by Bree Wolf
Rosabel was confused. After all, in the end they had gotten married. Had they almost despaired, given up, only to have fate interfere and bring them together after all?
Again turning to the letter in her hand, dated November 1794, Rosabel found her eyes once again glued to the words written there.
My dearest L.,
Although my love for you has not lost its life, these days my heart is filled with fear rather than hope. I beg you to believe me when I say that my intentions are still where they were a year ago. My heart has not changed. But I fear my heart will not be allowed to dictate the future. My hands are bound. I fear all is lost. If only…No, there is no point in wishful thinking.
Pray do not worry about your situation. I will see you safe at the very least. Trust that, if nothing else.
I remain yours with all my heart,
G.
As Rosabel sank down onto one of the crates, her eyes felt moist, tears threatening to spill forth. The emotions in those lines touched her. She knew very well the feeling of hopelessness, of being forced into a situation, of having your future taken out of your hands.
Taking a deep breath, Rosabel wiped at her eyes, blinking away the tears. She returned the letter to the small wooden box and closed its lid, feeling too emotional herself to read another one. However, when she turned to go, she spotted something out of the corner of her eyes.
From the slit between the wooden box containing the letters and a small jewellery chest, the edge of what appeared to be another letter peeked out. Frowning, Rosabel reached to pull it out. Had she dropped one? She couldn’t remember, but knew she ought to be more careful.
Unfolding the letter, Rosabel frowned. The letter was not one she had read before. It was dated April 1795, about a half a year after the one she had just read.
Dear Leonora,
I write to assure you that all will be well. I understand if you do not believe me now, but do not despair. The clouds will pass, and the sun shall return. I give you my word that I will keep you safe and guard your happiness as the dearest of my treasures.
I believe I do not reveal a secret if I tell you that you already possess my heart. But soon I will give you the protection of my name as well. No harm shall ever befall you. This I vow.
I remain your friend always,
Graham
Rosabel shook her head. There was something wrong with this letter. In the half a year since the last one, which had rung with hopelessness, all had turned out all right. They were set to be married, and yet, the words sounded strange. Rosabel couldn’t quite grasp it, but something had changed. More than just the circumstances keeping them apart.
Still torn between the desire to understand what had happened with Leonora and Graham and the knowledge that reading someone else’s diary without expressed permission, which Leonora could not give anymore, was a heinous violation of trust, Rosabel stood before the little box that contained Leonora’s belongings, namely her diaries. Eying them carefully, Rosabel swayed from one foot to the other, weighing her options. More than once she extended her hand, only to withdraw it the next instant. Minutes passed.
“I don’t have to decide now,” she whispered, making up her mind. “I will just take them to my room and decide later.” Lifting the little box off the crate, Rosabel was satisfied at having put off her decision.
***
As he leaned out the window, Westmore Manor slowly appeared on the horizon. The sky was darkening, but Graham could make out a few lit windows, the entrance hall as well as the side buildings. He took a deep breath. How long had it been since he’d last been here? He didn’t know. Time had lost all meaning after Leonora’s death.
For a second he closed his eyes and pretended that nothing had changed. That he was coming home to his family. That his wife would be waiting for him on the stairs, welcoming him with a smile on her beautiful face.
Then his eyes opened, and in front of the darkening sky Westmore had never seemed more like a place devoid of life. Stone walls, cold and dead, were reminders of that which once had been. They had seen the tides of time, and yet, they could not be moved to change. Some things could not change while others refused to stay the way they were.
As the carriage came to a stop in front of the stairs leading up to the front doors, Lawrence appeared as though stepping out of a shadow. He bowed low as Graham climbed the steps. “Welcome, Your Grace,” his monotone voice whispered. “Forgive me, but we were not expecting you.”
Graham waved the old man’s concerns away. “Do not worry. I did not have time to send a message ahead.” He stepped into the entrance hall, eyes searching. Where were they? Georgiana? And his…wife?
