The Old Maids' Club 02 - Pariah

by Catherine Gayle

  That wouldn’t work. He couldn’t let himself think that way.

  Roman tried to force his thoughts elsewhere, but it didn’t matter in the end.

  Miss Shelton set her teacup and saucer back on the tray and stood. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I need to…I need to see to…Finn.”

  Her gaze rested on Roman for just a moment, and she blushed. Then she spun on her heels and was gone.

  Mrs. Temple stood, too. “I suppose I should be getting back to my duties.” She gathered up all the tea implements and restacked them on the tray, then carried them from the room.

  “I should like a bit of exercise,” Lady Rosaline said, after they’d sat there alone for a few moments. “Would you be so kind as to go for a walk through the gardens with me?”

  Through the gardens? Good heavens, it was snowing quite heavily out there. “Are you certain you wish to go out in the weather?” Roman asked her. “We could take a few turns about the room—”

  “No, I wish to go outside. A little snow never hurt anyone.”

  He couldn’t really fault that logic, though allowing her to get too cold could invite any number of ailments. Still, some fresh air and exercise would be good for both of them.

  With a nod, Roman stood. “I’ll go fetch our coats.”

  While he was doing that, he stopped in the kitchens for a moment to let Joyce and Mrs. Temple know of their plans. Then he selected warm coats for both of them, along with scarves, gloves, and an extra blanket for Lady Rosaline.

  When he returned, she smiled up at him. “I think it is a lovely day for a walk in the gardens. I’ve always loved to walk in the snow. When I was a little girl, my brother, Drake, would take me out for a walk in the snow and we wouldn’t come back for hours.”

  Roman’s experiences with walking in the snow were far less pleasant as they related more to marching off to battle, so he kept them to himself as he helped her don her warm layers.

  “One time,” she continued, “we went into the forest. Mother and Father didn’t know we’d gone so far. They had half the servants at Ainsworth Court out looking for us.”

  He wrapped the blanket about her, pulling it snug.

  “When we came back into the clearing, we were chilled to the bone but laughing hysterically…and then they came on us.” She chuckled and shook her head with a rueful smile on her lips. “Do you know, Lord Roman, that I’ve never seen a more bewildering sight than the utter relief of my mother juxtaposed against the blinding rage of my father in that moment.”

  So she knew him now, did she? And she remembered her childhood. It was so odd, how she could flit in and out of her right mind in just the blink of an eye.

  Roman placed a hand on her back and guided her through the narrow corridors of the cottage toward the back door. If they walked in the rose garden, they wouldn’t get too far from the house.

  As the biting wind hit them, she stopped suddenly, shivering.

  “Do you wish to go back inside?” he asked, fully prepared to whisk her away and forget their plans had ever been mentioned.

  Lady Rosaline shook her head and grinned up at him with such sheer delight, he couldn’t imagine ever denying her anything. “Not for all the riches in the world,” she said dreamily. Then she took several short, fast steps, and he had to hurry to keep up with her.

  He’d never seen her move so quickly, so freely before. Even weighed down by the coat and blanket, she almost floated along on the mounds of snow piling up in the walkways. She giggled like a schoolgirl when she lost her footing slightly and fell forward, catching herself in a thick pile.

  Roman rushed to her, prepared to assist her in any way necessary, but she rolled over and sighed.

  “It’s as good as I remember it.”

  He stood there watching her, dumbfounded, completely at a loss as to what he should do. Indeed, apparently he stood there staring for too long.

  She kicked a booted foot, sending a cascade of freshly fallen snow up to shower him. “Are you just going to stand there? Or are you going to enjoy it?”

  He didn’t get the chance to answer her. The door opened behind him, and Finn leapt out to join them with his nurse trailing along behind. “Snow!” the boy cried, giggling non-stop. By the time Finn reached Roman’s side, he was waist-deep in the fluffy stuff. His red cheeks and nose couldn’t dampen the pure joy in his eyes.

  “Yes, Finn,” Lady Rosaline called out. She kicked up another foot, and sent a dose of it spraying over the boy.

  He giggled in delight, then fell into the deep piles on his way to join the lady. It didn’t seem to bother him in the slightest. Much as she had done, he just rolled around in it until he was covered from head to toe.

