by Bree Wolf
“He does not have kind words for you, does he?” the Dowager Duchess asked. “Yours wasn’t a love match, was it?”
Rosabel shook her head, feeling a lump in her throat. She took a deep breath, and some of the weight on her shoulders fell to the floor. With shy eyes, she glanced at the old woman whose sad eyes observed her carefully. “I did wonder whether I could have come to care for him had I met him before, before her loss shattered his heart, as you say. Was he very different then?”
The Dowager Duchess shrugged. “He was always guarded, rarely revealing deep emotions, not because he did not care, but because he was afraid to care too much.” A sad smile danced across her face. “It is difficult to know someone who will not look at you with an open heart. I always wondered if one day there would be someone he would allow to see him.” Her eyes focused on Rosabel’s. “All I can tell you, it was not Leonora.”
***
When Rosabel came down to supper that night, her dress felt tight around her chest and she had trouble taking a deep breath. Her hands trembled as she turned the corner and walked in the door, held open by the footman.
At the other end of the table, the duke and Georgiana were just being seated. As they caught her standing in the doorway, Georgiana’s face split into a grin while the duke beckoned her to sit, the same light-hearted smile on his features.
As they were all seated around the table and the food was served, Georgiana’s happy chattering chased away any awkward silence that might have otherwise hung about the room like a rain cloud on a sunny day. While the girl’s attention was still mainly focused on her uncle, Rosabel was free to observe their interaction. Georgiana was clearly beyond herself with happiness, and the duke followed her childish narrations with a rapt attention and a delight that made his eyes sparkle. Remembering her own relationship to her uncle, Rosabel couldn’t help but smile. The duke was a very different man, and she was glad for it.
Although Rosabel could not detect a hint of resentment directed at her, she still couldn’t help but feel slightly uncomfortable in his presence. Whenever he looked in her direction, she averted her eyes. Any questions he asked, she answered in a monosyllabic manner, determined to keep their interactions to a minimum.
The next morning Rosabel was on her way to the stables, deciding that a long ride in the fresh air would help clear her head, when the duke stopped her, asking for a moment alone. Unsure of his intentions, Rosabel followed him to the front drawing room. As he closed the door behind them, a shiver ran over her. What did he want?
“You are probably wondering why I wanted to see you,” he opened, his eyes dancing over her drawn brows. “Well for one, I wish to apologize for not revealing my connection to this house sooner.”
Sitting down in the armchair by the window, Rosabel observed him curiously. Still there was nothing negative about his demeanour toward her. “There is no need to apologize, my Lord Duke.”
He shook his head. “Yes, there is. And please, call me Edmond.” When she hesitated, he added, “After all, we are family now.”
Shocked, Rosabel could do nothing but nod.
“Thank you,” he continued, sitting down across from her. “I am aware how strange this situation you find yourself in must seem to you. And I am sorry I did not make it easier by not being honest with you. But I must admit I had an ulterior motive.” He grinned. “I wanted to know what kind of a person you were. I wanted to know if you would be a good mother for Georgiana.”
“I see.” Rosabel glanced at her hands. “And what have you discovered?”
Leaning forward, Edmond placed a hand on hers. Startled, Rosabel raised her eyes to his face and found a warming smile as he nodded his head to her. “I believe that Leonora would be very grateful for what you have done for her daughter. Georgiana told me about what happened with Mrs. Rigsby, and,” he shook his head, smiling, eyes distant for a second, “believe it or not, you are a lot like her. You are a lot like Leonora.” Rosabel’s eyes opened wide. “You will be a great mother for Georgiana. I truly believe that.”
“Thank you,” she breathed, feeling tears form in the corners of her eyes. “I…I never thought…”
He squeezed her hand. “You do not get many compliments, do you?”
Rosabel shook her head. “And I never would have expected one from you.”
“No? Why not?”
Embarrassed, Rosabel again glanced at her hands, only to realize that his hand was still covering hers. “She was your sister.” Raising her eyes to his, she whispered, “I thought you would hate me.”
