Healing Hearts (Roselund Heights Book 1)

by Miranda D Nelson

  A knock at the door silenced her thoughts. It was Mariah who pushed it open. Her eyes grew wide then sad and disapproving as she looked in.

  “You are not even dressed yet. Has your maid not come up?”

  Joanna fingered the hem of her nightgown sleeve. “She has. I sent her away.”

  “You are still sulking then?”

  “I am not sulking,” Joanna protested, though she knew it was true.

  “Well, whether or not you are, I need you to dress and come with me.”

  While Joanna may have been upset, she was not blind. Mariah’s eyes held a mischievous look, and a feeling of caution arose.

  “Why?”

  “Because I need you to.”

  “If it is Father who wants me, tell him I will be down later.”

  “It is not Father that wants you. He has gone to visit the Garveys again.”

  “Then who?”

  Mariah threw her hands on her hips. “Will you listen to me and come down?”

  Joanna raised a brow. “You will not tell me why?”

  Mariah’s look was smug. “No.”

  Joanna watched her warily for several long seconds. A portion of her mind ached for knowledge before consenting. Yet another portion whispered of her goals for less control.

  She sighed dramatically. “Oh, very well. I will call my maid and be down soon.”

  She gave Mariah some credit for at least attempting to withhold her smile. “I will wait just outside your door.”

  Joanna cast her a suspicious glare but proceeded nonetheless to call her maid and dress. When the task was complete and she felt presentable, she swung the door open. Mariah was indeed just outside, waiting patiently.

  “Will this do?” Joanna asked, holding her arms out to display the dress.

  Mariah nodded. “I suppose so.”

  “And you still will not tell me what it is you need me for?”

  “I shall not. However, you will find out quite soon if you follow me.”

  Joanna sighed and nodded. Mariah led the way down the stairs and Joanna followed. They stopped outside the library.

  “The library?” Joanna asked. “What do you need of me in the library?”

  “I do not need you here, but someone else does.” Mariah smirked before pushing open the door, motioning for her to enter.

  Holding her chin high Joanna entered, but froze when she saw Mr. Aldridge standing there. Mariah came into the room behind her.

  “I am sorry, Mr. Aldridge, for taking so long,” her sister began. Joanna hoped she would not divulge the state in which Mariah had found her in. “Joanna took some convincing,” Mariah finished, casting her sister a look.

  Mr. Aldridge chuckled. “Somehow that does not surprise me. I hope, Miss Leighton, that you will not find my presence here intrusive.”

  Mariah’s triumphant gaze softened as she gave her attention to Joanna.

  “It has escaped neither of our attention that you are not yourself. Last evening, I asked Mr. Aldridge for his help and his suggestion led to a bit of a scheme.” Her coy smile returned. “My part was to provide a location and bring you to it. Now that my part is complete, I will leave you in Mr. Aldridge’s hands.”

  She turned and curtsied.

  “Good day, sir,” she said before she left the room, leaving the door open.

  Joanna watched her go with some hesitation. Confusion overwhelmed her, as she still knew not what to expect and why Mariah had enlisted Mr. Aldridge’s assistance. She could feel Mr. Aldridge watching her, yet she looked around the room instead of at him. It was only then that she noticed two easels and paints behind him. She finally met his gaze and the soft smile on his face was comforting.

  “I hope you will not be offended by my actions, Miss Leighton. I am usually not so bold. However, as I’ve said, I do not like to see you distressed.” He lowered his gaze and cleared his throat. “After you left last night, I felt a certain need to help you. After speaking to your sister, I hope we have found a solution.”

  “By painting?”

  He looked up again. “Indeed.”

  A smile lit his eyes and he took a step toward her. “Last week, at the beach—”

  Joanna nodded, raising her hand slightly. “I know. I am sorry for that, it was uncalled for.”

  He looked at her in disbelief and started to step forward, but then paused and remained where he was.

  “I have already told you,” he said, his deep voice soft, “your feelings are just and you ought not be sorry for them. I feel no offense that you shared them with me. In fact, quite the opposite.” An intensity passed his features before his look softened again. “But I realized I had encouraged you to release your emotions without giving you a means to govern them.”