  Roman didn’t know what to do. He had never, in as long as he could remember, played in the snow. It seemed a shame.

  Before he could change his mind, he dove, head first, to join them. They rolled around for long minutes with Mrs. Wyatt shouting out encouragement from the safety of a bench near the house. He was cold to the bone, but it didn’t matter.

  “What in God’s name is going on here?” Miss Shelton demanded, in as haughty and outraged a tone as he’d ever heard from her. “You’ll catch your deaths. All of you.”

  Sheepishly, Roman started to straighten himself out of the mess of snow, only to be stopped short by Lady Rosaline.

  “Bethanne Shelton, I love you dearly because you’re my niece, but I have never in my life known you to be such a spoilsport.”

  Miss Shelton came to a halt and stared.

  “Are you going to stand there looking at me like I’m a damned leper, or are you going to join us?”

  For once, it would be nice if Bethanne were prepared for Aunt Rosaline’s lucidity. Yet it always caught her unawares, and she ended up standing there, staring like a loon. This time, she was doing it in the middle of a snowstorm, for goodness’s sake. That made it even more ridiculous.

  But she couldn’t just eliminate the fears that had sent her storming outside in the first place. Finn, her dear, sweet boy, could catch a chill from being outside in the cold wetness for so long. And if Aunt Rosaline were to become ill…

  But Mrs. Wyatt was watching them, and they were having fun (something Jo was always so fond to point out that Bethanne neglected to do far too often), and Lord Roman was with them. Surely he wouldn’t let any harm come to them.

  Not that she had any idea how he could prevent them from becoming ill. But still.

  Bethanne had not yet made up her mind what to do, and Finn booted up a pile of snow onto her skirts. She feigned outrage, planting her hands on her hips and using a scolding tone. “Finn Isaac Shelton, did you just kick snow onto my skirts?”

  “He did,” Aunt Rosaline said with a cackle. Then she kicked, as well, sending a much bigger pile of snow flying in Bethanne’s direction, dousing her in the stuff from top to toe. “And so did I.”

  She pulled out her booted foot, prepared to thrust some back toward them, but before she could dislodge herself from the deep embankment, a huge amount of snow hit her from the side, drenching her far more than their kicks had done.

  Bethanne turned with her jaw hanging slack.

  Lord Roman shrugged. “That one was me.” He picked up another pile in his hands and started forming it into a ball.

  “Oh, no.” She would not just sit there and take that. Bending at the waist, Bethanne shoved her gloved hands into the icy mounds and pulled up twice as much as he was forming. “You’ve just incited a war, Lord Roman.”

  “Ha! Now you’ve got her into it,” Mrs. Wyatt called out. “I’d suggest you toss and run, my lord. But then, that might be a bit cowardly. Be sure you’re aim is right.”

  Unbelievable. “You’re helping him?” Bethanne shouted over her shoulder.

  “Never fear, Miss Shelton.” Lord Roman threw his snowball, hitting her on the arm. Half of hers fell apart from the impact. In an instant, he was forming another one. “I refuse to sound the retreat.”

 
The man was true to his word. Their snow battle waged for quite some time until, breathless and frozen through, Bethanne held up both hands. “I surrender. I’m done. I can take no more.”

  “Thank God,” he said, falling face-first to the ground. When he looked up a moment later, he had a smile on his face. She’d rarely seen those from him. Wry smirks, yes. But this was different. He winked at her. “If we’d gone on another five minutes, I fear you would have bested me.”

  Bethanne let out a harrumphing sort of sound as she plucked Finn out of the snow and carried him to Mrs. Wyatt, who was waiting with fresh blankets. Lord Roman was soon behind her, helping Aunt Rosaline inside.

  Joyce and Mrs. Temple helped them to get on warm, dry clothes, and Mrs. Temple had stoked the fire in the parlor hearth to a roaring blaze while they were out. After they were changed, they all returned to warm themselves before it. Joyce brought in a tray of mugs filled with steaming chocolate.

  They stayed there, the lot of them, until Finn was asleep on the floor, exhausted from his exertions. Even in his sleep, he wore a smile. That, more than anything, warmed Bethanne through.

