Road to Rosewood

by Ashtyn Newbold

  If Nicholas would not be honest with me, then why should I be honest with him? I would visit his family and not give him one word about it. I remembered the pot that had come from the window, nearly falling on my head. I would certainly have to exercise caution. My heart hammered with anticipation. Tomorrow I would go. I would be brave and learn for myself the mystery of the Bancrofts.

  FOURTEEN

  I hadn’t noticed the clock for several hours. I had perched myself in front of the west windows, staring into the window of the Bancrofts’ home, hoping to catch sight of anything peculiar. My efforts had not met success. With a sigh, I uncurled my legs from beneath me and stood, stretching my back. Mr. Parsons was coming for dinner. The thought filled me with dread. I didn’t know why.

  My feet felt as if they were tied down with chains as I moved across the house to my room. I needed to look presentable whether I wanted to put forth the effort or not. The only person I wanted to see was Nicholas. I didn’t care if he told me the truth or not. I just wanted to speak with him and laugh with him. I was weak, and I hated myself for it. Rubbing my eyes, I tried to shake my mind free of him. It didn’t work.

  After dressing in a peach dress with white-lace-trimmed sleeves, I flounced my hair in the mirror and pinned it back in a simple bun at the crown of my head. Without intending it, several curls escaped the knot and fell at my neck and forehead. I studied the array in the mirror, deciding it looked better that way.

  I was late arriving downstairs, so I skipped down the stairs, turning the corner of the drawing room door with a smile. The room was quiet and heavy. My eyes scanned every corner and stopped.

  Nicholas sat in the settee by the fire, engaged in quiet conversation with Mr. Turner. My heart jumped in surprise. I thought he had refused to come! What had changed his mind? My eyes lingered on him until I felt the weight of Kitty’s shocked gaze on my face. I looked around the room. Mr. Rossington appeared as if he wished for nothing more than to catch on fire and turn to a pile of ash on the floor. I caught Nicholas throwing looks of disgust and dislike at Mr. Rossington every so often. Mrs. Tattershall cleared her throat and stepped away from William’s side to approach me. “Did you extend an invitation to Mr. Bancroft?” Her voice was clipped. Her eyes were pinched. “And where is his wife?”

  “I—er—” I had nearly forgotten about his false wife.

  Kitty shuffled forward. “It was me, Aunt Susan. I knew he had just returned from extensive travel and thought it prudent to offer him a place at our table. And Mr. Bancroft’s wife … she was unable to attend with him. I extended the invitation to Mr. Parsons as well.” She gestured at the left side of the room. Heavens, I hadn’t even noticed the man standing there. He seemed to be straining his head toward us, trying to eavesdrop on the conversation.

  “Kitty, dear. You know how this upsets your father. He—” Mrs. Tattershall seemed to remember I was standing nearby. She closed her lips and took a breath through her nose. “I confess I am shocked that Mr. Bancroft made an appearance at all. What purpose could he have in being here?”

  My gaze traveled across the room to Nicholas. Mr. Turner had left his side. It was just Nicholas, looking back at me with a suppressed grin in his eyes. He had been correct. Having him here would make things vastly more uncomfortable. My mouth split into a grin that I tried to hide. Nicholas arched one devious eyebrow at me. I had to look away before I exploded into inappropriate laughter.

  I felt the weight of Mr. Parson’s gaze watching the interaction. Before I knew what happened, he was across the room at my side, dropping a bow. His blue eyes appraised me before he offered an intentionally loud remark. “I must say, Miss Abbot, you look quite stunning this evening. You have chosen your colors wisely.”

  I laughed awkwardly, my eyes shifting to Nicholas. There was that look again—the annoyance and … was it jealousy? I tried not to let myself hope that it was, but I had certainly felt jealousy before, and I had certainly given someone that very look before.

  A certain girl named Miss Hyatt, to be precise.

  My cheeks warmed. It wasn’t very difficult considering that two handsome men had their eyes trained on me. “I thank you, Mr. Parsons. You look very handsome this evening as well.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Nicholas stand.

