Road to Rosewood

by Ashtyn Newbold

  I tore my eyes from the man at the fire, allowing the woman to lead me to a chair by the arm. She pulled out a chair and practically pushed me down into it. What seemed like just seconds later there was a tea tray in front of me. My hands shook as I tried to lift my cup.

  “Perhaps a washing’ll ease your spirits?” The woman’s voice pierced the air. “If you will follow me we’ll get ye washed.” She gestured at the hallway that stemmed directly from the wall that mysterious man sat against. I shook my head fast. Washing would be a welcome escape, but not if it required passing him in such close proximity. I stole another glance at the man and gasped, looking away. He was facing me now. And it was certainly Nicholas.

  “Do ye care to answer my question?”

  My cup clattered to the tray, but I caught it before more than a drop of tea escaped. “No, no, I … quite enjoy being dirty.” My voice was distant and barely a squeak. I thanked the heavens that my face had been caked in filth on the drive. Perhaps Nicholas would not recognize me through it.

  The woman watched me as if I had come from another century or planet. She blinked twice. “I’ve ne’er heard a lady say such things.”

  I couldn’t focus on her words. It was impossible to believe that Nicholas was sitting across the parlor. But I slid my eyes across the tea tray and lifted them slowly to the fireplace again. My stomach twisted. He was still there.

  And he was watching me.

  My hand flitted to the ribbons at my neck and I pulled hard, ensuring that the hat was shielding as much of my face as I could manage. My hands shook. Every breath struggled to come as I met his eyes and tore mine away, all within the same second. Disbelief and shock wrapped around my stomach in an embrace that left me on the brink of collapse.

  He could not know I was here. He would speak to me, pretending that he hadn’t hurt me. My heart thudded hard and fast, stealing all my strength and leaving my mind in shambles. Where was this wife of his? I didn’t know if I could bear to see them together.

  I turned my attention back to my tea, sipping it too quickly, burning my tongue. I swallowed hard, trying not to choke as the searing liquid tore down my throat. Loud voices were absorbed in the walls, leaving behind hushed tones of quiet and tired travelers. I could feel the heat of eyes watching me, burning through the back of my head and all the feathers of my hat. Glancing around the room, I found mostly conservative people, wearing their most comfortable clothing for travel. I had not chosen my attire in an attempt to conceal myself in a crowd. I hadn’t known it would be necessary.

  When I looked behind me again, Nicholas was gone. Scowling, I sneaked a glance around the room, pausing with a leap of my heart when I spotted him moving toward the counter where I sat.

  I gasped a silent breath, pulling down on my hat and pushing away from the counter.

  “Miss?” The woman that had helped me before had to catch my tea tray from clattering off the edge. Before I could escape, Nicholas sat down in a chair two places away from mine, resting his elbows on the counter.

  I turned my head away, my breath streaming out in panic. My legs were shaking. What was wrong with me? It had been six years. I was not a child any longer.

  The warmth that filled the room did not help the heat on my face and the heat racing through my veins. How absurd, how utterly unexpected that I had crossed paths with Nicholas here. Tingles climbed over my skin again. Memories scratched the surface of my heart but I didn’t let them through.

  “Would you object to me joining you here?” A voice hit my ears from my left, setting my pulse racing again. I would recognize that voice anywhere. My throat was so dry I couldn’t choke out a single word. Instead I chose to ignore him. It didn’t have the result I intended. Nicholas cleared his throat and I heard a faint rustle that told me he moved one chair closer.

  How could I hide from him now? Though familiar, his voice was different than I remembered, deeper somehow, as if in all those years that had passed he had gathered burdens to weigh it down.

  In my panic, I turned sharply in my chair. I could feel his presence beside me, warm and steady, reaching out with hands ready to crush my heart all over again. I did not want to introduce myself to him. I did not want him to know who I was. It wasn’t fair for me to be forced to relive the memories he had given me. I needed a doctor. No, I needed Nicholas to take fifty steps backward and face the corner so I did not have to see his face and worry that he would recognize mine.

  And what the devil was he doing asking for my company?

