The Sullen Seamstress of Horenwall Manor: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Emma Linfield

  Another day, I suppose.

  Arriving at the workroom, with the intention of getting some work done on the bodice of Miss Fawcett’s dress, Rosaline hummed a quiet tune under her breath. The room was dark but a quick opening of the window and tying off of the curtains fixed that.

  Turning to the tables, Rosaline saw a note laying there an picked it up.

  Miss Hall, I am sorry for this short notice but I had to stay behind at home to care for Mother. She had a dizzy spell this morning and even though it has passed, I am staying behind to attend to her.

  My apologies,

  Jane Moore

  Instantly, Rosaline felt concern about the girl’s mother and wondered if there was something she could do. A visit? Some medicine perhaps? Then again, she did not have the power, means or leeway to do any of those.

  Grimacing slightly, she set the note aside and went to work. She had just finished the square neck and went on to make the smocked bodice. In each of the tiny diamond patterns, she added a tiny faux pearl. It was slow going, but she persevered and, in the end,, somewhere around the afternoon, finished the bodice.

  Sitting back, Rosaline rubbed her tired eyes.

  I should have slept more last night.

  “Is my dress done yet?”

  Jumping in her seat, Rosaline’s head whipped around to see Miss Fawcett, her angelic features marred with a burgeoning sneer. Scrambling out of her seat, Rosaline curtsied.

  “Good day, My Lady, but no,” Rosaline cringed, “It is not fully done. The underclothes, your sash, and gloves are done, but not the dress.”

  The lady leveled a scathing look to her person, “Are you a sloth? My dress should have been done by now! Do you not comprehend that I am engaged now? My handsome Duke is waiting patiently for me to be ready, and my marriage is hampered by your laziness!”

  Squashing the urge to flinch at the lady’s vitriol, Rosaline tried to defend her work. “My Lady, the dress will take intricate stitching. I cannot just sew it together in any way and then have it be declared worthless. That would take much more time.”

  Miss Fawcett neared her, and Rosaline saw deep and pure maliciousness in her eyes, “Listen here and listen well, my mother begged me to be good on our way to London and to ask you for your opinion, but I did not like it. I knew from the first time, I saw you that you would be a worthless, lazy wrench like my old maid was. I have a gentleman to marry, which you—” she sneered, “— would not know about, seeing how poor and hideous you are. Now get my dress ready!”

  “Y-yes, My Lady,” Rosaline stuttered and could not move from her place until the young woman flounced out of the room.

  Sinking to the chair Rosaline felt firsthand what Mary had felt under that lady’s reign. She felt like crying for her sister and soon enough, tears dripped from her eyes. Pressing the back of her hands to her mouth, Rosaline barely stopped the sniffles with her fist against her nose.

  Miss Fawcett is a mean, despicable human being…but why do I keep seeing such frantic desperation in her eyes?

  Norman had avoided Evan for a good while with excuses about dealing with issues with his tenants, his “courtship” of Miss Fawcett and even throwing his horse Goliath who was suddenly ill in the mix. However, after the fifth summons, Norman had run out of excuses and had gone to the Edgehill manor.

  “About time,” Evan huffed testily to which Norman could only offer a weak smile.

  In the lord’s study, a glass of wine was offered and an explanation was demanded.

  “Mother had the brilliant idea of going to see Agamemnon at the theatre,” Norman explained, “the house has not recovered yet. Every night, Miss Fawcett bawls her eyes out while Mother can only offer praises. The girl has no steel in her.”

  “She will grow into it,” Evan assured, “remember your Mother, Norman. She was well-bred, but she only became a formidable woman while married to your father. And grew much more after he passed.”

  Slowly swirling his wine, Norman dryly asked, “Are you suggesting that the only way she will grow up is after my untimely passing?”

  Evan’s eyes narrowed to lethal slits, “I think it’s you who needs to grow up. For God’s sake Norman, give the lady a chance.”

  “I have,” the Duke replied calmly, he did not want to get into a fight with his friend, “three of them, remember? One barely budged my attention to respect but when I found she was being coached in the way of politics, I had to draw back. She has one more to go.”

  “And how many does the seamstress have, Kinsley?” Evan asked out of the blue.

  The Duke’s hand tightened around the stem of the glass. Did Evan know about his indiscretion with Rosaline? Had Radcliff slipped?

  “What the deuce do you mean?” Norman asked as trying to not let anger taint his voice.

  “I’ve seen how you look at her, Kinsley,” Evan replied. “I admit she is comely, but the level of your admiration of her is not right. If you looked at your wife with half that respect, I am sure she—”

  “She is not my wife, yet,” Norman interjected, “you’re putting the cart before the horse, my friend.”

  Evan looked exasperated, “All I’m saying is that you need to bond with your fiancée. Find some common ground, share some past experiences, share your hopes and dreams, wants and even your fears. It will go a long way into smoothing the road that you’re going to walk on for the rest of your life.”