  “I am glad you were able to make it here,” I continued, flustered. “I hope you enjoy your time at Rosewood. I certainly do.” I tried to keep the conversation moving along before Nicholas could reach us. In all honesty, I didn’t care one bit about speaking to Mr. Parsons. I scolded myself for encouraging him with any measure of flirting.

  “I am certain I will. It is a very fine house filled with very fine people.”

  Nicholas was coming closer, but I didn’t allow myself to look at him. I had already smiled at him, which was something that I had trusted myself not to do. Our last encounter had been less than pleasant. My face burned at the thought of the things I had said. I had told him not to see me again until he was prepared to tell me the truth.

  Nicholas stepped up beside me. His closeness alone made the rate of my heart increase and my palms sweat.

  “Mr. Parsons, I don’t believe you have met Mr. Bancroft,” I said, my voice too quick.

  Mr. Parsons eyed Nicholas with a hint of disdain that bothered me. “Good evening, Mr. Bancroft.” His nod was brief before he turned a look of adoration on me. “I was just telling Miss Abbot how attractive she is in peach. Do you not agree?”

  I dared a glance at Nicholas. His expression was rankled, his arms tense as he watched Mr. Parsons. Then his eyes fell down to mine and his face smoothed over. I was trapped in his gaze—in the sudden softness that filled it. “I’m afraid I must disagree with your assessment.”

  My heart sunk and I looked away. Pain radiated in my chest, stinging out to my fingertips.

  “I would call her breathtaking.”

  Before I could absorb his words, I felt his hand wrap around mine. I almost gasped but couldn’t find the air. My eyes shot to his. His hand was warm and strong, and although I had touched his hand many times before, it felt different this time. Combined with his words and the depth in his gaze, it was painful—the effect it had on my heart. It was stabbing, squeezing, wrenching, but it was also empowering, safe, and certain.

  I didn’t know hands could feel so much.

  He dipped his head and kissed the top of my hand. A faint smile touched his lips as his eyes met mine again. He turned to Mr. Parsons, keeping my hand in his. “Any woman can be attractive, but it’s the woman that takes away your breath that is dangerous. She steals the words from your mouth and speaks them in a way you never could but always wished you could.”

  My eyes were trained on our hands. Mine was too small, but it fit perfectly.

  “She steals your breath in laughter, in exasperation, in sighs. She takes your breath in all the words you expend to impress her. In stepping into a room in a peach dress.” There was a pause. I couldn’t help but look up again. Emotion pulsed through me and I begged myself not to care for the words he was saying. I had promised myself that I would be strong, but being weak was much easier. Nicholas smiled, and for an odd reason I felt the threat of tears in my throat. It was too sweet. He was too handsome and too wonderful.

  My arm was shaking as he released my hand. It fell to my side and I forced my fingers to move—to put myself at ease that they still could function. It would take me all evening to recover from what had just happened. I looked around, remembering that most of the room believed Nicholas to be married. What would they think of that display he had just made? To my relief we seemed to go unnoticed by all but Mrs. Tattershall. Her thin lips were curved in a frown.

  Mr. Parsons appeared more vexed than ever. When he caught me watching him, he straightened his posture. “Yes, Mr. Bancroft, I agree with your assessment entirely. There are few women that possess such a quality.”

  I thought Nicholas would speak again, but instead he nodded in silence. I wished Mr. Parsons would
leave so I could speak to Nicholas. I wanted to know what had compelled him to come here after he had first refused. But I would have to wait.

  In the dining room, the meal passed much like the one the day before: in awkwardness. Mr. Rossington and his sister spoke only to Mr. Parsons, Mr. Turner, and Kitty. William ate beside them with his eyes cast downward, never speaking a word. Nicholas was seated beside me, but much like William, we didn’t speak at all. Periodically I glanced over at Nicholas, and often caught his gaze fixed on Mr. Rossington, eyes narrowed as he chewed his food. Nicholas looked as if he wished to take the man outside for a duel. I added the menacing stare into my list of clues. I felt quite like a detective as I tried to puzzle out the mysteries at Rosewood. One thing I had gathered from my work was that Nicholas was always in the center of it all.