  When Mrs. Wyatt lifted him to carry him up to the nursery, Bethanne briefly met Lord Roman’s heated gaze. She looked away with a blush staining her cheeks, lest she be scalded from the intensity of his stare. What on earth did he mean by it? By any of it?

  And why did she allow him to fluster her so thoroughly?

  Brushing her now thawed hands over her skirts, Bethanne stood. “I should go check to be sure he is warm enough.”

  She scurried through the door before he could stop her.

  Roman watched Miss Shelton run away from him, yet again. He’d thought that, after their afternoon snowball fight, perhaps her heart would begin to thaw toward him as their bodies thawed before the fire.

  She’d seemed more comfortable with him outside in the rose garden, playing in the snow. Like, perhaps, she could forget about her burdens for a moment and be free. Like she would pretend she didn’t possess secrets which forced her to harden her heart to him.

  He’d wanted that, and the realization was more than just a little unnerving. He needed to guard himself around her more. The last thing he needed was to lose his heart, let alone his head, to a woman who couldn’t trust him with her secrets.

  Lady Rosaline smiled at him, lifting her chin up from behind a bevy of blankets. “I see the way you watch her, my lord.”

  “You do?” He took a sip from the cup of chocolate Joyce had pressed on him earlier. It was cool now, but still welcome. “And what do you see?”

  “You’re in love with my sister.”

  In love? Her sister? He’d hoped that the lucid interval would last longer than this. “Is that so?” he asked. Even if she didn’t know who he was or when and where they were, he might learn something of them—of Lady Rosaline and Miss Shelton—if he could just keep her talking. And calm.

  “You sly devil, Lord Faulkner. You can’t hide it from me. You can’t take your eyes off of Mattie. You watch her all the time, especially if you think she’s not looking.” She pulled her hands free from her blankets and picked up her cup of chocolate, winking at him over it as she took a sip. “You wouldn’t have started that snowball fight with her if you didn’t. That was as clear a sign as any, in my way of thinking.”

  So Mattie was Lady Rosaline’s sister? Did that make her Miss Shelton’s mother? No, probably an aunt. Lord Faulkner…Miss Shelton’s surly cousin was Miss Faulkner.

  But Lady Rosaline was confusing him with the man who’d courted and married her sister. Wasn’t that what was happening?

  For once, Roman wasn’t entirely certain what to say.

  “She’ll accept you, you know. She’ll marry you. You needn’t worry about that.”

  “I wasn’t—”

  “So you intend to offer for her like I thought?” Lady Rosaline interrupted him. “Oh, I just knew it. Mattie will be delighted.” She set her cup down on her saucer and twisted her lips in contemplation. Looking down at her hands again, she gave a decisive nod, then pulled a ring off her finger. “Here,” she said, pressing it into his hands. “It was Mother’s. Father gave it to me when she died, but it just never felt right to me. Mattie always wanted it more. You should use this when you propose.”

  The tiny golden ring glinted in the firelight, the flames dancing in the emeralds. Roman stared at it in his hand, unsure what to do with it.

  He had to give it back to her. She would miss it eventually. But now likely wasn’t the best time for such a thing. She still thought him to be Lord Faulkner.

  Before he could decide what to do with it, Lady Rosaline stood, taking her assortment of blankets with her. “Well, I think I should be off then. Cook promised to make my favorite pastries for a bedtime snack, and I intend to be sure I get it.” When she stood before the door, she turned to him again. “Don’t wait too long. Mattie doesn’t like to be kept waiting. Besides, she’ll notice Mother’s ring is missing and ask me about it.”

  After breakfast, Bethanne kissed Finn on the forehead and sent him up to play in the nursery with Mrs. Wyatt, then made her way into the parlor.

  She loved her mornings, lately. She loved that, sometime in the wee hours of the morning, just around dawn, Lord Roman took himself off and locked himself in his chamber, and she had some precious hours during which she could work free from his constant presence—his constant staring. She felt his eyes on her everywhere she went, ever since that day in the gardens when he’d come so close to kissing her. Bother, but she wished he had.

