17
“That’s an excellent question.” Rosanna crossed her arms and thought for a moment, while twirling a curl around her finger. A social invitation brought on unexpected complications. She’d like to have been better prepared for this eventuality, but one couldn’t think of everything. “Let’s talk this through. Who might be there?”
Miss Barton chimed in, “Lord Halburt, for one.”
“Well, I’d never heard of him or met him before the other day, so it’s safe to assume he hasn’t heard of me either, correct?” Ellie looked at Rosanna for confirmation. “He acted as though he was meeting me for the first time—like a complete and utter stranger.”
“That is accurate. I gleaned no signs of recognition at all when he met you.” She gave a reassuring pat to her friend’s little hand. “Believe me, I watched him closely—like a hawk.”
Ellie clutched her hands in her lap. “I am grateful for that.”
Rosanna spoke again, continuing the conjectured guest list. “The vicar, Mr. Clough, will probably be included. And his wife, if he has one.”
“He does not.” Miss Barton piped up. “He is a bachelor.” She looked down again, busy with her needle.
“A bachelor is always desirable at such gatherings.” Typical when nervous, Rosanna’s tongue wandered into gaucheries—desirable? Stop. She couldn’t delay any longer, the very topic that made her tongue run away. The time to avoid mentioning the other guest they could expect was over. She took a deep breath and began. “Ellie, you missed quite the on-dit. Lady Brook informed Miss Barton and me that the former owner of Honor’s Point, Lord Winstead, is living in a nearby cottage.”
“In a cottage? Whatever for?” Ellie said, baffled.
Rosanna smoothed her hands down her arms, suddenly chilled. “So sad. His father lost the estate and the heir only retained one small corner of the property.”
“So, the man is destined to live in the shadow of the estate he once owned. A poignant, sad tale. How devastating.”
“Back to our presumptions about the guests.” Oh, my. “I mean predictions, not presumptions.”
Miss Barton clucked her disapproval at Rosanna’s slip of the tongue. “I should say.”
“Lord Winstead will most probably be invited. Lady Brook seemed to be quite kindly toward him.” Rosanna concluded her awkward explanation by raising her cup and saucer and taking a sip. She congratulated herself on the relative level of dispassion with which she imparted this information. Relative to her inward turmoil, that was. No one can think I’m the least bit attached.
“Back to answer your original question, Ellie. More than likely, no one who laid an eye on you in London will be present. The Season remains in full swing; therefore, society people are still in town.”
“True.” Ellie said. “That’s somewhat reassuring. My entire life long, this,” she touched her hair, “has caused undue notice to fall upon me. Perhaps I should color my hair?”
“Never. Those glorious tresses must on no account be tampered with.”
“If you’re sure.”
“I’m certain. None of the other guests will know who you are, and your new identity will aid your anonymity. Remember, one other thing in your favor is that you hadn’t been presented at court or graced your own come-out ball yet. You were barely known in society.”
“You’re right. It’s just that my cousin—my family…” Ellie, eyes down, trailed off with a final word, breathed on a sigh, “—frightening.”
Rosanna exchanged a glance with Miss Barton.
“I understand. But we can anticipate what will surely be a pleasant evening. We’ll relax and enjoy the dinner party.” Rosanna wondered if that were possible with the darkly handsome Lord Winstead present.
“I suppose it’s safe to brave the dinner party. If anyone mentions in London an Ellie Moore having attended a country dinner, I’d be shocked. There’s less than a miniscule chance attending would lead to my discovery.”
“I concur entirely,” Rosanna said. “Your situation is fearsome, but you are safe here.”
“Thank you, it help
ed to talk it through.” Ellie stood. “I’ll look over my gown. I believe it may need pressing.”
“Wonderful. I’m sure you’ll be pretty in whatever you wear.”
“Though I didn’t relish attending London social events, because of my family’s pressures, one aspect I did enjoy was selecting a new wardrobe. I brought only one evening gown, in my rush to escape. Just the thing for Lady Brook’s party.” Ellie left the room.
Miss Barton wasted no time before rounding on her charge. “Am I to understand that you met this man in the woods?” Not waiting for an answer, she fumed on, puffed like an angry pigeon. “Charming. Just the sort of thing I’ve warned you against time and again.”