  When it was nearly time to move to the drawing room, Nicholas leaned his head close to mine and whispered, “I need to speak with you.”

  I shifted in my chair. “Why?”

  The other two ladies stood up, and I followed. Nicholas turned toward me where no one else could see his lips move. “Meet me at the stables tonight.” His voice was almost impossible to hear, but I understood.

  I gave a miniscule nod and followed Mrs. Tattershall and Kitty into the drawing room. Within two minutes, Mr. Rossington and the other men entered the room. Apparently the awkwardness between Nicholas and Mr. Rossington had been impossible to bear. As I surveyed the room, I could see that there was a bit of discomfort between Nicholas and Mr. Parsons as well. Unfortunately Nicholas had been correct about his prediction for an uncomfortable evening.

  It wasn’t long before Nicholas excused himself from the party. He had been talking with William in the corner. I watched him stand and met his eyes. When did he want me to meet him at the stables? And more importantly, why? We couldn’t speak privately here; I couldn’t have the Rossingtons suspecting that there was anything between Nicholas and me. Mr. Parsons hadn’t left my side all evening. He was not one to be intimidated by competition it seemed.

  Nicholas picked up the book he had been holding and took several large strides toward me. Mr. Parsons shot him a look of contempt.

  “I believe you will enjoy this book. You do appreciate poetry, do you not?” Nicholas extended the book to me.

  I raised one eyebrow. “Yes, I do. Thank you, Mr. Bancroft.”

  He smiled, just a lifting of the left side of his lips. “You are very welcome, Miss Abbot.” I half-expected him to call me Mrs. Bancroft. As eager as I had been to arrive here at Rosewood, I found it strange that I missed the days of travel with Nicholas. It was different now.

  But why had he given me a book? As he left the room, my heart raced with a sudden idea. I turned closer to the fire where I sat so Mr. Parsons couldn’t see and opened the book. It fell to a page with a slip of parchment wedged in the crease between two pages.

  I will be at the stables. Meet me there.

  I slammed the book shut and held it firmly between my hands. Mr. Parsons raised his brows and leaned closer to me. The fire made shadows beneath his cheekbones and deepened his eye sockets. “This evening has been quite invigorating.”

  I hardly heard him. Nicholas left me another note. “Are you certain? I have always thought my topics of conversation to be boring.”

  “Conversation with you would never bore me.”

  I accidentally smiled to myself as I smoothed the cover of the book in my hands, which led Mr. Parsons to lean even closer. Kitty watched from across the room, grinning deviously.

  “What are you doing?” I tilted my head away from his approaching face.

  “I want to be sure you know my intentions toward you. I would very much like to learn more about you, Miss Abbot. You are quite fascinating.”

  He was very handsome. And from the things I had overheard at dinner he seemed to be very wealthy and eligible. But something about him filled me with unease.

  “I’m not fascinating.”

  “You are.”

  I took a breath and scooted away a few inches in my chair. “I am flattered, sir.” My voice was dull. I didn’t want to encourage him, but I didn’t want to hurt him either. I knew how it felt. “Please excuse me.”

  I stood and approached Mrs. Tattershall. She stood by the pianoforte as Kitty sat down to play a piece. “I do not feel well. I’m afraid I must excuse myself for the evening.” I bit my lip, awaiting her response.

  Her face was perfectly still. Her nose twitched. “I suppose. I hope you feel improved by morning.”

  I gave a nod and moved toward the door. It had only been minutes since Nicholas had left. After retrieving my shawl from my room, I sneaked down the stairs and walked out the back door.

  The moon was a small crescent tonight, and the sky was filled with clouds. I couldn’t see the stars. I shivered, pulling my shawl tighter around my shoulders. I felt mischievous and vastly improper for sneaking away to meet a man in the dark. Alone. How inappropriate. But I trusted Nicholas and we had much practice in the art of not being seen together.