  Gathering my wits to some degree, I tried to imitate the sound of elegant refinement I had heard from my mother in social gatherings, but took it further, elongating my vowels and lifting my chin. I adopted a lower pitch than my normal voice, hoping he wouldn’t hear the girl he once knew. Keeping my face turned away and my hat low, I said, “I’m afraid I must make known my objection. I am one to delight in solitude, though I thank you for your offer of companionship.”

  I kept my eyes averted, but I thought I heard a sound of disbelief come from Nicholas. “I only asked as a courtesy.” I heard his chair scrape across the floor and settle closer to mine. “The bar is the privilege of all lodgers, but I understand from your objection that you would rather enjoy that privilege without conversation. Am I correct in assuming this?”

  I nodded, jerking my hand to my hat when I felt it slipping. I picked up a chunk of bread from my tray and took several large bites, hoping he wouldn’t attempt to continue the conversation if my mouth was full. I didn’t dare look at his face, keeping mine turned away from his view. Luckily he didn’t seem to recognize me at all.

  “Where have your traveling companions gone?” he asked.

  I took another bite. “Did we not agree to put an end to the prattle?” My voice was muffled by the bread.

  “I only wish to know how they tolerate your warmth and kindness.”

  I didn’t dare sneak a glance at his face, despite how much I wanted to. I was desperate to know what all these years had done to his appearance.

  I swallowed, nearly choking. “Unfortunately, their tolerance is running thin,” I rasped. “They have formed a union against me, plotting to throw me off the top of the coach.” I bit my lip. Why did I not keep my mouth shut?

  “Is it your warmth and kindness that deters them, or your choice of headwear?”

  I could hear a smile in his voice.

  How dare he insult my hat? He had crossed a definite line. If Nicholas Bancroft was just going to saunter into my life in such an unexpected way, he could not go about insulting my choice of headwear. No matter how extreme it was.

  When I didn’t answer immediately, he leaned closer, prompting me to turn another several degrees away from him. He sat back. “I must say, when I saw your hat I was simply too curious to remain by the fire. I have never seen such an accessory in my life.” He chuckled.

  I sucked in my cheeks, rolling my eyes where he couldn’t see them. “In my defense, this hat has been the cause of much entertainment and conversation. I expect it should become the new rage in London.”

  I had half a mind to reach up and tear the hat off my head and smudge the dirt off my cheeks so he would know it was me. Then I would demand a long overdue apology. Hearing his voice, thinking his name but not speaking it … it was torture. He had wronged me, and I wanted him to know it. I knew I could never hate him, but I could wish to give him a firm slap across the face.

  “Ah. And is it London to which you are traveling?” he asked.

  I couldn’t give him the true answer, so I said, “Yes, London. I find it to be most diverting.”

  “Even with the season at its end?”

  “I do not need parties and crowded society to entertain me.”

  “Oh, yes. You need only your hat.”

  I almost smiled. For a moment I forgot that I was not sitting under a tree at Rosewood begging Nicholas to stop teasing me, when really I enjoyed every second. Instead I was here in a crowded inn, crossing paths for one e
vening before I would move along and never see him again. My heart pinched. I wanted so badly to see his wife, to understand what she had given him that I could not.

  My defenses were weakening. I straightened my posture. “It is not only this one hat, sir. I have at least twenty just the same at home to entertain me.”

  He chuckled, and I sensed him turn his attention away from me. I stole one look at his face and felt my cheeks tingle. Why must he be so handsome? Nicholas was smiling, a wide grin of astonishment at my manners I assumed, staring ahead. My heart skittered. There was something new and strange about him, something I couldn’t quite place. Perhaps it was that he was now a married man, no longer the boy I had known. But there were also the obvious things—the wider shoulders, the more solid jaw, the deeper set eyes and denser stubble on his cheeks. I cursed fate for not granting him with bald patches and moles.

  But his smile was the same as I remembered, and when he started turning his head to me again, with one eyebrow raised, I noticed that the crease above his eyebrow still appeared, deep as ever.

  I looked away fast.