“Yes, well. No harm done. Now I know better. Even here, I must always be on my guard.” Such a concession bothered her, however. She wanted peace, not pressure to conform to society’s standards. Why can’t I roam free for a bit? Without repercussions or ramifications?
Miss Barton added the obvious. “And I shall be on guard on your behalf, as well,”
“I only hope it isn’t uncomfortable to meet Lord Winstead at an elegant dinner party. I was initially under the impression he was a laborer or tenant farmer of some sort. Now I learn elsewhere—not from him—that he is the former owner of my property.” She stared out the window, in the direction of the cottage for a moment, adjusting her mind to the fresh information about its inhabitant.
“I told you. But, no. You must wander about on your own. You’ve ever been this wayward.”
“Miss Barton, spare me another scold. I’ve hardly been out from under your thumb a few hours of my entire life. Please don’t exaggerate.”
The companion gave a huff and crossed her arms. “Well, all right, I’ll concede that. But if you’d simply taken me along instead of gallivanting alone, this hideously embarrassing development would not hold such awkwardness. You’ll need to face the music. Pray he doesn’t spread tales and ruin your reputation.”
“He didn’t seem the vengeful sort. And meeting him now, at a soiree? What will he do? Scorn me publicly?” Rosanna’s imagination flew to what it would be like to meet up with Peter at an elegant dinner party.
“It could be bad. I just hope the Lord spares you any shame.”
“Indeed, I continually beseech His favor. But, Lord Winstead has his own problems, and I highly doubt he’s even thinking of me.” Saying these words, however, lanced pain through her temples.
Instead of musing on her heart’s tender condition, Rosanna needed to defuse her companion and distract her suspicious mind. “Miss Barton, it’s past time for you to finish training the new lady’s maid. Your transition to companion will be utterly complete what with this dinner invitation that includes you. From here on, everyone shall be calling you Miss Barton.”
“If you insist. I am almost through training Dot. She can attend you while you pick your gown for Lady Brook’s dinner. Selecting it today will provide enough time if the dress needs any touching up with an iron, or a stray bead mended. You must decide if Dot, my chosen replacement, suits.” Miss Barton put her needlework away in a workbag and stood. She brushed a few stray threads off her gown and wiped away a surreptitious tear.
Rosanna stood too and placed a hand on the companion’s arm. “You, Miss Barton, can never be replaced. Let’s simply say, new lady’s maid, and not replacement.” Rosanna acted as if she hadn’t witnessed the tears and moved toward the door. “Selecting which gown to wear for Lady Brook’s party will be enjoyable. I haven’t looked over my gowns since they were unpacked.”
“Evening gowns are a pleasure, aren’t they, Rosanna?” Miss Barton swept up behind Rosanna and gave a tweak to her sash. “So fancy.”
Miss Barton’s words reminded Rosanna of something from one of her lists. She held up a finger and waved it gently. “You also have a way with fashion, Miss Barton. And in light of that, we will go to the village tomorrow to select some styles suitable for your new life.”
“If you’re certain.”
“I am. We shall have a fine time. Exploring the village, ordering gowns, taking tea—if there’s a tea shop.”
Rosanna and Miss Barton ascended the stairs. An agreement had been reached about solo ramblings on the estate, happy plans were laid for the morrow, and a dinner party to look forward to.
While waiting for Dot to answer the summons, Rosanna perused her gowns and evaluated the possibilities. At twenty-two, and Rosanna no longer considered a young miss, society allowed her to wear more vivid colors, which suited her personality and complexion. The requisite white and palest pastel gowns worn as a young lady on the marriage market had not flattered her coloring. But that cloud had a silver lining, since she’d never desired to attach to any of the men at the various society functions.
Back in London, the heady social whirl surely went on, and she had no regrets about missing it. The balls she’d attended during the early part of the current Season did not provide near as much enjoyment as did new gowns.
~*~
Dot’s quiet voice, one step up from a murmur, announced the maid’s arrival at the door to Rosanna’s room. “Yes, Miss?”
“Dot, come in. You look as though you’re about to be chastised. This is nothing like that. To seal my decision that you will be my new lady’s maid I want you to help me while I select a gown for a dinner party, two nights hence. We’ll choose now, so there’s plenty of time to press the gown and make sure it fits.”
