Rosanna’s voice and her mood flattened. “Oh? Oh.”
Finish breaking her heart, you bounder. “Creditors were nipping at my heels and I was floating on the River Tick. So, I did something heinous. Something wrong, sinful, and disgusting. I abducted her and took her to a prearranged site for a forced wedding ceremony.”
Surprised, she forgot for a moment, in her stress, that her newlywed friend Melissa wed Lord Russell. “Don’t say you were married.”
“No. It didn’t come off. I am grateful that my sinful plan was prevented by none other than Lord Russell who came on the scene, and rescued Melissa from my wicked clutches.”
Rosanna recoiled away from him as full understanding dawned. She stood up, outrage written across her gentle features. “You cad!”
“Rosanna, I have repented, confessed, and been forgiven by God. I have entered into a new life of following His ways. Telling the ugly tale is so very difficult. Please…”
She interrupted his outpouring. “No more excuses for what you did, please. I cannot believe this. The thing that is most repellant to me, forcing a marriage for financial gain, is not something I can gloss over.”
49
“Let’s return to the house, Dot.” Rosanna controlled her ire and pasted a social smile on her face as she swept by the maid.
Dot stood up and followed in her mistress’s wake.
Rosanna hoped the maid didn’t realize anything amiss. Refusing to even glance back, she told Dot to go around to the kitchen entrance and prepare a tray with a tisane. Rosanna rushed through the front door, startling Perkins. With steely self-control and yet in a soft voice, she tried to hide her stress. “I am not at home to Lord Winstead until further notice.”
At times like this, Rosanna sorely missed her mother, dead these long, three years. But, thankful to have a companion at all, she tried to have a grateful heart. On her way up the stairs, she spoke over her shoulder, “And Perkins, please locate Miss Barton and send her to my room, I find I am in need of her.”
~*~
Entering the bedroom, Miss Barton’s face held a coy expression. “I thought you went on a walk with Lord Winstead?”
In response, Rosanna threw her bonnet onto her bed and kicked off her shoes. “You can stop that smirking, Miss Barton. He is persona non-grata in my life from this moment on.”
The two women fell silent upon the arrival of the maid with the tray. As soon as Dot left the room, Rosanna sloshed the tisane into a cup. She sat back down on the edge of the bed, holding the warm cup in her hands and taking sips in mechanical fashion.
Needing relief, but gracious enough not to spread his misdeeds, she gave vent to a censored tirade. “To think I thought him a friend. I’ll admit, he breached my defenses. Yes, I’d considered what it would be like to be married to him, especially after his fortunes were restored and he became so attentive. He has put himself beyond the pale.” She crossed her legs at the ankles, and her arms across her chest, began to rock back and forth and then to cry.
Barton sat next to her on the bed and pulled Rosanna over to rest her head on her ample bosom. “Let me have that cup before you spill. Dearie, what happened? There, there, you cry it out. Nothing can be that bad.” She patted Rosanna’s shoulder and kept up a stream of soothing words and sounds, as she did when she’d been a nursemaid, years ago. She lowered Rosanna onto the bed, covered her with a down coverlet, and sat in a nearby rocker while the young lady cried herself to sleep.
Rosanna emerged for supper. Subdued, and clad in a dark gray dress trimmed in black, she gave minimal responses to Ellie and Miss Barton at the table.
“I shall be writing a letter tonight, to Mr. Clough.” Miss Barton paused to gauge reaction. “I intend to invite him here for lunch tomorrow, if there are no other plans?”
~*~
The night hours crept by, and Rosanna decided to take a sleeping powder. Her upset, combined with the afternoon nap made sleep elusive. She slipped on a robe, located the medicine and took it, stirred into a glass of water. On her way back to bed, she stopped by the window. The night, lit by a half moon, made the whole world appear dark blue. The wind blew scraps of clouds across the moon’s face, and stars twinkled from afar. The black trees mocked her, something so green and alive, appearing black due to absence of light.
Her head pounded as she went over the facts for the hundredth time. How could he turn out to be a bad man? Such a special man—able to touch her heart with his mere presence. She crawled into her bed and sank into a dream-filled sleep.
