“My apologies, Mr. Bradshaw,” she said with a sigh as she blinked back tears that threatened to spill over her lashes. “I did not mean to speak so rudely.”
Rather than be upset, Mr. Bradshaw chuckled. “Perhaps it was unwise to speak ill of another,” he said. “I do not often do such things, but with a man such as Parkinson, you must understand my reason for doing so.”
“I am afraid I do not,” Rose said.
He shook his head. “Women may say they appreciate a man who enjoys nature and other pastimes attributed to women, but is it not true that they prefer men who participate in more…let’s say ‘manly’ activities such as hunting?” He did not wait for Rose to respond before turning to Caroline. “What is your opinion as it pertains to Parkinson?”
Caroline tapped the book on her lap as she took a moment to consider the question. “I believe you are both correct.”
Why did Caroline not defend me? Rose wondered. When she looked at Mr. Bradshaw, it was clear that he did not appreciate the woman’s response any more than Rose did, for his jaw had tightened significantly. Perhaps the man was more old fashioned and closed minded than he pretended to be.
For several moments, they fell into an awkward silence until Mr. Bradshaw suddenly smiled and said, “You seem quite interested in things of nature. Are you knowledgeable in that area?”
“I have not studied the subject, if that is what you are asking, but I admit that I have done some reading on different topics.”
“Then I propose that we go on a picnic the next time we meet,” he said with a wide grin. “The weather has not yet turned cold, and I enjoy the outdoors as much as the next man. I would like to learn more about nature, and with your wisdom in that subject, I look forward to learning from you.”
The man had been angry with her not moments before, and yet now he thought her intelligent enough to garner information from her? Was he scoffing at her or being forthright? Yet, his smile said he would like nothing more than to spend time with her. Perhaps she was being too prickly.
When she looked into his eyes, her heart fluttered, and before she could truly consider the invitation, she replied, “That would be lovely. In fact, I think it is a wonderful idea.”
Mr. Bradshaw rose from his chair. The smile he wore was a bit smug, but Rose did not care. Truth be told, the idea that he thought he could learn anything from her left her with a buoyant feeling.
“I shall send a note with a possible day for our outing once I have checked my diary,” he said.
“I look forward to your invitation,” Rose said as she, too, stood. She struggled to keep herself from wobbling on her legs as he gazed down at her. “I will walk you to the door.”
Caroline joined them, and the trio walked to the foyer.
Mr. Bradshaw turned to her. “I look forward to seeing you soon. You, as well, Miss Thrup.”
Caroline went to speak but instead sneezed, sending the book she was carrying tumbling to the floor. When she bent to retrieve it, Mr. Bradshaw surprised Rose by leaning in and kissing her on the cheek!
“Goodbye, Miss Skylark,” he whispered, an impish grin on his face. By the time Caroline had righted herself, he was back to a more reasonable distance.
Unable to move, Rose struggled to calm her pounding heart. The man had the audacity to kiss her? Perhaps he truly was a rogue, for only a rogue would be so forward! Or was this some new modern manner of treating a woman? If so, she was uncertain if she accepted the new ways!
“Are you all right?” Caroline asked after Lord Bradshaw was gone, breaking Rose from her thoughts.
Rose had not realized she was holding the cheek on which he had kissed her, and she moved her hand. “Yes,” she managed to whisper.
Then it occurred to her that she was not shocked at his behavior but rather enthralled with it, which only made her uncertainty all the greater. How could a sensible woman think an unsolicited kiss something as wonderful as she clearly believed it was?
Chapter Nine
Rose lay tossing and turning in her bed. Every time she closed her eyes, her dreams were bombarded by mysterious letters mocking her about her father or of images of Caroline saying horrible things about her mother.
Whenever she attempted to focus on something else—anything else—thoughts of Lord Bradshaw came to mind. He had kissed her right there in the foyer of Scarlett Hall! Never had she been in the company of such a brazen man.
Had he not warned her that he was different from other gentlemen? That he viewed the world in a much different manner than others? But did she listen? No!
It was a relief that Caroline had not seen that kiss. If she had, there would have been no end to her chatting about it. What plagued Rose the most was the guilt she felt for the fact that she enjoyed his lips upon hers.
With a sigh and knowing she would not get a decent night’s sleep, she lit the candle beside her bed and removed the two papers from under her pillow.
First she studied the writing she was certain belonged to Lord Lambert. This one she would return to its place in the hunting book. It did not belong to her, for one, and for another, each time she reread the words penned on that page, her stomach clenched to the point she had only picked at her food during dinner. Luckily, Aunt Eleanor had not noticed.
The second paper containing the letter from her mother she would hide away for now. She slid it back under her pillow for safekeeping, uncertain why she wished to hold onto it. Perhaps it was because it was written by her mother, which made it feel as if the woman was near her.
After donning her dressing gown, she took Lord Lambert’s writing in one hand and the candle in the other and headed down to the library. The house was eerily silent. Rose still had not grown accustomed to living outside the city, where sounds of carriages or late-night patrons could be heard at all hours of the night.