  I could see the stables—they were just a dim outline on gray against the dark background. The trees behind them rustled with the crisp wind, swaying back and forth in unison. As I came closer, I saw the yellowing leaves spiral off the branches and fall to the ground. It had only been ten of the clock when I exited the drawing room, but it felt much later and much more haunting now that I was outside in the dark.

  “Nicholas?” I hissed through the blackness. The stables loomed closer, and for a moment I wondered if he had already gone home. I walked on the tips of my toes, trying not to make loud sounds with my movements. If Nicholas was not here, then my imagination would fill my mind with an array of other people or creatures that could be here in his place. I swallowed. “Nicholas?”

  “Lucy?” His voice cut through the air and I breathed a sigh of relief. He stepped around the opposite side of the wooden walls of the stables and walked closer to me. I remembered the day I had found him when his horse had died. He had been sitting on this side of the stables, leaned against the walls with his head down. I had never seen something so broken. I felt a pang of guilt when I remembered his horse, Jack, that he had left behind at an inn several miles away. He had told me he would reclaim him when he had the money, but I doubted he ever would. Why would he make such a sacrifice for me? It didn’t make sense.

  Nicholas stood in front of me, and his head tipped down to look at me from several inches above. The difference in our height was a gap that I placed between us. I pretended that was why he had never found me attractive.

  But he found me breathtaking.

  Despite the cold, my cheeks warmed at the reminder of the words he had said to me tonight. Had he meant them?

  “Do you remember what I said tonight?” he asked. His voice was rich and low, sending a shiver over my arms.

  I nodded, but decided to act as if I didn’t know he was referring to the moment he had held my hand and called me breathtaking. “I remember a number of things you said.” He was drawing closer, and my heart fluttered dangerously. I needed to change the subject. “I also remember the things you said earlier today. You did not finish explaining.”

  He sighed and rubbed one side of his face. He knew precisely what I meant. He had begun telling me what had led him to the highwaymen but he hadn’t finished. “Are you certain?”

  “I have only asked you several dozen times.”

  I thought he would chuckle, but instead he shifted, scuffing his boots and feigning interest in his hands. Nicholas was not the sort to become nervous.

  “You know why I did it. You may not understand, but you know why. The Rossingtons thought that I had been away for months. I created the ruse that I was married in order to explain my absence. I was traveling during those months, but I returned home often in secret to look after my family. I paid the London doctor with the money the highwaymen gave to me.” He took a heavy breath. “My responsibility was to find the wealthy tra
velers. So I moved from inn to inn, giving my employers their next target. I followed as they robbed each coach and then they paid me.”

  Although it was dark, I could see the shame in his eyes—I could feel it touching my own heart.

  “I met them on my way back from visiting that London doctor, when I had been begging for more time to pay him. I was angry, and the men found me as I traveled the roads at night. They attempted to rob me but I had nothing. They were impressed with my knowledge of the roads and made their offer. It was money I needed desperately. My family hadn’t eaten more than a broth soup for several days. I was lost and angry, so I agreed.” He shook his head. He looked like he was about to say more but he stopped, tightening his jaw.

  “Nicholas,” I said in a quiet voice. My heart thudded, but I couldn’t stop my words from coming. “You are a good man. And I know you love your family very much. Sometimes our hearts do things our heads would never even think on.”

  His face tightened with emotion and he tipped his head away so I wouldn’t see him. I was reminded once again of the boy who had lost his horse. I forced myself to look in his eyes. “We will find a way to help your mother. You need never to go back to those men.” A gust of wind hit my shawl and I wrapped it tighter around me.

  “One of the highwaymen was shot,” he said.

  My eyes widened. “How can you be certain?”

  His throat bobbed with a labored swallow. “Colin. The gunshots we heard … it was the coachman. I saw it. He retrieved his pistol and I saw him shoot Colin. He’s dead.”

  I remembered when Nicholas had turned the horse around. I had been unable to see the scene over his shoulders. I tried to focus on the image of the highwaymen in my mind. “And the other man?”

  “He escaped—he was the man chasing us for a distance on horseback. When I rode away with you, they must have been distracted. The coachman never could have overpowered Colin otherwise.”