  “Speaking of,” Norman stood as he was not in the mood for Evan’s sermon, “I must get back. Give my regards to Lady Edgehill for me.”

  Evan’s eyes narrowed in suspicion but he didn’t speak a word voicing that suspicion. “Do right by her, Norman.”

  Tipping his hat, he said, “I’ll do my best.”

  Soft coos of evening birds and the gradual cool of the approaching evening did not settle Norman’s mind. Evan was getting suspicious and his direct accusation put the Duke on edge. Just as things were beginning to restart with Rosaline, another issue was hanging over his head like the sword of Damocles.

  He was not comforted either when he reached home to the sound of a song coming from the drawing room. He entered to see Miss Fawcett at the pianoforte, her fingers moving majestically over the keys. His mother and Lord Ogbent were singing an Irish tune, Lesbia Hath a Beaming Eye by the melody Norah Creena.

  Freed from his coat and hat, Norman entered and took a place near the door. His nod of acknowledgment was revived by his mother who nodded back and kept singing.

  The lines, beauty lies in many eyes, but Love in yours, my Nora Creina…” called to Norman. There was one set of eyes that Norman wanted to see love in but she was not there.

  “Lesbia wears a robe of gold, But all so close the nymph hath laced it…”

  The dark blue dress Rosaline had worn had captured the spirit of Nyx, Norman decided. And even more, the way she had let her hair down to fall as wild as the ancient spirit had entranced him.

  The two singers had a graceful harmony and Norman applauded with Lady Ogbent as the song came to an end. Lord Ogbent bowed to his mother and she smiled, “Norman, I am so happy you came. The next round is yours with Miss Fawcett.”

  Norman nearly refused but what major sacrifice was it to sing a round?

  He moved to the instrument and leaned his hip on the wooden side. Miss Fawcett was looking lovely, in a teal taffeta dress and a dark blue silk bandeau. Her big green eyes were dusted with faint emerald pigments and lined with kohl.

  “Your Grace,” she smiled as her dainty fingers played a melodious riff, “Good evening. I know this impromptu but do you know, ‘The Harp that Once through Tara’s Halls’?”

  “I am familiar,” Norman added.

  “Would you sing with me?” she asked, her big bright eyes, wide open with innocence.

  If I am going to break your heart, I might just allow you some pleasure before God taxes my soul.

  “I will.”

  Her smile was bright as her skilled fingers started the variation of the
Gramachree air. Her head canted to the side and her eyelashes fluttered as she began singing. Her voice, as expected was as symphonic as a siren’s. Norman waited until she had sung the first line then added his deep tone to the other stanza.

  His profound voice accented her light soprano to the delight of the listeners. His mother’s face was pained with happiness and so was Lord Ogbent. Norman met Miss Fawcett’s delighted eyes and held her gaze as they sang to end and then, to round the performance out, did an encore.

  “Wonderful!” Duchess Eleanor clapped at the end, “So beautiful. You should sing a symphony.”

  The Duke could have handled her delight but it was the teardrops shining in her eyes that did him in. He felt like the worst scourge on the face of the earth, knowing that he was delaying the inevitable.

  Abruptly, he turned to the door, “Excuse me.”

  He did not wait for their reply but hurried away.

  Dawn found Rosaline back in the garden but, once again, the Duke was not there. The present she had in her pocket was, once again, doomed to not be given. Where was he? The stables perhaps?

  The mist was still on the grass and wetting the ends of her dress but she dared to walk towards the stables. The pink sky of dawn was gradually changing to blue and the edges of the clouds were glittering silver.

  She neared the horse’s stables and then, to the other side, where the large field was, the Duke was there, riding his massive mount as one possessed, and she flinched. The horse was flying at breakneck speed and trampling the dirt under his hooves like worthless chaff.

  It was terrifying but he…he looked like poetry in motion. Clad in loose shirtsleeves and breeches, the Duke steered the mount over jumps that looked impossible, but on the other side reined the horse in with perfect control.

  Like one entranced, she gravitated to the fence and rested her hand on the post. Her attention was commanded with watching him move, and admiring how effortlessly he controlled the powerful steed. She would be happy just watching him in secret, but it was by happenstance he saw her, and when he did, he gently reined the animal in.

  She stepped back when the horse trotted over to her and his large dark head pushed forward to nose at her. Despite never being close to one, Rosaline happily reached out and touched his velvety nose. His snort made her giggle.

  “A friendly behemoth, aren’t you?”

  The Duke’s eyes were on her and she felt them but did not dare look up. It was only when he slung his leg over and dismounted did, she meet his eyes.

  “Good morning, Your Grace.”

  His eyes were shadowed, but he nodded, “Same to you, Miss Hall. Would you mind walking with me to the stables?”

  They were separated by the fence but that probably was a good thing. Smiling, Rosaline accepted. Slipping in the inside of the picket fence, he grasped the horse’s reins and let it walk on the outside.

  “Did you happen to be taking a stroll and came across me,” the Duke said asked, “or were you wandering aimlessly?”