Graham knew he ought to send for them, inform them of his arrival, and yet, he wanted nothing more than to retire to his room and hide away.
Knowing his duty, Graham turned back to his butler. “Where is Lady Georgiana?” And as an afterthought added, “And my wife?”
Lawrence nodded in the direction of the staircase. “Upstairs in Lady Georgiana’s room as usual.”
As usual? Graham wondered as he climbed the steps. He knew nothing of their routines, nothing about how they spent their days. In that moment, he wasn’t sure if he liked that or not. Approaching the door to the nursery, he could hear Georgiana’s giggles echo into the hallway. Her voice was like a melody his ears were attuned to, his lips curling upward as though on reflex. His heart skipped a beat and then started hammering as though wishing to jump out of his chest and hurry into her arms. For a moment, he stood outside the door, listening, preparing himself. How would she react? Would she be mad at him for leaving? For returning? She was so young; did she even remember him?
The moment his hand curled around the handle to push open the door, another voice reached his ears, and he stopped. A melodious laughter, not unlike his daughters, responded with equal delight. His wife, a little voice whispered. An ear pressed to the door, he tried to hear. Again she laughed, and he could hear the smile in her voice. Trying to picture her face, Graham remembered the kindness he had seen there before. The adoration with which she had looked at her young cousins. Did her eyes hold the same emotions now that they were directed at his daughter? Graham hoped with all his heart that it was so. If they were happy, if Georgiana had a mother who doted on her, he would be able to leave and return to the emptiness that was now his life. He would be able to return to mourning his wife.
Slowly, he pushed open the door, his pulse straining against the tight collar threatening to choke the life from him. He found them sitting on a chaise by the fireplace, absorbed in a book. Heads bent together, their eyes shone, fiery sparks reflected in them. Their cheeks rosy from warmth or laughter or both, they huddled close, clearly enjoying each other’s company. In that moment, Graham felt a stab to his heart. Somehow this picture was wrong. Felt wrong. Were they not to be happy? A voice whispered. He didn’t know.
Then Georgiana looked up, and when their eyes met, Graham froze. Staring at his daughter, he waited for her to turn back to her book and ignore him, or to yell at him for leaving her alone for so long or to order him from her room. He was prepared to face her anger, her rejection. What he wasn’t prepared for was the heart-breaking smile that split her face the second her eyes beheld him.
For a moment she sat transfixed, staring at him. Then she jumped to her feet and, running as fast as her little legs would carry her, she lunged herself into his arms. He barely had time to catch her when her tiny arms came around his neck, holding him tight. “Father,” she whispered, over and over again. “You came back.” Her little chest shook with sobs. They pierced his heart, and he fought to keep his countenance. What was she doing to him? He had worked so hard to distance himself from the past. Yet, here she was, a smile and a word and he was hers once more.
Chapter Fifteen - On the Other Side of the Door
Rosabel stared in shock.
As Georgiana had turned her head to the door, Rosabel had expected to see Mrs. Rig
sby or Lawrence or maybe even one of the maids, but not her husband. In the past few weeks, she had successfully put him out of her mind. At least most of the time. The man she frequently thought about was Graham, the man who had loved Leonora, not the man who now stood mere feet from her, hugging his daughter, a tortured expression on his face.
Still staring, Rosabel didn’t know what to do. Time seemed to be suspended as father and daughter held each other. Then after a long while, he set her down, and her little face beamed up at him. Again and again she hugged him.
Finally rising to her feet, Rosabel approached the two. Her hands trembled as she looked from daughter to husband, dreading to meet his eyes. When he turned to look at her, his eyes were not as cold as she remembered them to be. Maybe Georgiana’s welcome had melted the ice. Would the cold return? Rosabel wondered.
“Welcome home, my lord,” Rosabel whispered, barely recognizing her voice. “Did you have a safe trip?”
