by Anne Barton
He repeated it to himself quietly, over and over, studying each word’s shape, sound, and size. He memorized the way his mouth moved when he said each word out loud. Then he took the paper and pen that the guard had given him and slowly, carefully, at the top of the page began to copy the sentence. When he’d finished, he wrote it again. And again. By the tenth iteration, his hand remembered the words and the pen flowed smoothly across the paper. The left to right movement, the loops and bumps of the letters, and the crosses and dots created a rhythm in his head. If it wasn’t exactly soothing, at least it took his mind off his current predicament.
So he repeated the process with the next sentence.
He discovered that when he placed the edge of his paper under the line of text he was reading, the letters didn’t seem to move as they usually did. The paper was like an anchor that kept the text above it from rocking wildly. And for the first time, he began to think—to believe—that reading was not beyond him.
When the morning guard grunted and slid a breakfast tray into Charles’s cell, he placed Rose’s ribbon between the pages before closing the book and choking down a few bites of cold gruel. After he ate, he continued writing, and when he ran out of space on his paper, he made a trade with the solitaire-playing guard, exchanging a couple of coins for several clean sheets and an additional pot of ink.
As Charles read and wrote, he could almost forget that he’d been accused of theft and imprisoned. That during his one night with Rose he’d tasted heaven… and then been cast into this hell.
He shook his head, erasing those sorts of dangerous thoughts. Instead, he let his eyes make sense of letters and his fingers glide across the page. Having something constructive to do kept his anger at bay, and that was a necessity. If he allowed rage to surface, he’d only appear guiltier, digging himself deeper into trouble.
Lunch bore an uncanny resemblance to breakfast, but Charles forced himself to eat it all. When he was done, he did forty push-ups, which served the dual purposes of maintaining his strength and warming his blood. He was just about to open his book when a small commotion in the guards’ area distracted him—and every other prisoner on the floor.
He slid his bags into the corner, covered them with his brown blanket, and walked to the iron bars at the front of his cell. Three visitors, still bundled in their coats and hats, conferred with the morning guard, who looked annoyed at the interruption of his daily rituals—playing cards and swilling liquor from his flask.
“What’s your business here?” the bleary-eyed guard demanded.
“We’ve come to visit Mr. Charles Holland.”
He blinked. The man who’d spoken was Edward, a footman from Yardley Manor—he recognized the voice. The two women with him wore plain gray cloaks and hats and were almost surely maids. One carried a small basket that the guard snatched from her hands.
“What’s this?”
“Some food for Mr. Holland.” Edward took a step forward and scowled. “They told us downstairs that we could give it to him.”
The guard snorted, unimpressed. “After I have a look.” He unceremoniously dumped the contents of the basket on the large table, picked up one of several apples, and bit into it. Juice trickled down his chin, but he didn’t bother to wipe it. “Holland is over there,” he said, jerking his head in Charles’s direction. “Give him the food. You have ten minutes. I’ll be watching.” But he plopped down on his stool, munched on the apple, and turned his attention back to his card game.
The trio of visitors gathered the items on the table and rushed over. Edward, followed by the kitchen maid, Shirley, and—
Dear God.
Rose pushed the dingy gray hood off her head and curled her gloved hands around the iron bars that separated them. “Charles.” Her eyes shone and her hair glistened, brightening the whole damned place. He wanted to reach between the bars and touch her face, haul her close, and breathe in her scent.
“What are you doing here?” he asked. “This is no place for you.”
“It’s no place for you, either,” she retorted. “And you wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t been trying to help me.”
Edward and Shirley stood on either side of Rose. “We were sorry to hear that Lady Yardley fired you and even sorrier to learn that she accused you of stealing.”
“She didn’t fire me—I quit.”
Edward shook his head. “It’s just not right.”
“Thank you,” Charles said. “It was good of you and Shirley to come.”
“The whole staff would have joined us if they could,” the maid said. “Everyone but Mr. Evans. He’s taken Lady Yardley’s side.”
Rose turned to Shirley, her brow wrinkled. “What do you mean?”
The maid flushed scarlet. “Mr. Evans claims he witnessed Mr. Holland stealing Lady Yardley’s possessions from the library.”
Rose gasped. “But that’s not true.”
“None of us believes it,” Edward interjected, “but Mr. Evans says he’s been asked to testify on Lady Yardley’s behalf, and he intends to. He’d say or do anything to ingratiate himself to her. Blasted idiot. Begging your ladies’ pardon,” he quickly added.
Rose’s face turned ashen. “I was hopeful that you could convince the magistrate of your innocence,” she said to Charles. “After all, truth is on your side. But if Mr. Evans corroborates Lady Yardley’s story…”
The anguish in her eyes shredded him. “Do not worry. I will find a way out of this.” He shot a wary look at the guard. “I’m already working on it.”