  It was difficult to tell if the sense of his eyes following her was due more to the fact that they were truly following her, or to the fact that she couldn’t stop thinking about what it might be like to kiss him. Just once.

  No matter which it was, she had to stop thinking about him. It wasn’t helping her in the slightest.

  Taking a seat behind her escritoire, Bethanne pulled out the letters that had arrived in yesterday’s post. She hadn’t had the chance to look at them when they came, what with trying to get everyone warm and dry after spending the afternoon in the wet snow.

  The top letter had Uncle Drake’s seal. She split it open. He’d sent a bank draft, as promised, and a brief note letting her know that the entire Shelton family would be convening at Ainsworth Court for Christmas, and she and Aunt Rosaline were expected to be amongst their numbers. She would have to come up with a good excuse to send as her response as to why they would be unable to travel. Perhaps she could invent a chill that she’d caught or something else. After today, it might not be too much of a lie.

  Slipping the bank draft into a drawer for safekeeping until she could arrange for a trip into town, Bethanne set Uncle Drake’s letter aside until she was ready to pen her response.

  The next letter was from Jo, delivering a hilarious and witty recounting of their return trip. Apparently, the wheel had broken, and when Noah had tried to help the driver to change it, he’d landed on his backside in a puddle of melting snow after pulling, fruitlessly, on the thing. Jo, ever resourceful, had sent him off to sit with his bride, then she’d helped the driver to locate a final pin that hadn’t been removed, and the broken wheel had come off quite easily.

  Bethanne chuckled, easily able to envision just such a thing taking place. Lord Devonport was incredibly handsome and engaging, but not much use when it came to any number of things. Jo, on the other hand, could be brash and abrupt, but simply thought things through and took care of them.

  Adding Jo’s letter to her uncle’s, she moved on to the final letter from yesterday’s post. The stack included a letter from her sister, Miranda, with a dire warning that Isaac had mentioned to her, as well, his intentions of making a trip to the cottage. Miranda swore she’d done everything in her power to convince him otherwise, but she feared she’d been unsuccessful.

  Bother and blast. Someone had to stop him.

  With a sigh, Bethanne pulled out some fresh parchment, her ink pot, an
d quill, and then set to work responding to her letters.

  She didn’t know how long she’d been at it when Lord Roman ambled in, a cup of coffee in one hand and newssheets in the other. She did know that her fingers were smeared with ink and she’d even spilled a drop of it on her gown, and she’d only finished with penning one of her three responses.

  He took a sip of his coffee and then gave her a sly smile. “You might want to go wash your face before anyone else comes upon you. You’ve smudged some ink across your cheek.”

  Without thinking, she reached up and rubbed her cheek.

  Lord Roman frowned and shook his head. “You’ve just made it worse.”

  Of course she had. Everything she did lately just seemed to make everything else worse. With a frustrated sigh, she stood. “If you’ll excuse me,” she mumbled as she rushed from the parlor.

  When she’d cleaned her hands and face and returned, Aunt Rosaline’s emerald ring glinted in the early morning sunlight. It was on the table just inside the door. Where on earth had that come from? It hadn’t been there before, had it? She stared at it for a moment, and then looked over to Lord Roman.

  He looked up from his newssheets. “Your aunt gave that to me last night. She thought I was Lord Faulkner, and suggested I give it to Mattie—er, well, you—when I propose.”

  A strange, fluttering sensation moved through her chest and settled in her stomach. Bethanne swallowed. “Oh,” was all she could think to say.

  “Since she seems rather inclined to give me things I imagine she’ll miss later, I thought I’d designate a place to put them. If you’d prefer me to put them somewhere else, I’d be more than—”

  “This table is fine.” Bethanne flushed for some confounding reason. “Thank you. I’m sure she’ll appreciate that you’re leaving them for her.” That wasn’t quite right. More needed to be said. “As do I.”

  Why was it so difficult to acknowledge the kindnesses he had granted her? Lord Roman frustrated her to no end, because she couldn’t understand her reactions to the man. She’d never, not once in her life, felt so befuddled and disconcerted in any man’s presence. Intimidated, certainly. Frustrated, on far too many occasions. But she wanted him to leave at the same time as she was desperate for him to stay, and she didn’t know what to do about it. Not any of it.