  “I shall presume that you are quite wealthy if you claim to have the funds to support such … fine millinery,” he said. It wasn’t just a part of a light conversation. He sounded genuinely curious.

  His boldness shocked me. There was definitely something different about Nicholas. It wasn’t just the depth of his voice, but the way he spoke. He had changed.

  “Inquiring after my wealth will not act in your favor for a prolonged conversation.” My voice sounded remarkably like a child impersonating an elderly woman. “But if you must know, it is in my favor to assume that I am more wealthy than any person of your acquaintance by half.”

  “Ah. And surely you keep a portion of your wealth with you in your travels, do you not?” His voice was charming, sly, smooth enough that I nearly answered his question before wondering why he had posed it. I scowled to myself.

  Why was he still here? Why was he speaking to me? Dread pounded in my chest as I began to question his motives. How much had Nicholas really changed? I was not wealthy. It was a lie. The reticule of coins at my side contained just enough for my travels.

  When I didn’t reply, Nicholas cleared his throat. “Why do you conceal your face from me?”

  My eyes flew open and my heart skipped a beat. I was not talented in the area of quick wit. “I am unsightly,” I choked. “Ugly as the back end of a horse, mind you.” My face blazed with heat. Lucy Abbot, stop speaking! My eyes squeezed shut. Could I possibly humiliate myself further? “Please, if you will, leave me be. If I may be as bold as you, I must state that I am not fond of speaking with strange men. I will be leaving again very soon.”

  “Why do you travel through the night?”

  “Mail coach.”

  “Could you not afford a private coach?”

  I stiffened. “I enjoy the adventure of a rooftop seat, sir. Now, if you will excuse me, I must be off.”

  I flashed my eye away from him and ducked my head again. My heart was racing. I needed to get away from him. The coach would be leaving again soon. I glanced out the small window near the door. The coach was still being prepared, the horses still resting. But we would be on the road again within the hour, so I decided to wait outside the inn until then. After paying the innkeeper for the meal, I stood and brushed my hands over my skirts. “Good evening.”

  I glanced at Nicholas one more time, making sure to shield my face. My forehead ached, so I rubbed between my eyes with two fingers. Pain of a very different sort tingled in my heart and out to the tips of my fingers. I wished I could speak to him as Lucy, not as this strange traveler without a face. But I knew it would only hurt me more to look at Nicholas again and know that he could never be mine.

  Outside, I positioned myself behind the coach where I wouldn’t be seen from inside the inn. I saw Nicholas stand up and exit the doors, circling around the back of the inn and out of sight. I scowled. Why had he been acting so strangely?

  The parcels and letters were being loaded onto the coach in front of me. It was almost time to leave again. My eyelids weighed tons, but I had no trouble keeping them open. Dozens of questions about Nicholas Bancroft rankled my brain until I couldn’t contain any more of it.

  To my relief, it seemed that he had not recognized me. I had changed since those old summer days too. My face was longer, not the perfectly round circle of cheeks it had once been. I had nearly grown into my large brown eyes, and perhaps I had grown a little taller. I wondered which of Nicholas’s waistcoat buttons I reached now. But when I reclaimed my seat on top of the coach and we started our trip away from the inn, I accepted that I would never know.

  SUMMER 1812

  Breezes ruffled my hair like bird feathers, and I savored the scent of flowers and rich grass that accompanied it. The gardener of Rosewood had kindly allowed me to borrow the shears for a spell, and I had plucked away at least fifteen different flowers, all of which I now wore pinned to my white muslin dress and tucked in the twists of my hair. The gardener had remarked with a grunt that I looked like the flower garden itself, but I had claimed that I looked like a beautiful grown-up lady. Nicholas would agree with me, I just knew it.

  Skipping through the vast property of Rosewood, I found my way past the vegetable garden that the two homes shared and onto the property of the Bancrofts’ small house. I pressed my hands flat against my chest to keep the flowers from falling as I ran, praying the wind would not claim the daisies from my hair. My stockings slid down my legs—they had always been too large, and I felt the trickle of perspiration on my back.

