“It wouldn’t be good at all. All a woman has is her reputation, you know.”
Rosalind did know that. She also knew that no good would come of her interfering in things that were not her business. “Good evening, miss. I will hope and pray that one day this evening will be just a faint memory.”
“I doubt that will ever happen. But perhaps it doesn’t need to be,” she said before walking out of Rosalind’s room with the elegance of a young lady who had nothing more on her mind than satin slippers and brand-new hair ribbons.
Five hours later, Rosalind was facing Reid across the breakfast table, where he had insisted she dine rather than in the kitchens. He was as immaculately dressed as always, but there were new lines of stress around his lips and shadows under his eyes.
He was sipping coffee but not eating. She was doing the same thing.
“I hope Miss Carstairs arrived at her house safely last night?”
“She did. Our driver took her home. She also sent a missive this morning that everything was fine. No one suspected a thing, not even her lady’s maid.”
“I am glad of that.”
“She asked me to convey her thanks to you, by the way. If not for your willingness to rouse out of a deep sleep to repair her hair and gown, she wouldn’t have been able to go home with no one the wiser.”
“It was nothing. I was glad to help.”
“Everything happens for a reason, isn’t that so? I guess it was fortuitous that you were staying here.”
“I can’t help but wish that she hadn’t been . . . attacked.”
“That goes without saying.”
“Children, go to the sideboard and fix yourselves a plate of breakfast,” Mrs. Armstrong said as she entered the room.
“Mother, I’m not hungry.”
“I imagine you are not, but that hardly matters. Eat. We have a long day ahead of us, Reid.”
He stared at his mother for the span of two beats, then nodded and stood up. “You’re right, of course.”
Mrs. Armstrong pointedly looked at Rosalind. “You too, Rosalind. You won’t make Eloisa’s day brighter by refusing to eat. I can promise you that.”
The commonsense advice sounded so like something her own mother would say that Rosalind got to her feet and dutifully followed the instruction. As she took a generous spoonful of eggs and a rasher of bacon, Reid winked.
“My mother is a force to be reckoned with,” he teased.
“So I am learning.” After adding two pieces of toast to her plate, she returned to her place, content to eat quietly while Reid and his mother discussed plans they had previously made.
She concentrated on pushing her troubles to one side and consuming her small breakfast, paying little attention to talk about Mrs. Armstrong’s dress fitting and Reid’s intention to visit the bank at the end of the week. But then their conversation turned to Douglass and Veronica. Almost immediately, it became apparent that they were planning to go to Sloane House—without her.
All traces of her appetite vanished.
Reid apparently noticed that she pushed the last triangle of her toast to one side and guessed what she was thinking. “I hope you are not disappointed that you will not be joining us?” he asked.
She couldn’t imagine why they wouldn’t want her to be there. “Forgive me, but I think I need to go as well.”
Reid looked a bit taken aback by her firm manner. “That is not a good idea.”
“I don’t understand why that is a concern,” she said pertly.
“I beg your pardon?”
“None of what has happened has been a good idea,” she explained. “That is what I meant.”
Reid and his mother exchanged a long look.
As if taking up the gauntlet that had just been passed, Mrs. Armstrong spoke. “Rosalind, I can understand your need to keep involved. But your appearance would only cause concern.”
Rosalind thought quickly. “You don’t need to make me out to be your equal, ma’am. I could go as your companion.”
“But I will be there. She won’t need a companion if she isn’t alone,” Reid pointed out.
Rosalind waved her hands. “Then be unusual. I just feel like I need to be there.” Looking beseechingly at Mrs. Armstrong, she pressed her case. “Please.”
The older woman stared at her a long moment, her mouth set in a grim line. “Rosalind, other factors need to be taken in consideration as well. I fear our visit is going to be difficult.”
“Which would be putting it mildly,” Reid interjected.