“We brought you some sustenance.” Shirley offered him an apple, a loosely wrapped loaf of bread, and a wedge of cheese.
“This is awfully kind of you—and it means the world to me.” He reached through the bars and took the items one at a time. He broke off a piece of the bread and a hunk of cheese, then handed the rest back to Shirley and Edward. “Would you mind sharing these with the other prisoners? They’ve been here much longer than I.”
“Of course,” Edward said. He put a protective arm around Shirley and led her toward the next cell.
Once they were alone, Rose exclaimed, “This is awful.”
“True, but it’s wonderful to see you.” His chest was nearly bursting with the need to hold her, to kiss her, but he kept his distance, aware of the guard’s periodic glances.
“You must not despair. Lady Bonneville is doing her best to persuade Lady Yardley to drop the charges and have you released. She can be quite formidable.”
“I don’t doubt it.” He’d seen the way the viscountess glared through her lorgnette. “But why would she try to help a lowly steward?”
“Perhaps she knows that I care for you.”
“Rose,” he said firmly, “I appreciate what you’re trying to do. But my welfare is not your concern. We had our reasons for parting ways. You need to forget about me and… move forward with your life.”
Her chin dropped and she took half a step back as though he’d offended her deeply. “We may have said good-bye, but things were different then. You’re in trouble now, and I would never walk away from someone that I… from someone that I care about.”
He hung his head, gutted. “What if I told you that it would be easier for me?”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s hard to explain, but I’d feel better if you weren’t wasting your time worrying about me. I want you to be happy, to enjoy your family, to find someone who…” Loves you like I do. “. . . will be the kind of husband you deserve.”
She reached through the bars and grabbed his wrist, sending a frisson of longing through him. “I refuse to accept that,” she hissed. “Perhaps you have already managed to put our relationship behind you—wrapped it up in a tidy package and stored it away. But I haven’t. I can’t bear to. Not yet.”
He freed his wrist from her grasp and laced his fingers through hers. “Make no mistake. I will never forget you.” She was part of him. Body, heart, and soul. “I just don’t wan
t to worry about you doing something foolish for my sake.”
“Like disguising myself as a maid and coming to visit you in prison?” The hint of a smile played about her lips.
“Precisely.” He grinned, then sobered. “You’re leaving for London in two days.” It was both a statement and a plea.
“As it stands now,” she said noncommittally.
“I’m glad you came to see me. But now you must stop worrying and leave matters to me. When I tell the magistrate that I plan to leave for America, he’ll probably be more than happy to release me.” In truth, Charles hoped to be gone long before that. “We must believe that justice will prevail.”
Rose shook her head slowly. “I wish I shared your faith and optimism, but I do not. I believe our best chance lies with Lady Bonneville. I’ll place my faith in her.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Buck: (1) To jump with an arched back, often unsaddling a rider. (2) A gentleman who pursues pleasure and enjoys debauchery, as in As the viscountess propelled Rose across the ballroom toward a group of young bucks, she couldn’t escape the sensation that she was being fed to the lions.
Lady Bonneville pinched the bridge of her nose and raised her brows as though a headache were coming on. “I’m afraid there’s nothing else I can do.”
Behind the viscountess, Audrey whisked back and forth across the bedchamber, gathering Lady Bonneville’s things and efficiently folding them before placing them in her trunk.
“But you can’t just give up,” Rose protested. “Charles is counting on you, and so am I.”
“I know, dear gel. I tried every possible tactic to persuade Diana to drop the charges. I even made a thinly veiled threat to ruin her reputation myself.”
“But why? Why would she seek to destroy him?”
“It is a truly curious thing,” the viscountess said thoughtfully. “She is quite aware of the risk to her own good name and is determined to proceed with her false accusations in spite of it. Perhaps her feelings for Mr. Holland ran deeper than we knew. Many a scorned woman—and man—have behaved irrationally, and I fear it’s true in this case. Logic is useless.”
Rose thought of the sketches. Clearly, Lady Yardley was more than a little infatuated with her steward.
“Not only does Diana refuse to drop the charges,” Lady Bonneville continued softly, hesitantly, “she says she wants him to hang for his offense.”
“What?” Rose’s knees wobbled, and she sank onto the edge of Lady Bonneville’s bed. Her heart pounded as if it would burst, and her throat constricted painfully. “Surely, the magistrate wouldn’t sentence him to hang. He hasn’t done anything wrong.”
“You and I are not in complete agreement on that point. However, even I don’t believe the young man deserves to die. Let us hope that the magistrate is not swayed by her lies, beauty, and wealth. The fact remains, Rose. We’ve done all we can.”
The slump of Lady Bonneville’s shoulders and the defeat in her voice chilled Rose to the bone. If the viscountess had given up the fight, Charles had no one left on his side—no one but Rose.
And she wouldn’t let him down. She’d stay up all night, examine their options, and visit him again tomorrow. Together, they’d work through it all and figure out something.