In the dream, there stood a boulder. She sat on top of it, unable to get down either side. Peter stood nearby and turned away, ignoring her plight. He disappeared from view, and the boulder began to roll toward the waterfall. The dream played over and over again, her sleeping mind trying to come to terms with her loss.
She awoke at ten, rolled over, and opened one eye to spy a cup on her bedside table. Propped up on her elbow, she grasped the lukewarm cup and stared down into congealed hot cocoa. Sighing, she set down the cup and eased her aching body out of bed, stretched, then rang the bell to call Dot for assistance.
A tap on the door preceded Dot’s entry. “Mornin’, Miss Cabot. Miss Barton sez to remind you the minister’s comin’ fer lunch today.” The girl moved over to the clothespress and began to shuffle down the row of gowns. “This one’ll be a picture.”
“Fine, Dot, whatever dress you pick is fine.” Rosanna summoned up a façade of normalcy, and submitted to being dressed and coifed. The white muslin with lavender and green sprigs made her eyes sparkle most days, but today, it brought no more enjoyment than if it were a gray shroud.
She descended to the dining room, where she selected toast and coffee. Murmuring her thanks to the footman who assisted her, she forced herself to take a nibble or two. After the second cup of coffee, her normal vigor began to assert itself. She pushed away from the table and told the footman to send a messenger to her study.
Reaching the haven of her favorite room, she reached behind her neck, and unclasped the necklace Peter bestowed upon her. Hard to believe he gave it to her just yesterday. It couldn’t be helped. There was no accepting of valuable gifts as an unmarried lady. Certainly, not from a bounder like him. He is no longer my intended. This came unbidden, as she lectured herself to stay cold toward him.
She rummaged in her reticule until she found the square of linen she’d gotten from him that day in the glen. She’d laundered it but hadn’t returned it yet. That would have to go back, too. She opened the cloth, placed the necklace on it, and folded it again, before slipping the packet into an envelope. It crossed her mind to enclose a note, but no—anger and hurt read poorly on paper. She’d surely write something to regret. Wordless missive sealed, she held it between the palms of her hands for a moment, placed a light kiss on it, and put it on a table by the door. When the servant came, she indicated it and gave instructions for delivery. If only the ache in her heart could disappear as swiftly.
50
“Miss Barton. Imagine my delight when I received your note inviting me to lunch.” Mr. Clough chortled. After bowing over her hand, he went to the fireplace and leaned against the mantel.
Miss Barton admired his stance, but after a few seconds, she interrupted his reverie. “Quick, listen. I need your help. Well, it’s actually Miss Cabot that needs help. Your wise counsel.”
“Calm down, start over. What happened to Miss Cabot?” The minister hastened over to the cluster of chairs where Miss Barton sat, and joined her.
“There’s been an upset. I don’t know what about. But you know he, that’s Lord Winstead, was given the jewels yesterday morning.”
“Yes, I was here when they were found by Miss Moore. What happened since?”
“Miss Cabot summoned Lord Winstead here. She gave him the jewels. The next day, yesterday, he paid a call on her, as you know.”
Mr. Clough leaned forward, worried. “Is there more?”
“Yes, After his visit, they pa
rted on excellent terms, but he came back in the afternoon and took her out on a walk. They spoke, seated on a bench under the pergola, and my stars, something went very wrong.” She paused for breath.
“You are saying they had a disagreement?”
“I can only guess. She spoke so cryptic. Knowing her, if he did something, she’d never spread any word of gossip. She was mortal upset, crying, throwing herself on her bed, kicking things.”
The man’s hand crept over to hers and covered it. “Oh, my dear. How upsetting for you, Miss Barton.”
“Yes, but do talk to her. Mayhap she’ll tell you. Can you help her? You are so wonderful with people’s problems.”
~*~
Rosanna walked in and at a glance took in the look of hero-worship on Miss Barton’s face and the location of the minister’s hand just before he pulled it back. Perhaps those two had a future.
Mr. Clough stood, flustered, and bowed to Rosanna. “My dear Miss Cabot, how kind of you, and dear Miss Barton, to include me in your luncheon plans today.”