Mrs. Armstrong continued. “All things considered, I would rather you not be there to get mixed up in it. They could say some harsh things that I’d rather you not hear.”
Rosalind wondered if Mrs. Armstrong had any idea about things that happened and were said outside the stately walls of her beautiful home. “I appreciate your concern, ma’am, but I think it’s only fair that you allow me to make this decision. After all, I am already involved. And my journey here began because my sister went missing. It’s possible that we’ll learn something about Miranda.”
“I’m afraid this has every indication of being a volatile conversation,” Reid warned.
“I promise I will sit quietly.”
“I don’t feel good about this, but I suppose we have no choice.”
Reid looked resigned. “But, Rosalind,” he continued, “if I allow you to accompany us, you must remain in the background. Let me drive the conversation. Any interference on your part will only make things worse.”
“I promise. I’ll be quiet and unobtrusive.”
Gazing at her, he shook his head. “If only that was something you could do.”
When she met his eyes, her heart flipped a bit. Suddenly, she understood that he wasn’t only speaking of the visit to Sloane House. He was talking about them.
Caught off guard, she sipped her coffee and then bit into the remains of her toast. The funny thing was that she did understand. Whereas before she might have been tempted to rush headlong into each conversation, certain that only she could make a difference to Miranda, she was now learning the benefits of biding her tongue and time—and remembering that she wasn’t alone.
And that sometimes it was even better to rely on others, because they could do things much better than she could herself. It was both humbling and exhilarating to realize that the simple act of trusting another could reap great rewards.
“Thank you for allowing me to go and for everything you have done. Already, you have done so much for me. I am grateful to you both.”
Mrs. Armstrong took a bracing sip of tea, then said darkly, “Let’s just hope our efforts aren’t in vain.”
And on that note, Mrs. Armstrong stood up and walked out of the room.
Only later did Rosalind realize that Reid’s mother had never followed her own advice. Her only breakfast had been a pot of strong tea.
CHAPTER 32
The three of them set out for Sloane House on foot a few minutes after ten. It was, of course, far too early to respectfully pay a social call. But they weren’t calling on the family for social reasons.
For most of the five-block journey, Rosalind had walked behind Reid and his mother. Though he’d attempted to coerce her to walk by their side, she’d murmured something about being more comfortable trailing them. Only when they’d stopped in front of Sloane House did she join them, her eyes wide and her mouth set in a tight line.
His mother looked no less apprehensive. “Do you truly think this is the right thing to do, Reid?” she asked, for at least the fifth time since they’d begun their walk.
Remembering the shadows under Eloisa’s eyes, he said the same thing he’d uttered the other four times. “Of course it’s the right thing. We cannot simply stand back and do nothing.” Looking at Rosalind, he asked, “Will you be all right? I have a feeling this will be difficult for you.”
Rosalind lifted her chin. “I will be fine.”
Reid almost smiled. He did admire her
spunk.
Looking up at the broad façade of Sloane House, with its limestone bricks and many gables, Reid vividly recalled his first visit there. He’d been in awe not only of the house but of the family and everything the Sloane name represented. He’d been proud to make such an acquaintance. Now he knew better. Now he knew what the name really signified and what the grand home hid inside.
Beside him, his mother gazed at the house as well. She wore a frown, and a small wrinkle marred her forehead. “I sometimes wish the right thing wasn’t always so hard.”
“I’ve wished that a time or two as well. But as you once told me years ago, the Lord doesn’t promise us an easy life. Only a fulfilling one.”
His mother wrinkled her nose. “I fear I said that before I had ever been tested.”
He chuckled. “Ladies, shall we soldier on?”
Rosalind nodded while his mother shook out her skirts and then led the way up the steps. “Of course. I may be nervous, but even I know nothing gets done by putting it off.”
Hodgeson answered their bell within seconds. His normally impassive face softened in recognition. “Mrs. Armstrong, Master Armstrong, good morning.” When he looked at Rosalind, he inhaled sharply. “I hope all is well with your family, sir?”