For a moment he seemed to search her face, then a mask slipped over his features hiding all emotions and he nodded. “Thank you. I did. I trust you two are well?” And he turned back to Georgiana.
The remainder of the night they spent in each other’s company, although Georgiana seemed the only one at ease. She chatted happily, showing her father her paintings, her favourite books and dresses. She spoke of Shadow and her lessons and how she disliked playing the pianoforte but loved singing. While Graham listened and expressed sympathy where appropriate, Rosabel watched them from under her eyelashes. Never before had she spent this much time in her husband’s presence.
Tall, with broad shoulders and long legs, he towered over his daughter as he followed her to the easel to inspect her latest drawing of Shadow. Hands held behind his back, Rosabel noticed how he wrung them repeatedly as though agitated. His eyes mostly remained on his daughter, but every now and then, she caught him looking in her direction. The smile that occasionally flitted across his features, however, never reached his eyes and appeared far from genuine. He seemed tense, his jaw slightly clenched, eyes narrowed.
For the first time, Rosabel did not attribute the cold in his demeanour to anger or heartlessness, but she thought she saw something brewing under the surface, something he did his best to hide from those around him. And she couldn’t help but wonder if he felt as nervous about their sudden meeting as she did herself.
***
Graham couldn’t help but glance at the door. It was long past midnight. The wind howled outside his window, bringing with it the cold of the season. The leaves had all but disappeared from the trees, leaving only pines and firs adorned with green. A chill crept up his body as he all but felt the wind push itself against the pane of the window, almost as though trying to reach inside. Held at bay by the remaining embers in the fireplace across the room, the cold still clung to his arms and legs, raising goose bumps. Graham knew though that it wasn’t the slight chill in the air that made him shiver.
Again he looked at the door which connected his chamber to his wife’s. Was she sleeping? He wondered. Did she care that he was there? Did his presence bother her? He knew it did.
Although his outward attention had been focused on Georgiana when he had entered the nursery a few hours ago, his eyes had glanced at Rosabel. Upon seeing him, there had been a moment when her disapproval, later carefully masked, had been clear on her face. He knew that she didn’t appreciate him disrupting the life she had carefully established for herself. From Edmond, he knew that Rosabel and Georgiana had settled into a routine, which seemed to benefit them both. Lonely, they had turned to one another and found comfort in the other’s company.
He knew she didn’t want him there under the same roof with her. And although he had only returned to Westmore upon the urgings of his friend, Graham felt a slight stab at being so negatively thought of. It called to mind all those times he had spent in this room, lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, and hoping. Hoping for what? Hoping for the life he had dreamed of ever since he had first laid eyes on Leonora. But now any chance for this life was gone, buried not too far from where he laid his head at night.
His chest felt like a boulder had come to rest on it, slowly squeezing the life from him. He couldn’t breathe, and rising from the bed, he turned to the window. With a soft creak the window opened, and the freezing night air rushed into the room, chilling him to the bone. But instead of shutting the window, Graham breathed in the fresh air, enjoying the feel as it flew down his lungs and into his body. What was he to do? How should he handle this situation?
Again he glanced at the door. Was she sleeping? Would she deny him if he decided to visit her chamber? Not that he planned to. The feeling of rejection, of not being thought of as good enough, had an iron grip on his heart that kept him confined to his room. And yet, his heart yearned, yearned to be loved. Yearned to be thought of as worthy of love. Would he ever have that?
Throwing the window shut with a loud bang that ought to have raised the dead, Graham turned away, feeling anger boil in his veins. Anger at himself. He ought not think like this. There was no point. It would only lead to more disappointment. His whole life he had served others, served his country, his king, with no thought for himself. He ought to stay the course. It was the only way.