The slight girl appeared about to faint, so Miss Barton snatched a hartshorn vinaigrette from the dressing table and waved it under the girl’s nose. She revived and then Miss Barton patted her hand and brought her closer to wait for instructions.
Half a dozen gowns were arrayed across the bed. Two were in shades of bright coral, two of medium greenish blue, and one each of lavender and violet.
“Help Miss Cabot get undressed. These are the gowns she’s considering.”
With minimal instruction, Dot assisted Rosanna to undress down to her chemise.
“I’ll try each gown on, but we won’t completely fasten each one. When I stand in front of the mirror, you can hold each dress closed at the back.” Dealing with all the tapes, hooks, buttons, and other contraptions would slow the trying-on session to a crawl. The enjoyable process of selecting a gown didn’t need to go on for hours.
Rosanna and Miss Barton discussed the merits of each gown. All of the gowns were high-waisted, and of expensive fabrics. Dot made not one comment, but helped in practical ways such as puffing sleeves, and arranging trains.
Having tried the final gown, Rosanna turned away from her cheval glass and selected a vivid coral taffeta evening dress featuring a low neckline filled in with a frothy white fichu. The gown had an embellishment of gold thread in an embroidered ivy leaf pattern down the front and around the hem of the skirt. A filmy white silk underskirt peeked out below the scalloped hem. A necklace of coral set in gold would complete the ensemble. “This one will look just right.”
Miss Barton used a gentle tone with the young maid, though her words were pragmatic and to-the-point. “Can you manage dressing Miss Cabot’s hair tonight? Even though we’re dining at home, it will be good practice for Lady Brooke’s upcoming dinner party.”
Voice shaking, Dot answered. “Yes, ma’am, I’ve practiced on me hair.” She looked surprised at her own temerity.
Miss Barton departed, and Dot helped Rosanna dress before dealing with her curls. Relaxing while the maid brushed her hair, her mind whirled with conflicting desires. She struggled to convince herself of the appropriateness of her desire to be beautiful at the upcoming party where she would see Peter. God made her, she decided, and she had the right to let her beauty show.
“That’s lovely!” She turned her head from side to side, enjoying the luscious hairdo Dot created with a few pins. Thinking ahead to the party, she pictured a perfect coiffure crowning her ensemble.
“Thank you, Miss.” Dot stood back, head tilted to one side.
“You are certainly talented with hair. And that confirms my decision to promote you to lady’s maid. Would you like that?”
Dot breathed out her answer. “Yes, Miss.”
Rosanna leaned in to hear and added a smile to soften her words. “Dot, you’ll have to learn to speak up if you’re to be a success.”
Spritzing her neck with lilac scent, Rosanna studied the image in the mirror, fantasizing about the reaction she’d get at the dinner party two nights hence. Would Winstead notice? Smacking down the atomizer, she chided herself that it didn’t matter. But honest self-examination forced her to admit the reason she wanted to cut a dash at the party. There were two long days to wait. Lord, why, after all this time, do I care what this or any man thinks of me?
18
The sheets tangled about her limbs gave further terror to Rosanna’s nightmare. Trapped in a mindscape of shifting shadows, around every gloomy corner of a winding corridor hid a malign presence. Each time she summoned the courage to approach, but the wisp of evil vanished. Over and over, the dream played out, resolution slipping through her fingers. She tried to swim to the surface of consciousness, partially waking with her own whimpers.
Half-asleep, and still under the sway of the heart-pounding night terror, she fought awake, sat up, clutched the linens under her chin, and swept her gaze over the dim room. Forcing deep breaths, she murmured a verse, “greater is He that is in you than he that is in the world.”
Ellie. Her guest’s name rose in her throat, the urge to call out strong. But no, it was just the dream. Ellie was fine—asleep a few rooms away.
Too early to expect a maid to appear with hot coffee or chocolate, and sure she wouldn’t be able to sleep anymore, she chose the alternative—to rise, dress, and enjoy the sunrise.
But first, robe and slippers found, she slipped out into the hall and, using the servants’ stairs, she descended to the kitchens which lay near the foot of this stairwell. Tentative, she pushed at the green kitchen door, and stuck her head in. Ah, the cook was awake at this early hour.
A Refuge for Rosanna Page 8