Although she could not see far, no one else seemed about, and her heart pounded in her chest when she arrived at the top of the stairs. It was well past midnight, so of course no one else would be awake, but she kept her steps light anyway. The regal gaze of Lord Charles Lambert seemed to accuse her of some sort of wrongdoing, and she stopped to study the portrait.
Could this man have had an affair with her mother? She hoped her mother had not participated in such an unscrupulous act. If she learned it was so, would her aunt throw Rose out of her house?
Yet, how could her mother have allowed her to come to Scarlett Hall if she had committed such a heinous deed?
This is a waste of time, Rose thought. She could not know the truth based only on two short writings, and it was unfair to everyone involved that she was passing judgment without evidence. It was a good thing she was not a magistrate!
Feeling a bit better, she continued her trek down the stairs, although she continued to make as little noise as possible. At the bottom, she turned toward the library. However, when she reached for the knob, Rose let out a shriek as the door opened and her aunt appeared.
“Rose?” Aunt Eleanor said as she placed a hand to her breast, clearly also startled at finding someone at the door when she did not expect it. “What are you doing up at this hour?”
“I…I was g-going to the l-library.” She could not stop herself from stumbling over the words.
Her aunt chuckled. “I can see that.” She studied Rose for a moment. “I wish you would tell me what is wrong. I can see you something has upset you.” She glanced down at the paper Rose held. “Is that your writing?”
“This?” Rose asked. “Oh, no, it is not mine.”
“Come now, dear. You must tell me what is bothering you.”
A tear rolled down Rose’s cheek. “I found something that did not belong to me, and what I read has left me in quite a state.”
“Come, let us go to the study. We can speak there.”
Rose nodded and followed her aunt to the other room. When she lit several of the candles, she offered Rose one of the chairs.
“Now, tell me what you found.”
Rose sighed. “It would be better if I showed you,” she said. It was about time she revealed the letter, for perhaps her aunt had an explanation.
She handed the woman the writing, and her aunt read over the lines. “That is a lot of information in few words,” her aunt said finally. “I suppose you have questions.”
Rose nodded. “I do, but I am afraid of upsetting you. You have been nothing but kind to me since my arrival, and I do not wish to be a bad guest. I must admit that I found that paper when I was looking through some of the books in the library. I know I should not have read it, but I could not help myself.”
Her aunt chuckled. “You have done no wrong. I must admit that I would have been quite inclined to read anything I happened upon by chance. And you could never change what I feel for you. Now, speak freely and I will listen. Sometimes all we need is to share what we are feeling, and once that is done, we feel much better.”
Rose sighed with relief. “Can I assume that the penmanship belongs to Lord Lambert?” she asked. When her aunt nodded, she continued. “He spoke of wanting to have my mother in his bedchamber and then that she was with child. I can only assume that the child she was carrying was me.” She looked down at her hands. “Is Lord Lambert my father?”
Her aunt folded the paper and set it beside her. “Did your mother ever tell you of another child? One she carried several years after your brother Graham?”
Rose looked up. “No. Was there another?”
“I will share with you something personal about your mother of which few know. It is imperative that what I tell you tonight remains here. Do I have your word you will not repeat what I have to say?”
“Of course,” Rose replied. “You have my word. I would never do anything to hurt Mother.”
Her aunt smiled. “I know you would not.” She clasped her hands in her lap. “Many years ago, when Graham was but a small child, your mother met a man named Lord Anthony Drake. They became rather close, and soon your mother became pregnant. However, Lord Drake refused to marry your mother, and so, not wishing to live in shame, she left for London. A few months later, she lost the child she was carrying.”
“Oh, poor Mother!” Rose said, wiping at her eyes. “She never told me. The heartache and pain she endured must have been great.”
“You should know that it was not because she distrusts you that she chose not to tell you,” Aunt Eleanor said. “Few women speak openly of such loss when the circumstances are proper; none speak of it when there is a scandal involved.”
“At least I know the truth as to why Mother left Rumsbury. And Lord Lambert could not be my father, for Mother had already been in London several years before I was born.”
“Your father was a military man,” Aunt Eleanor said. “I never met him, but you should be proud of the courage he gave you.”
“And the writing I found? Why did he write about my mother?”
Aunt Eleanor sighed. “Early on in our marriage, Charles and I had a disagreement of sorts. Sadly, we did not speak to one another for several months. It was during that time that Charles considered what life would have been like if he had married another woman, and then he considered if that woman was your mother.”
“You knew of this?” Rose asked in shock. “You knew he wanted to take my mother to his bed?”
“Have you seen the manner in which a man acts when he has had too much to drink?” her aunt asked with a light chuckle.
“I suppose I have a few times,” Rose replied. “Was he drunk then?”
“I imagine so,” her aunt said. “During that time, he drank quite often, and it is quite common for some men to consider what life would have been like with another wife, especially when they believe their marriage has come to an end. You must know that nothing happened between Charles and your mother back then. In fact, when he finally apologized, he confessed his wayward thoughts to me.” She tapped the paper beside her. “He told me he had written down his thoughts and then forgot where he had placed them. Now we know where he left them.”