“What happened to her was not your fault,” Edmond assured her as though knowing the intricate ways of her mind. “Believe me, I wish with all my heart that that day had never happened. That she’d still be here.” He brushed his other hand through his hair. “But no matter what we wish for, that will never be.” He nodded, eyes looking into hers imploringly. “So, we have to move forward, make the best of things. It took me a while to understand that, and I’m not saying it’s not hard. But she would have wanted us to be happy, especially Georgiana. That little girl was her whole world.”
Feeling the tears spill down her cheeks, Rosabel nodded. “I know. I could see it in her eyes.”
Edmond frowned. “What do you mean?”
Rosabel shrugged. “I…eh…found a portrait of her up in the attic. I don’t know why it’s up there, but there is that kind of unconditional love shining in her eyes as though she was looking upon Georgiana when it was painted. I remember that kind of love. I remember what it was like to be looked at like that.” A sob escaped her lips, and once again Edmond squeezed her hand.
“I know it is a sad story, but we haven’t read the end yet.” A smile came to his face. “It’ll still be a long way, and I am sure that all of our lives have taken a turn for the better because Graham chose you.”
Feeling a sudden cold in the room, Rosabel withdrew her hand.
“You have to know that Graham’s life has not been easy, and while there is no excuse for how he is treating you,” Edmond explained, his hand settling on hers once more, “he himself is damaged. He does not know it yet, nor do you, but I believe the day he married you, he saved his own life.” Rosabel’s eyes opened wide, and she was about to interject when Edmond hastened on. “You are strong, stronger than you know yourself. I’ve seen the difference you’ve already made in Georgiana’s life, and I’ll wager everything I own that before long Graham’s smile will return as well.”
Rosabel shook her head. “I am afraid you are mistaken. I am nothing like your sister, and if you think of me like this, I will only disappoint you.”
“I do not believe that,” Edmond assured her. “You think too little of yourself.”
Rosabel frowned, hearing a strange echo of his words in Ellie’s voice. “How can you possibly know me this well? We have barely spoken two words to each other before today?”
Edmond shrugged. “It’s my gift.” A dazzling smile came to his lips. “I can see the truth. I always could. It’s a gift and a curse, believe me.”
As Shadow carried her in a fast gallop across the meadow half an hour later, the cold wind whipped her hair in her face, freezing the remnants of tears still lingering on her skin. Her eyes burned as the cold air assaulted them, and she lowered herself to the stallion’s neck, feeling the strength of his movements carry her toward the horizon.
Distancing herself from Westmore Manor and the people within, Rosabel felt the air flow more freely through her lungs. Her heart slowed to a normal rhythm, and she looked with wonder at the house, half-hidden by a grove of oak trees. From far away, slightly raised on the hilly grasslands to the west, the house looked so small, and Rosabel wondered at the history it held. Did Leonora’s spirit still linger? Sometimes Rosabel was certain she felt her presence. Was Edmond right? Were they a lot alike? Rosabel shook her head. While Leonora had been like the sun, essential to the happiness of others, Rosabel was the black sheep of her family, hidden away from societ
y, never talked of but in hushed whispers.
Running a hand through her dark hair, Rosabel glanced at a strand. Had Leonora once sat upon her horse on this very hill glancing down at Westmore Manor in the distance, her golden curls dancing in the wind? Everywhere Rosabel stepped, she was afraid to crush the memory of this woman. How was she ever to live here and be happy?
Georgiana was her delight. She had come to love the girl in the mere weeks since her arrival and could not imagine being without her ever again. But there still was her husband to consider. He was and would always remain Leonora’s husband. That would never change, not unless one of them followed Leonora to the grave. But Rosabel wondered if she should accept his indifference, his rejection and allow him to keep her and his daughter at arm’s length. Or should she go against his wishes and try to…Rosabel didn’t even know what the alternative was. Did she seek his affection? Certainly not. He scared her. Whenever her thoughts turned to him, her body shivered as though fighting off a cold. Could she find a way to accept him for Georgiana’s sake though?