  Shooting a quick look at him, Rosaline admired how the sun rendered his hair a variant of copper but felt mystified about why there were deep worry lines in his forehead.

  “Actually, I was in the garden this morning,” she spoke, and then shyly added, “I was hoping to see you, Your Grace, but I realized you were otherwise engaged.”

  He was silent for a moment then sighed, “I have a lot on my mind, Miss Hall.”

  Am I one of them?

  “I cannot imagine,” Rosaline said while skirting a clump of mud, “I do not think I gave you my congratulations on the engagement, and for that, I offer it now.”

  “Thank you.”

  But there was no inflection of happiness in his voice. Frowning, she stopped and turned to him who had stopped also. “Your Grace, I know you meant it when you said you would like to be my friend, but I still need to respect the boundaries set between us. With that said, I cannot help but notice…you do not sound happy in the slightest. What is troubling you?”

  Norman was not surprised that she had picked up on his disassociated mood as he knew that she was an empathetic soul. Her question was one he could never answer to her face, not yet and not plainly.

  You, Miss Hall, you are the one troubling me—your smile, your voice, and your eyes—especially your eyes.

  “My engagement has not sunk in properly,” Norman lied, “Despite my friends being over the moon for it, I am still not even sure it’s real.”

  “Oh,” she blinked.

  For a moment Norman believed that he had seen something else in her wide hazel eyes. Was that…disappointment?

  “Your friends, Lord Edgehill and Lord Belthyne, I presume?” she said and was answered by his nod, “If you will pardon me, I do not think they like me much.”

  Norman stopped walking immediately. “Why on earth would you think so?”

  Her face bloomed a soft pink, “When I met them in the foyer, their looks did not feel…complimentary.”

  Disbelief bubbled inside the Duke’s stomach and it came out with a laugh. “Miss Hall, you could not be any more wrong. It is not that they did not like you, they were shocked by your beauty, and they both mentioned it to me.”

  He knew he had shocked her and when the surprise mellowed to bashful delight, he felt even better. “They both know that you’re not a pedestrian person. They met you for mere moments, and even Belthyne, who chooses to be obtuse when it fits him, knows you are special.”

  Rosaline’s tongue darted out to wet her lips—unconsciously—Norman was sure, but that did not stop him from wanting to lean over the fence, cup her cheek and kiss her. Her eyes darted from him to the ground and back again and Norman dared to think she felt it too.

  “So, please stop letting your mind run ahead of yourself,” he added softly.

  “I have to get back to the house Your Grace,” she said while digging into her pocket. “Here…I’m still sorry for shouting at you.”

  Norman’s left palm was pressed with something and then she was gone. After watching her walk away and disappear in the house, he opened his fist and saw a square of creamy white cloth. Releasing the reins of an impatient Goliath, he tugged his glove off and then unfolded the square.

  A handkerchief, with the most elegant stitching he had ever seen in his life, ran around the four sides in glimmering gold. In a corner was his monogrammed name and under the family’s crest.

  Staring at the simple gift, Norman felt his heart overflow. Oh, Rosaline…it all came down to one thing—should he follow his heart or follow convention? Whichever he chose to do, he was going to break someone’s heart.

  Chapter 20

  The wedding dress was coming along nicely, but Rosaline had slowed down the work. Presumably, just to make sure she did not make any mistakes, but she knew the real reason, she wanted more time with the Duke. When the dress was done, he would be off and married and she would never see him again.

  It was unprofessional of her, she knew that and castigated herself day and night, but was it too much to ask to take the little happiness she could? It was not as if her actions were going to delay the inevitable; the Duke was going to get married eventually.

  “Ah,” Rosaline jumped out of the way of a maid who was carrying a tray back to the kitchen with tear marks down her cheeks. She was in danger of upending the whole tray so Rosaline graciously took it from her. “Let me guess, Her Majesty is not in favor of the meal?”

  The maid nodded, “Her stomach was upset earlier this morn, Miss, and when cook sent the tea to her she nearly flung it at Emma’s face. I took this breakfast to her, but she hates the taste of everything now.”

  The seamstress wished she could be surprised but she wasn’t. Miss Fawcett was more conceited than ever and did not even look at Rosaline—or any of the servants either— when she came in contact with them. Instead, she looked through them.

  Her scathing and haughty gaze had brewed dislike and hatred for her through the wait staff, but she chang
ed to an angelic cherub the moment the Duke was with her. Though she was disliked, no one was going to risk their position and livelihood to tattletale on her, so they swallowed the disparaging degradation, and humiliation whenever she lobbied it at them.

  Such a self-centered little girl. How is she going to be a Duchess if this is how she treats people?

  “Never you mind, Tilly,” Rosaline comforted. “Just do your best. No one can fault you for that.”

  “Thank you, Miss,” the maid smiled and then hurried off.

  She felt a little guilty as her delay was causing the rest of her fellow servants doses of daily distress.