  He motioned toward the easels. “Art is an excellent outlet. Your sister tells me you paint.”

  Joanna bit her lip against the painful memory. “I used to. My mother taught me and we used to paint together often.”

  She wiped a lone tear from her cheek.

  “I have not painted since she passed.”

  Mr. Aldridge nodded. “I do not wish to force you into anything. If you do not wish to try, I will not pressure you. But, if I may, it has helped me through my struggles and I have high hopes it will aid you as well.”

  Joanna considered this for a moment while Mr. Aldridge stood by, patiently waiting. Although she had not made any resolution against painting, since her mother’s death, she had felt no desire to pick up a brush. But as she looked at the canvas, she found herself rubbing her fingers together. She looked down at her hand, surprised by the reaction. Mr. Aldridge chuckled and she looked up at him. He had clearly noticed too. If nothing else, Joanna thought the distraction would be welcome. Joanna smiled.

  “It appears I do wish to paint.”

  “It would seem so.” He motioned toward the easels again. “Would you mind if I joined you?”

  “Not at all. Though you must not judge my art too harshly. I am no great artist.”

  He shook his head. “I am certain you are too hard on yourself.”

  Joanna selected a vase nearby to paint and focused her attention on it. As it had been several months since she had last held a brush, the skill did not come as easily as she hoped. It took several minutes to perfect the outline of the vase to her liking and her frustrations grew steadily.

  “You have done well,” Mr. Aldridge said.

  Joanna attempted to hide her exasperation, though she failed. “You cannot be serious?”

  He chuckled. “I am. The proportions are nearly perfect.”

  “Thank you, but I am sorely out of practice.”

  “There is only one way to remedy that.”

  He smiled and Joanna realized it was the first full smile she had seen from him. It lit his entire face and again she was struck by how handsome he was. She returned his smile and picked up the brush again.

  “Indeed.”

  They turned back to their work and half an hour later, the ease of painting began to return to Joanna. However, each stroke seemed incorrect, the colors of the paint just off. She laid down her brush, uncertain what she could do to make the piece to her liking and irritated by the lack of comfort she’d received from the process.

  She looked over at Mr. Aldridge and found his gaze was intense on his canvas, his strokes quick and sure. His painting was of a seascape, the sun setting low over the horizon. Joanna watched openly, amazed at all he had accomplished in so short a time. After several moments he leaned back to examine his work, a half smile on his face. He looked at her a moment later and her face reddened at being caught so openly admiring him.

  “You are very talented,” Joanna told him.

  “Thank you. There is very little I love more than painting.” He looked at her piece. “As I suspected, you are much too modest. Your vase is lovely.”

  Joanna shook her head. “I cannot get it just how I had hoped. There is still much to do on it.”

  Mr. Aldri
dge smiled. “Then you have something to paint tomorrow.”

  Joanna stared at her painting absently, considering whether or not she desired to continue in this endeavor. She imagined it would take more than one session to bring the full measure of peace she’d hoped to find. However, the portion of her that still longed for control wailed that time was not a luxury she could afford.

  “I suppose so.” She shook her head a bit, coming back to the moment, before looking at him hopefully. “Will you come again tomorrow?”

  “If you would like it, I would be honored.”

  “I would like that very much.”

  That afternoon, Joanna walked to the Marchant’s home on Bedford Street. Miss Marchant met her outside the drawing room and spoke in a hushed voice.

  “Mother is not feeling well today. I did not write to you as I had hoped she would be recovered by now. I can stay with her if you’d like. I know she can be rather irksome when she is unwell.”

  Though Joanna was less than pleased by this news, she had made a commitment. She hoped the smile she wore appeared more genuine than it felt.

  “I will not hear of it. I am happy to assist. Has my uncle seen her since she fell ill?”

  “No, she has forbid me to call on him. She claims it is only a chest cold.”

  Joanna tilted her head. “Not many are ailed by chest colds in this area, the sea air does much to relieve them.”