Knowing that the little girl needed nothing more than to have her father back in her life, Rosabel wondered if she could make this happen. Did she have the strength? And even if she chose to, how would she go about it? She could not simply walk up to her husband and demand he spend time with his daughter. He would laugh at her. Worse, he would look at her with those cold eyes of his and send her away. Nothing would be won by such an attempt.
Still unsure about what her future held, Rosabel returned to the house, hoping that Edmond was at least partly right. That she would be a good mother to Georgiana. That much she could give her. If nothing else.
Chapter Twelve - For Georgiana’s Sake
Again and again, Rosabel snuck up to the attic. Most of the time, she stared at Leonora’s portrait, trying to glimpse the woman who had sat for it: her spirit, her heart, the very essence of what made her so special. And every time Rosabel found herself up in the dusty, cobweb-covered room, she discovered something she hadn’t seen before. A small scar on Leonora’s left temple. Sparks of green hidden among the blue ocean of her eyes. A small freckle shining through the soft curls falling past her cheek and grazing her shoulder.
Leonora’s face followed Rosabel to her dreams. Night after night she awoke, seeing the woman’s spirit stand by her bed, just as she had stood there when Rosabel’s eyes had still been closed. And although her obsession sometimes felt intrusive to Rosabel, she could not direct her thoughts elsewhere. A deep desire to know the woman everyone compared her to led her up the creaking stairs again and again.
The letter she had read before, she reread many times, eyes peeking at the many more, yet unopened letters still stacked neatly in the wooden box she had taken from the chest. What did they contain? What secrets awaited her within? More and more Rosabel was convinced that there was something about Leonora’s life that was still hidden in the shadows. What gave her this impression, Rosabel couldn’t say.
Running her fingers over the spine of the letters, lying neatly side by side, Rosabel debated with herself whether or not to open another. Her curiosity, unimpressed by thoughts of right and wrong, urged her on. s
While her head still debated the question, her fingers had already snatched up another letter. Staring at it as though shocked to find it in her hand, Rosabel took a deep breath. She whispered a silent apology to the woman whose privacy she was about to violate and slipped open the sheet of paper. It was dated October 1793, five months after the last one.
My dearest L.,
The seasons are changing, but my love for you holds true. I beg of you not to question my heart. My intentions have not changed, and I am pursuing their fulfilment with a dedication born out of the greatest of inspirations, true love.
By the end of next month, I hope to be in your vicinity. Visiting a mutual friend, I shall call upon you. Await my message.
I remain yours with all my heart,
G.
Rosabel’s hands trembled as the words echoed in her mind. They had faced a great deal of trouble, but they had made their way. More than anything, the letter was inspiring. It encouraged her to believe that anything could be achieved, if one only believed and not wavered from one’s course.
Did the same hold true for her? Could she find a way to deal with her situation and come out the victor? Could she succeed in bringing father and daughter closer to one another? To bridge the gap that Leonora’s passing had somehow opened between them?
Rosabel shook her head. Maybe Leonora could have succeeded. She had been a strong and confident woman, charming those around her and achieving her goals. Rosabel, however, was as far from strong and confident as any woman she had ever met. Ellie, she thought, yes, Ellie would have succeeded too.
She exhaled slowly, feeling defeated. Suddenly the letter only represented a reminder of her own shortcomings. Heroic deeds were reserved for the brave of this world. She could never−
“Hello?”
Rosabel flinched, dropping the letter. She spun around, heart hammering in her chest, fire creeping up her cheeks at being caught in the act of violating a sacred trust.
As her eyes searched her surroundings, small footsteps echoed on the floorboards, drawing closer. A moment later, golden curls appeared in her field of vision, and for a second Rosabel’s breath caught in her throat. Had Leonora’s spirit come to seek revenge?
But then she saw the short height of the person standing in the dim light, half-hidden in the shadows of the stacked crates. It was Georgiana.
Step by step, she came forward, eyes frozen, focused on something behind Rosabel’s shoulder. Casting a glance backward, Rosabel found herself looking at Leonora’s portrait.
“Mother,” Georgiana whispered in awe. Stopping next to Rosabel, she lifted her right hand and carefully extended it toward her mother’s portrait. Tenderly, she brushed a finger over her hair.