Reid nodded. “Good morning, Hodgeson. My mother and I are here to pay a call on the Sloane family.”
The butler’s expression became more guarded. “Whom did you wish to see?”
“All of them,” his mother said crisply. “We need to see as many Sloanes as are home.”
The man had just stepped backward so they could enter the grand foyer. “Beg your pardon?”
“We’d like to see Douglass, Veronica, and Mr. and Mrs. Sloane, if they are available,” Reid murmured. “And please convey that it would be in their best interests if they were.”
“I will see who is receiving at this early hour.”
“It’s a matter of some importance,” Reid said. “Otherwise we would not have dreamed of infringing upon their privacy at this time of day.”
“Please, let me escort you to the drawing room.”
As they followed him across the black-and-white-checkered marble floor and into the almost stark drawing room, its elegance and spaciousness something of a surprise in the current Victorian fashion of excess, Reid thought again about his first visit.
He’d been struck dumb by the grandeur and the pure beauty and quirkiness of the home. Only then did he truly appreciate the place the Sloanes occupied in Chicago’s social circles. Here was a family that didn’t rush to adopt every new fad or trend. Instead, they set them—or ignored them, thumbing their noses at the rest of the world. As a product of two people’s extreme efforts to make him into the mold of a gentleman, the pure disdain for the accepted decorating styles felt both freeing and vaguely scary.
Now Reid realized that he hadn’t had the confidence in himself to trust his own judgment. He’d also been forgetting some very important tenets about who—and what—truly mattered in life.
Hodgeson led them into the formal drawing room. Then, with another curious look at Rosalind, abruptly turned and left. Reid could only imagine how he would approach each family member. After a few minutes, he said, “Rosalind, who do you think will join us first?”
“Mr. Sloane. He is always up first.”
“Do you think Douglass and Veronica will grace us with their presence?”
After a moment’s thought, Rosalind nodded. “They will be too curious not to. Your appearance is rather unusual. I have a feeling by now—even after only a few minutes—every person in the house is wondering why the Armstrongs have paid a visit so early. With a former maid in tow,” she added with a grimace.
After looking at a collection of silver kaleidoscopes, his mother perched on the edge of a dark eggplant-colored velvet settee. “Come sit down, Rosalind.”
“I’d rather stand.”
She clucked her tongue. “I think not. Now’s not the time to waver, dear. You wished to join us? Then join us you will. Please sit.”
With obvious reluctance, Rosalind sat next to his mother.
Reid took one of the chairs on their right. They sat in silence. He supposed each was lost in their thoughts. He, for one, couldn’t help but keep returning to his finding Eloisa in the shadows the night before. He doubted he would ever forget the look of pain and humiliation on her features.
Hodgeson returned. “The family will receive you within the half hour.” His disapproving tone conveyed the disdain both he and the family felt for the timing of their visit. “I was told to ask if you would care for refreshments while you wait?”
“I think not,” Mrs. Armstrong replied.
“Very well.” The butler bowed slightly before retreating.
When they were alone, Rosalind leaned back against the cushions with a sigh. “Oh, he is not happy.”
“Good,” Reid snapped.
“I hope this is the last time I’m ever in this home. Something feels off, don’t you think?” his mother mused. “I don’t want to come back.”
Twenty-eight minutes later by Reid’s count, they heard footsteps and the low murmuring of voices in the foyer. “Here we go,” Reid said as the double doors to the room opened and all four Sloanes entered the room.
He rose to his feet.
His mother straightened but remained sitting. She pressed a hand on Rosalind’s thigh when she made a move to stand up as well.
“Armstrong,” Mr. Sloane boomed. “Carlotta.”
“Hello, Clayton,” she replied graciously. “I apologize for the timing of this visit, but I’m afraid it couldn’t be helped.”