  The stables were on the west corner of the back lawn, and I assumed that Nicholas would still be there, finishing his morning chores. Peeking through a crack in the door, I saw him standing at a stall, currycomb in hand.

  With a deep, flourishing bow, I entered through the door, unable to stop my giggling. The flecks of hay I had unsettled at my entry floated in the air around me and I wrinkled my nose at the smell of horses and the pile of muck that Nicholas had shoveled out.

  The light was dim as Nicholas glanced up. For a moment his eyes were heavy, as if I had interrupted a deep thought. But I was sure I had imagined it, because his face spread into an amused grin a moment later. “Lucy, you have frightened the poor animals to death.”

  I sputtered out a breath. “Is it because they do not recognize me?” My eyes jumped to the horse at the stall he stood at. Nicholas stepped aside as I approached the horse I knew to be named Ginger. His eyes were dull, his breathing labored. His whiskers twitched as I held my hand out to his muzzle. “Is he all right, Nicholas?”

  He scuffed his boot across the floor, leaning an elbow on the wall. “He’s aging, becoming tired, that’s all. You might cheer him up with all your colorful flowers.”

  I turned my face up to Nicholas. He raised one eyebrow in surprise as he noticed the flowers that covered my dress and hair. One side of his mouth was smiling, and his chin quivered with suppressed laughter. I batted my eyelashes, just as I had once seen an older girl do to Nicholas in the village.

  “Are you flirting with me?” he asked, chuckling and resuming his combing of the aging horse.

  “No,” I said, my voice defensive. “I wish for you to tell me that I look all grown up.”

  “I am not a liar, Lucy.”

  I scowled at the ground, grumbling to myself.

  “Please repeat yourself. I didn’t quite comprehend that.” There was a smirk in his voice.

  Searching my mind for an idea, I hurried around Nicholas and picked up the shovel that rested against the neighboring stall. Grown up ladies surely knew how to clean the stables.

  A sleek black horse looked up from its water as I dragged the tall shovel away. I grunted with the effort. “I wish to help you.”

  Nicholas breathed out, long and slow. “Your Mama would be fit to be tied if she learned that I had employed you as my assistant in the stables.”

  Ignoring h
im, I pushed the shovel into the stall of the black horse. It was much heavier than I had first determined.

  “Lucy,” Nicholas warned, exasperation entering his voice.

  Deciding that dragging the shovel would be much more effective, I turned around and backed myself into the stall with the horse, pulling the shovel forward over a pile of unpleasantly scented mush. My slipper slid out from under me and I balanced on the handle of the shovel. The sharp metal tip crashed into the foot of the horse.

  An agitated cry came from the horse as it threw its leg forward. My eyes widened and I saw Nicholas lunge forward to calm the animal. Dropping the shovel, I stumbled back against the wall and fell, rather dramatically, into the trough. My feet fell over my head and I gasped for air as the water submerged my head. Sputtering, I came to my knees as hay and water dribbled off my face and soaked through my dress. Flowers floated all around me.

  Nicholas had calmed the horse, but he threw me a look of disapproval before offering his hand to pull me out. My cheeks burned with embarrassment and shame. Before I knew it, hot tears carved a path through the cold water on my face and I was trembling. If there was any person in the world that I hated to disappoint, it was Nicholas.

  His features softened. “Come now, Lucy,” he said, pulling his jacket off and handing it to me. I wrapped myself up, warm and safe in the soft fabric and the smell of him. I dared to look at his face as tears wobbled on my lower lashes. His eyes were firm, but there was something that hinted at amusement there too, hiding so as to not encourage me. My chin quivered and he pressed his thumb against it. It always seemed to stop my tears.

  “What am I to tell your mama now, hmm?”

  I sniffed. “That I am a disobedient, buffle-headed niddicock.”

  He threw his head back in laughter, resting one hand on his thigh as he bent over to my height. His eyes had softened, and now they captured mine with a look of brotherly concern. That bothered me. I wanted him to look at me the way he had looked at that other girl in town, the much older one with the parasol.