  Miss Marchant shook her head.

  “That is precisely what I told her, but it did not matter one jot. If she begins to cough fiercely, sipping her tea has helped in the past.” She pulled on her bonnet and gloves. “Thank you so much, Miss Leighton for taking care of Mother. You do not know what relief it provides me.”

  “Enjoy yourself!”

  Miss Marchant cast Joanna another grateful smile before leaving the house. With herself and Mrs. Marchant both out of sorts, it would be a difficult afternoon indeed. She held a breath before knocking lightly and letting herself into the sitting room. Mrs. Marchant sat on the sofa, her feet propped up on a pillow, her head back. She was sleeping. Joanna breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps the time would pass quickly after all.

  Mrs. Marchant dozed for more than an hour, disturbed only by a small cough from time to time. Joanna selected a book from the small selection on the table and attempted to read, however her mind would not be silenced. While she’d been originally doubtful of Mr. Aldridge’s suggestion that painting would assist her grief, she had held some hope it might work. She found herself disappointed thus far. In addition to the gnawing despair she’d felt for days, she was now frustrated as well. She sighed heavily and laid the book down on the table with more force than she’d intended.

  At the same moment, Mrs. Marchant began to cough violently, finally waking. Joanna poured her a cup of tea.

  “There, there,” Joanna said, coming beside Mrs. Marchant.

  The older woman looked at her, startled, Joanna was certain, to see her there instead of Miss Marchant. She looked all around her, obviously searching for something. Joanna attempted to hand her the tea cup, but Mrs. Marchant pushed it away, nearly spilling the contents. Joanna balanced the cup before setting it down on a nearby table. Seeing a handkerchief on the floor, Joanna scooped it up and handed it to the older woman who snatched it from Joanna’s hand, raised it to her mouth and began to cough again.

  Joanna brought a chair over and waited until Mrs. Marchant’s coughing had subsided enough that she might take some tea and lifted the cup for her again. The old woman glared at Joanna, but she persisted.

  “Your daughter said it helps. Drink some.”

  Mrs. Marchant took the cup and sipped before another round of coughs began. After several minutes of sipping between coughs, she was finally able to stop the coughing.

  “Are you all right?” Joanna asked.

  “I am fine,” the old woman rasped angrily before loudly clearing her throat.

  “You do not sound fine. I can call my uncle for you, if you’d like.”

  “He would tell me nothing I do not already know.”

  Joanna felt a sting of insult. “Are you so wise?”

  Mrs. Marchant raised her brow. “I only meant that I have a chest cold and I am certain that is all he could tell me.” She cleared her throat again. “What has you in such a dreadful disposition today? Lovers’ quarrel?”

  Joanna pressed her lips together to hold back a biting response. “I am afraid you could not be more wrong, Mrs. Marchant.”

  “Then your courtship is progressing?”

  “There is no courtship, Ma’am, I assure you.”

  “That is not what I hear,” she said, looking at Joanna intently over the rim of her tea cup.

  Joanna’s gaze became sharp. “What do you mean?”

  “I heard that Mr. Aldridge had eyes for none but you at the Harrison’s dinner last evening.”

  Joanna drew in a sharp breath. Who on earth would be gossiping about her?

  “He is an attentive friend.”

  Mrs. Marchant chuckled. “An attentive friend, is that all?”

  Joanna stood and walked a few paces away, her heart racing. “Yes, that is all.”

  Mrs. Marchant was silent for a moment, aside from a few lingering coughs, but Joanna could feel her pointed gaze. She kept her face turned away, assuring Mrs. Marchant would not read something in her expression that was not there.

  “Why are you so against love, Miss Leighton?”

  Joanna’s gaze went to the older woman without her consent. How can she possibly have deduced that?

  “What makes you say—”

  Mrs. Marchant waved the question away. “It is obvious. Yet the reason behind it is sure to be interesting.”

  Pain, misery, frustration, and anger all churned together in Joanna’s heart, threatening to break free.