“Hmm.” Mr. Sloane, his wife, and Douglass all took chairs facing Reid. Each wore varying expressions of curiosity and boredom. Veronica sat down on the settee opposite his mother and Rosalind, looking vaguely amused.
None of them acknowledged Rosalind.
“Reid, Carlotta,” Mrs. Sloane said with a patently fake smile. “Now that we are all settled, perhaps you would care to share to what we owe this honor?”
“At this ungodly hour,” Veronica said under a yawn.
“And why do you need to see all four of us?” Mr. Sloane groused.
Douglass looked at Rosalind. “And why is she here?”
“Is someone in trouble?” Olympia Sloane asked.
Douglass eyed Reid curiously. “I must admit that you have us all intrigued.”
An expectant pause descended over their group. Reid knew it would be up to him to begin and to put out the story about Eloisa as circumspectly as possible.
He’d gone over several ways of breaking the news in his head, each one sounding more jumbled and convoluted than the next. Finally, he let his heart and instincts guide him. “Over the last several months, rumors have been circulating about you, Douglass.”
“Me?” His dark eyes narrowed.
Reid folded his hands together. “I’m sure you’ve heard them. Your behavior has become more volatile. Your activities and proclivities more dark. More shocking.”
To Reid’s surprise, it was Veronica who came to her brother’s rescue. “And?” she asked in her trademark bored way. “I fail to see how Douglass’s affairs affect you at all.” She raised a brow. “Unless the two of you now make it a habit of calling on homes for the sole reason of spreading malicious gossip?”
“It is not mere gossip,” Reid retorted.
Douglass glared at Rosalind. “If you are referring to a little harmless flirting with housemaids . . .”
“It was more than flirting,” Rosalind said, already breaking her promise to leave the talking to Reid.
“Can you prove it?”
“We came over because the rumors have spread from Douglass forcing his attentions on housemaids to something far different,” his mother interjected. “As much as it pains me to admit, it seems his behavior has finally crossed the line.”
“Which line is that?” Mr. Sloane asked.
Reid sat down and l
ooked directly at the man he’d once called his best friend. “A young lady of good quality informed me last night that you, Douglass, violated her.”
Before his parents could shrug off Reid’s statement as outlandish, Douglass leaned forward. “And when did this violation happen?”
“At the gala held last night in the McCormick mansion.” He paused, then added succinctly, “In one of the empty rooms.”
“I have no idea why this ‘woman’ would say such a thing,” Douglass scoffed. “Anyway, it’s only my word against hers.”
Reid held his temper in check . . . barely. “I saw the bruises around her neck, Douglass. I also believe her.”
“If you believe her, then you’re a fool.”
“What does she want?” Veronica interjected, her voice sounding like it was on the verge of breaking. “I still don’t see why her misfortune concerns you. I know of no lady who would dare make such accusations aloud, even if they were true.”
Reid’s mother leaned forward. “It has been my experience, Miss Sloane, that most women are afraid to admit such things occur because they fear they will be blamed.”
“Perhaps that is because they should be blamed,” Mrs. Sloane said with a sniff. “I don’t mean to disparage this, uh, lady, but if what she says is true, then she must have put herself in a bad situation.” Brushing a nonexistent crumb off her skirts, she added, “Not all women take as much care with their reputation as they should.”
“This lady is of the highest tier in our social circle. Furthermore, she did nothing wrong. Nothing.”
Yawning rudely, Douglass leaned back, folding one leg over the other. “Again, I am mystified as to why you are here. If she is so perturbed about my supposed vicious attack, then I would have thought she would want to be here,” he drawled.
Mr. Sloane was looking slightly pale. “Carlotta, did you speak to this woman?”
“I did, Clayton. I also have seen her bruises. She was badly injured.”
“Why are you here, Reid?” Douglass demanded, his face ruddy with anger. “No matter what happened, it doesn’t concern you.”
Secrets of Sloane House Page 24