“Oh, my. You are welcome any time. It was just a little idea my dear Miss Barton had. She said to me ‘Let’s invite Mr. Clough over for lunch tomorrow?’” Rosanna teased mildly but kept her facial expression placid. It wouldn’t do to make the man nervous or self-conscious around ‘Dear Miss Barton’.
The night’s travails wrote sorrow on her visage and she hoped the tear tracks she’d attempted to obscure were covered well enough—so glad she had access to a pot of powder and cold compresses.
“Excuse me for a minute or two. I must give the cook a few instructions about our lunch. I’ve ordered something special for our dear Mr. Clough.” Miss Barton rose from her chair, smoothed the back of her skirt, and minced out of the room.
Not ever having seen her companion walk quite that way, Rosanna sat dumbstruck until the minister’s voice pierced her consciousness.
“…you feeling?” He waited with raised brows.
“Feeling? Me? Fine. Feeling fine. Yesterday was quite tumultuous, what with the fortune in jewels to deal with.” She hoped nonchalance would serve to deflect any probing questions. She started to wonder if this luncheon was a set piece of Miss Barton’s doing.
“I suspect that Lord Winstead’s coolness toward you is a thing of the past? Surely ‘twas his lack of means, deficiency of fortune, that forbore him from pursuing you? That explains it perfectly.” He looked satisfied with his analysis, but as if he held something back.
Rosanna, tired of exerting control, blurted out an answer. After all, if I can’t trust and speak openly to Mr. Clough…? “That was it. But another shameful difficulty has arisen and curtailed any courtship, present or future.”
“Don’t say. Surely…?” The minister’s voice trailed off as his gift of gab departed and he grasped for the delicate words needed in this indelicate situation.
“I wonder. Are you aware what a bounder and cad our Lord Winstead really is? He is practically a kidnapper.” This came out in a harsh whisper. She didn’t want to be overheard.
“Now, now. He’s a sinner like the rest of us. Do you really think God ranks sins of this sort? Yes, there are some called ‘abominations’, but this is not one of those.”
“Fine. But it’s just about the worst thing a man of my class can do to a woman like me. You have no way of knowing this, but I have a personal and especial antipathy toward men who would force unwanted arranged marriages upon young ladies. That’s what drove me from London. Drove me here, to this refuge. And who do I find on my doorstep? One of the type of dastards I fled. Oh, to love again, and have that love crushed like a tender flower underfoot.” Breathing hard, on the verge of tears, waves of disappointment crashed on the shoals of her heart, pounding like a ship forced onto the rocks by a storm.
51
Mr. Clough’s brows rose, and he sputtered. “Miss Cabot, what about forgiveness? If you are unwilling to forgive, will your own sins be forgiven?” Tenacious, he drove home his point, “All have sinned—all.”
“Mr. Clough, do you mean to tell me…” Shocked, she gasped for a breath, then went on. “That I should accept an unrepentant kidnapper as a suitor? Never.”
“Hoping this isn’t a breach of confidentiality, Miss Cabot, but I feel constrained to tell you that Lord Winstead is repentant. He has humbly confessed this matter to me, and has formally repented, in person, to the Russells’ themselves.” He delivered this information as if a coup de grace.
“Oh!” She gasped again, and raised her hands to cover her mouth, pressing as though to keep from crying out. This didn’t fit in with her anger. The anger she’d thought so right, so righteous. Her mind whirled and she slumped in the chair, losing touch with reality and escaping from the horrid truth.
~*~
“Wake up, wake up.” Miss Barton waved the vinaigrette under Rosanna’s nose and she sat up, shaking her head.
“What happened?” The memory of Mr. Clough’s revelations and reproof came sweeping back into her overtaxed mind.
“You must have fainted, dearie.” Miss Barton chafed Roseanna’s wrists for a few moments then thrust a cup of tea into her hands. “Drink this.”
She sipped and noticed a tea tray had appeared on the table in front of the chairs. Miss Barton must have brought it when she came back from wherever she’d minced off to prior to Rosanna’s explosive conversation with Mr. Clough.