***
Hearing a loud bang from her husband’s chambers, Rosabel flinched. Ever since he had set foot in the nursery and disrupted her life, her nerves had been on edge. Why had he come? Did he mean to be a husband now? The thought made her shiver. Again she glanced at the door, wishing for a key to lock him out. Would he come? If not tonight, then tomorrow? Not knowing kept her eyes open. Sleep wouldn’t come although Rosabel begged for the sweet release of a dream’s oblivion. Just for a few hours she wanted to leave Westmore behind and escape to a place without looming threats in the next room.
Unable to stay in bed, Rosabel grabbed her robe and, carefully opening the door to the hall, slipped out and hastened down the corridor toward Georgiana’s room. Feeling the soft rug under her bare feet, she remembered her slippers but refused to return for them. Walking up to the bed, Rosabel’s lips curled up in a smile at the sight of the peacefully sleeping child. The hint of a smile played on her features as her eyes moved with the dream that held her captivated. Rosabel’s heart unclenched a little. At least Georgiana was happy. She deserved to be. Knowing she couldn’t keep this happiness from the child, nor desiring to, Rosabel made up her mind. She would do her best to find a way through this maze. There had to be a way for all of them to live under this roof and not have it turn into a nightmare. Whatever her husband would decide for their future, she would go along with it, trying to find a way to be happy. If only for Georgiana.
***
Once again Georgiana’s chattering was the only thing keeping awkward silence at bay. While Rosabel and Graham offered a friendly word here and there, the little girl almost burst with energy. Only the reminder of her lessons put a scowl on her face, and she reluctantly withdrew from the breakfast parlour and headed upstairs to meet Mrs. Rigsby in her room.
Feeling her husband’s presence almost like a cold shower, drenching her and making her shiver, Rosabel too rose from her chair, intent on going out to the stables. A ride with Shadow would do her good and help clear her mind. However, when she began walking to the door, her husband’s voice called her back.
He gestured to the chair she had only just vacated, and when she had sat down again, he too took a seat across from her. “I apologize for disrupting your day, my lady, but I feel the need to explain my intentions on coming to Westmore.”
Rosabel swallowed, the cold slowly crept up her arm, and she had to link her hands to keep them from trembling. Forcing her eyes up, she looked at his expressionless face. Did he never tremble?
“While I am glad that you have settled into life at Westmore Manor so easily,” Rosabel couldn’t help but laugh…on the inside. Did he truly believe that? “I thought it right to lend a hand in introducing you to local society.” Sitt
ing straight in his chair, her husband’s hands gestured along with his words, his eyes not cold but disinterested. “There will be a Christmas Ball soon that I usually attend, and this year it will provide the opportunity for you to meet important people from around Westmore. In the new year, we will then travel to London to engage in the appropriate circles for a reasonable amount of time so that proper introductions can be made. Knowing others of your station, I trust that you will have no problem filling your day in the future. Whenever you are not with Georgiana, of course.”
Clenching her hands even tighter, Rosabel felt as though she had lost all control of her body. Her muscles trembled as though she sat outside in the deep of winter, desperately trying to stay warm. She only hoped her husband didn’t notice.
Others of her station? She thought. Did he truly believe that? She already knew that the Earl of Hampton was the one to hold the legendary Christmas Ball each year. He was an earl, and who was she? A duchess, a little voice whispered. But still Rosabel felt like a fraud. What would she say to those people? Alone at a festivity with only her husband to reassure her? Again her hands clenched around one another.
Taking a deep breath, Rosabel tried to speak. “When will the Ball be held?” she croaked in a whisper. She already knew the answer. The invitation had come a month ago. And yet, she felt the need to say something.
“The 21st.”
Rosabel nodded. A week from today, the little voice whispered again. Straightening her posture, she again turned to her husband. “Will you be staying until then, my lord?” She wasn’t sure what she hoped his answer to be.
Graham nodded. “I will.” But the expression on his face told her that he wasn’t entirely happy with the situation either.
Taking her leave, Rosabel almost ran to the stables. Waiting for Peter to saddle Shadow, she danced from one foot to the other, unable to keep still, feeling the desperate need to get away.