  “You find my pain interesting, Mrs. Marchant?”

  “Your pain?”

  “I have seen what love does to people. How it tortures them and shatters them when their love is lost. I have endured pain enough as it is, I do not wish to subject myself to more.”

  Mrs. Marchant’s face took on a hardness. “Pain is unavoidable, it is a part of life. Unless you plan to live completely alone and friendless, you will find yourself subjected to pain, time and time again.”

  The words struck Joanna and tears began to bite at her eyes. She had friends and family she cared for, and though she had avoided romantic love, she could not pretend that she did not love them.

  A gentle look overcame Mrs. Marchant’s face, one so gentle Joanna wondered if she was looking at the same woman.

  “The beautiful thing about it is that, though there is promised pain in any relationship we forge, the promised joys outweigh the pain by great measures.”

  Joanna’s tears broke from her control, though she was not ashamed for Mrs. Marchant had tears in her eyes as well.

  “I lost my husband years ago, and a son before that. To this day I feel their loss.” Mrs. Marchant smiled through her tears. “But there were many good times, many happy memories. So many, that I would never consider trading them, even if I could be rid of the pain. The joys of life outweigh the pain and gives us something to hold on to when the grief lays hold of our hearts.”

  Joanna’s bitter feelings had decreased, yet still they hummed deep in her heart. She was at a loss for words and Mrs. Marchant seemed to know it.

  “You may not believe me yet, child, but the time will come when you will see that the felicities of love are worth the pain it brings.”

  Joanna nodded, taking out her own handkerchief and wiping her eyes. “I am sorry, Mrs. Marchant.”

  “For?” Mrs. Marchant asked.

  Joanna watched her for a moment, wondering if she really wanted to know or was only toying with her again.

  “Everything.”

  The door opened and Miss Marchant entered, removing her bonnet as she came in.

  “Hello, Mother. Are you feeling any better?”<
br />
  “No,” she said, looking at Joanna a moment longer before turning to her daughter. “But I have had my tea, which should please you.”

  “Yes it does.” Miss Marchant turned to Joanna, not seeming to notice the redness in her eyes. “Thank you again, Miss Leighton, for your help. May we plan on you for next week?”

  Joanna shuffled her feet, uncertain if Mrs. Marchant would wish to have her back. Their gazes met at last and Mrs. Marchant gave a discrete nod. Joanna forced a smile.

  “Yes, I would be pleased to come.”

  “Oh, thank you! We shall look forward to it, won’t we, Mother?”

  “I always look forward to Miss Leighton’s visits. They prove more and more interesting every week.”

  Joanna bowed her head and excused herself, grateful to be out of Mrs. Marchant’s sight. The woman’s words rang in her ears, haunting her all the way home. She was relieved to find Edith waiting for her there.

  “How was your visit with Mrs. Marchant?” Edith asked, setting aside the book she’d been reading while waiting for Joanna.

  Joanna collapsed onto the sofa beside her. “Exhausting.”

  “I am sorry. Was Mrs. Marchant out of sorts again?”

  “She is ill, but other than that, she was her usual self. It was the nature of our conversation I found tiring.”

  Edith tilted her head. “Do tell.”

  When Joanna had relayed the conversation, Edith nodded. “Do you believe her?”

  Joanna sighed. “I believe she believes love is worth the pain, I simply do not know if I do.”

  “Even when you consider the object of your affection?”

  Joanna narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?”

  Edith met her gaze evenly. “I mean Mr. Aldridge, of course. Are your feelings on love altered when you relate them to him?”

  “Love is far too strong a word for what I feel.” She paused, examining her feelings. She did feel something for Mr. Aldridge, but as she prodded those emotions, they began to swell, sending her heart racing. She withdrew from the feeling, finding it safer to avoid. “I will admit to caring for him.”

  Edith patted her hand. “That is a start.”

  “The problem-” Joanna swallowed. “The problem is that I understand that all relationships must hold some pain. But with Mr. Aldridge, I know precisely what the pain will be. It will be exactly what my mother and father went through, and I know that pain was tragic.”