“Ladies, it is imperative that I bring God’s word into this situation. Miss Barton, without revealing matters entrusted to me in the confessional, let me just say there’s been a misunderstanding between our two young people. Surely, you’ve both heard the verse, ‘If we confess our sins, God is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness?’”
“Oh, such a perfect reference.” Miss Barton gushed.
“We have words from the common parlance of poesy, ‘To err is human; To forgive, divine.’ Have we not?” He glanced back and forth between the two women, sparing Rosanna from being pinned down with his words.
“I cannot say at this time that I will be able to forgive him. But I shall take your words into consideration, Mr. Clough.”
“That’s all I ask of you. A partial, facile forgiveness when one isn’t made ready by the Spirit is not to be desired, either. Let’s close this little conference with prayer, shall we?” He bowed his head, and the two ladies did the same. After a silent moment, he began. “Lord, You have taught us to love our neighbor. To treat others as we would have them treat us. Please enable us, by Your Spirit, to do Your will, to show Your perfect mercy and grace to our fellowman. Amen.”
“I beg you to excuse me from lunching together. You two go and enjoy it. I am sure that Hannah has outdone herself for Mr. Clough. I will be thinking and praying. Thank you so much.” Rosanna went out into the hall, where she found Perkins. “Please find Dot. She’ll be accompanying me on a walk.”
No more walking alone.
Cooling her heels in the hall, waiting for the maid, Rosanna realized she’d been neglecting her other guest. When Dot appeared, she sent her on a mission. “Dot, go find Miss Moore, see if she’ll walk with me.”
Before long, Ellie and Dot returned.
“Such a grand idea, Rosanna. I’d love a walk.”
They handed shawls to Dot, who would be trailing behind them, put their own bonnets on, and exited the front door. Choosing one of the paths leading explicitly away from Lord Winstead’s corner of the estate, Roseanna led the way to a hilltop known for its expansive view. She and Ellie sat down on their shawls and Dot sat a way off.
Ellie hadn’t been on this path before and she enthused about the vista. “The views alone make Honor’s Point an exceptional property. I love it here. So peaceful, so quiet, so safe.” She glanced over at Dot, as if evaluating whether the maid could hear what they were saying.
“Don’t worry, Ellie, Dot’s mind is elsewhere. I’ve never known one so ‘head in the clouds’. ’Tis amazing she’s so good with ha
ir and wardrobe.”
“That’s an excellent quality. I’m so glad that there hasn’t been even a whiff of exposure or hint of my presence causing any interest. Living such a quiet life is a blessing.” Ellie twisted a piece of grass between her fingers.
“It’s safe here, in a way,” Rosanna said. “My heart isn’t protected here, though. I may as well tell you, Lord Winstead has breached my heart’s defenses, but the slings and arrows of life have trampled upon our budding love. I fear love’s labor is lost.” Rosanna sighed.
Ellie’s eyes grew round, and she clutched the front of her bodice. “This happened right under my nose? I should have suspected, I suppose, but whatever transpired is a mystery to me.”
“Thank you for not taking the news askance. Speaking to you of my trampled heart relieves my feelings somewhat. Though I do not care to go into detail. I’m afraid going into specifics would bring tears again. Perhaps someday I’ll tell you the entire sorry tale. For now, however, it’s good to be on a walk with such an excellent friend.”
“I hear our neighbor Lord Halburt made a sudden trip to London today, after his guests left. It’s a relief not to suffer his frequent flowery accolades. He makes my skin crawl.” Ellie didn’t mince words.
“I agree. A little bit of him goes a long way.” Rosanna began to giggle, and her infectious laugh soon had Ellie chortling.
“He is good for a laugh.” Ellie said when she could speak again.
“On that note, let’s head back. My appetite has returned.”
52
Rosanna struggled to pardon Peter’s sin. If she were to proffer forgiveness, how would she tender it? Write a note? Offer to meet in person? Did she truly forgive him? Such questions troubled her sleep and she dreamed of the glen, the boulder, and the waterfall each night.
A Refuge for Rosanna Page 21