When her aunt smiled, Rose felt as if a heavy weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She had invaded someone else’s privacy and then wondered why she drew the wrong conclusions, but what did she expect? What had been written on that paper told only a tiny bit of the entire story.
One question remained. Why did her mother write to Lord Lambert asking him to stay away from her? Despite her need to have this question answered, she decided to keep it to herself. If Lord Lambert had sent a letter while inebriated, just as he had written his thoughts, it made sense she would set him straight. The more she thought about it, the more sense it made, and it was best if she did not burden her aunt further when there was no need.
“Thank you,” she said, rising from the chair and yawning. “I feel much better now.”
Her aunt pulled her in for a hug. “You are most welcome. And thank you for telling me. Now you know there is nothing about which to worry.”
“Indeed,” Rose replied. “Would you like me to return that paper to where I found it?”
Her aunt shook her head. “No. I will dispose of it.” She paused. “Did you happen across any other writings?”
For a moment, Rose considered revealing finding the letter from her mother, but the heartache that could come from it was not worth it. “No, Aunt Eleanor.”
Her aunt smiled as she walked around the desk and opened a drawer. “I keep extra money in this box,” she said, placing a small wooden box on the top of the desk. “I believe tomorrow you should take Caroline into the village and enjoy yourselves.”
“That is very kind of you,” Rose said in astonishment. “Are you certain?”
“Oh, yes,” her aunt replied. “You have been worrying for nothing, and now you need a day of fun. Perhaps you can buy a new dress or even a hat. But do be kind and buy Caroline something, as well.”
Rose giggled. “I will,” she replied. “Thank you.” She yawned again. “I believe I am off to bed.”
Her aunt kissed her cheek and wished her a good night, and with candle in hand, Rose made her way to the door. Stopping, she turned to look back at the woman who had opened her home to someone who was not truly her niece. She stood at the window. About what could her aunt be thinking?
Rather than asking, Rose left the room. She had asked enough questions for one day. Plus, she was pleased to have learned who her father was—and who he was not.
As she lay beneath the covers, her mind encountered a new problem—Mr. Holden Bradshaw, a man who had kissed her. If he was as daring as he claimed to be, would he try to kiss her again? Secretly, she hoped he would.
***
The following day, Eleanor stood on the front portico and waved as the carriage pulled away. Rose and Caroline were on their way to Rumsbury, and the driver had been instructed not to return before three. She had too many things to take care of, all of which neither girl needed to know about.
Charles had done many horrible deeds, most of which Eleanor had managed to keep hidden. Yet, how could the man have done something so outrageous as to write down his thoughts and leave that writing in a place where anyone could find it? It had taken all she could do to force a smile as she lied to Rose concerning whether or not she knew about the writing.
In truth, she had been mortified beyond belief! Rachel had not been the only woman Charles had desired. Eleanor was aware of many other women with whom he had shared his bed—or expressed a desire to do so—but to see his thoughts on paper after all these years had been more than she could bear.
How many other women did he write about in such a brazen manner? What if another writing such as the one Rose had encountered came to light?
Even after his death, the man could torment her. His lust for other women was as great as his desire for the drink. The humiliation Eleanor endured was not for what Charles had done, however, for she had long ago accepted who he was. Rather it was for the lies she had been forced to tell in order to keep the truth f
rom her children. They had learned more than enough to send any child over the edge of madness, they did not deserve to be burden further.
Disgusted, Eleanor hurried inside and headed straight to the library. So many books! He could have hidden writings in any one of them. Most had not been opened in years. The task before her was daunting. Where would she begin?
With a sigh, she walked up to the first bookcase and pulled a book from the bottom shelf, shook it to see if any papers fell out, and then placed it on the floor. She then pulled out the next book and did the same. Soon she had a stack of books beside her, but no foreign parchments fell out of them. Replacing those books, she moved on to the next shelf.
That man! she thought as she pulled out yet another book and flipped through its pages. She had been blessed by the most wonderful of children, but even from his grave, Charles sought to destroy her.
As her thoughts ran ramped, her search became panicked. Rather than returning the tomes to their shelves, she left them in piles all around her as she pulled one book after another from its place. With each book, her ire increased, and by the time she rolled the ladder about so she could reach the upper shelves, her breathing was heavy.
Then a thought came to her. Had any of her children found writings only to return them to the books? If so, what had they thought of what they had read? Had Charles revealed other secrets he should have kept to himself?
She stopped, a book clutched in her hand, and glanced around the room. The number of volumes that remained were many.
“Damn you, Charles!” she muttered. Would the man ever allow her to rest? Or was her life meant to be as futile as any hope in completing this task before the girls returned?
She thought of Rose, an innocent girl who was full of life. Her questions had been valid, and the worry in her eyes had torn at Eleanor’s heart.
Then an image of Charles appeared, smug and malicious. He never admitted to his wrongdoings, and now he was not here to pay the price for them. It was as if her whole life had finally caught up with her, and in a moment of anger, she threw the book she held across the room.
Songs of Yesterday: Secrets of Scarlett Hall Book 5 Page 9