Rosabel knelt down beside the girl, placing the letter back in the box as she did so. “Have you never seen this painting before?”
Georgiana nodded. “I have. It used to be in the Great Hall.” Her eyes wandered over her mother’s face. “But then one day it was gone.”
Wrapping an arm around the girl’s slim shoulders, Rosabel waited, letting her stare as much as she liked, knowing only too well what this moment meant for Georgiana. When the girl exhaled slowly, leaning into Rosabel’s embrace, she said, “Your mother was beautiful. Just like you.”
Georgiana smiled.
“You have the same golden hair, and her eyes too.” Her hand brushed up and down Georgiana’s arm.
Once again extending her hand, Georgiana took a step closer. “I thought I’d forgotten what she looked like,” the girl whispered, a small catch in her throat as she spoke. “I felt so bad. How could I forget what my mother looked like?”
Drawing her into her arms, Rosabel whispered words of comfort. “Do not worry. You never forgot what was important. You remembered her smile, the way she laughed, how she read to you. You remembered what made her your mother. That’s what’s important.” Gently, she brushed away the single tear running down Georgiana’s cheek. “Your mother loves you. Don’t ever doubt that.”
Georgiana then turned to Rosabel, wrapping her tiny arms around her and hugging her tight. More tears spilled from her eyes as Rosabel held her, soothing her fears and easing her mind. “Can I keep it?” Georgiana whispered when her tears had stopped. “I don’t want to forget again.”
Unsure how to respond, Rosabel held her close a moment longer.
From what Georgiana had said, the painting had once hung in the Great Hall. That meant that someone had to have intentionally taken it down and hidden it away in the attic. Who would have done so if not her husband? And if he had done so, should she go against his wishes and return Leonora’s portrait to the light of day? What would he say if he found out?
Rosabel shivered, feeling her courage fail. But then Georgiana stepped back, pleading eyes looking in
to hers, and Rosabel knew she was lost.
“Of course, you can keep it,” she said, brushing a golden curl behind the girl’s ear.
“Can I put it in my room?” Georgiana whispered, casting a loving glance at her mother.
Rosabel nodded. “I’ll speak to Lawrence to have it arranged.”
As Georgiana hugged her tight, whispering her heartfelt thanks in her ear, Rosabel knew that dark clouds were taking up residence upon the horizon. One day the storm would come upon her.
***
One day was not long off. Leonora’s portrait decorated the back wall of Georgiana’s room a matter of minutes when Mrs. Rigsby bustled in, a stack of books in her arms, which instantly upon seeing the painting crashed to the floor in a loud clatter.
Both, Rosabel and Georgiana flinched, looking up from the painting they had been working on. It showed a black stallion, resembling Shadow as much as a six-year-old’s hands could muster.
“What is this?” Mrs. Rigsby demanded, face turning red as she stared at her former mistress. “What is this doing here?”
Georgiana slipped off her chair, and, coming to stand by Rosabel, slipped a hand through the crook of her arm, holding on. Her eyes flitted back and forth between her mother’s portrait, Mrs. Rigsby and Rosabel, resting on the latter with a pleading expression that could have melted stone.
Bracing herself for what was to come, Rosabel rose to her feet. Her right hand coming to rest on Georgiana’s shoulder, she lifted her chin and met the governess’ eyes head-on. “I suppose what this is should be fairly obvious,” she said, trying her best to add a note of confidence to her voice. “As to the other matter, Lady Georgiana asked to have it in her room, and I agreed. After all, it shows her mother.” Having finished, Rosabel fought the urge to look away as Mrs. Rigsby’s eyes tried to burn a hole into her soul.
The governess’ hands came to rest on her mid-section, giving her an even sterner look as she regarded Rosabel with open disdain. “His Grace ordered it removed,” she said, her voice even and detached as though discussing business. To Georgiana, however, this was a matter of the heart. “I apologize for being so frank, but it would be advisable to inquire after His Grace’s orders before agreeing to Lady Georgiana’s wishes, Your Grace.” From Mrs. Rigsby’s mouth, Your Grace sounded like an insult.