The viscountess cleared her throat. “I am sorry that things didn’t turn out as you’d hoped.”
“I know you tried your best,” Rose choked out. “Thank you for that.”
“Everything will seem better in the morning. It always does.”
Eager for the solace of her room, Rose stood on shaky legs, then blinked. “Wait. Why is Audrey packing your things at this late hour? We have all day tomorrow to pack.”
“Unfortunately, we do not. I cannot stay under this roof for one more night,” the viscountess declared. “You must go now and gather your things together as well. We shall leave as soon as the coach is loaded and take a room at the White Hart for the evening. We’ll return to London first thing in the morning.
“We’re leaving Bath tomorrow?” Rose had been counting on a couple of more days. She needed time to devise a plan to help Charles. She’d be useless to him in London. Desperate, she grasped at the only straw she could think of. “But I told Lord Stanton that I’d be at the ball.”
Lady Bonneville raised her lorgnette suspiciously. “The ball? I had not realized that it was a priority for you.”
“I confess to being less than enthused initially, but we did say that we’d attend. Besides, it would be rude to leave town without warning.”
The viscountess shrugged, unconcerned. “If I offend a few sensitive souls, all the better.” Rose had forgotten that rudeness was an integral part of her carefully cultivated, formidable reputation.
She scrambled for something else. “What about Lady Yardley?”
Lady Bonneville narrowed her eyes. “What about her?”
Treading lightly, Rose continued. “If we leave before the ball, she’ll be gloating for everyone to see. She’ll let it be known that there was a falling out and make it seem as though we ran away, scared. But then perhaps that is true…”
“Nonsense!” the viscountess snapped. “I would never run from the likes of her.”
“I know that,” Rose assured her. “However, I could see how some might jump to the wrong conclusion.”
“We will attend the ball tomorrow night.” The viscountess craned her neck in search of the maid. “Audrey, where is my fan?”
The maid produced a fan with impressive speed. Lady Bonneville snatched it, snapped it open like a switchblade, and waved it with force sufficient to power a small windmill. “We will leave Yardley Manor this evening, not because we wish to flee the premises, but because we cannot abide the company and do not tolerate untruthfulness. That said, we will not alter our plans to attend the ball. We shall go, you shall dance the entire evening, and then we shall leave for London the next afternoon. At our leisure.”
Rose nodded solemnly. “If you think that’s best.”
“I do. Go pack your things, and Audrey will be along to help as soon as she’s done here. The sooner we remove ourselves from this odious place, the better.”
“Yes, my lady.” She scurried out of the room before the viscountess could change her mind.
But she didn’t go to her own bedchamber as Lady Bonneville had instructed. She stood in the corridor for a moment. Her back pressed to the wall, she closed her eyes and breathed. There was no time for elaborate plans, no time for indecision. And though tempting, falling apart was a luxury she definitely could not afford. Not when Charles could hang.
An idea flashed in her mind. An ill-advised, utterly mad idea. But patience and good sense had not served her well—at least not in this instance. Drastic measures were required.
With renewed determination, she straightened and strode toward the staircase. There were two tasks she had to accomplish before leaving Yardley Manor.
The first was relatively easy. She walked directly to the servant’s quarters and stopped the first maid she encountered.
The young woman squeaked, clearly startled. “My lady! May I help you with something? Are you lost?”
“I need to speak with Shirley, immediately.”
The maid glanced up and down the empty hall and gulped. “Follow me.”
She led Rose past several doors, then stopped and knocked on one. When Shirley opened the door, Rose swept into the room without hesitation. Another maid sat on one of the two small beds, braiding her hair. When she saw Rose, her fingers froze.
“Would you give us a moment, please?” Rose asked.
The maid scurried out of the room, her braid unraveling, and shut the door behind her.
“Lady Rose.” Shirley wrung her hands. “What brings you here?”
“It concerns Charles. I may require your help tomorrow night. Edward’s, too.”
“Has something happened to Mr. Holland?”
“Not yet. But I’m afraid his life is in danger.” Rose kept
her voice even despite the panic that fluttered in her chest.
The maid blinked, and her face turned white. “I will help if I can, and I’m sure Edward will, too. What would you like us to do?”
“I should tell you that there is risk involved. I promise that I’ll do everything I can to ensure you are not implicated in any trouble that arises out of this plan.” And there was sure to be trouble.
Shirley nodded bravely. “Mr. Holland is a good man. He doesn’t deserve to die.”
Rose managed a grateful smile. “I need to visit the prison again, in the evening this time, while Lady Yardley is attending a ball. You mustn’t tell anyone about the visit or that you’ve spoken to me—for your sake and Edward’s, the fewer people who know about this, the easier it will be for me to protect you.”
Shirley nodded soberly. “Yes, my lady.”
“Lady Bonneville and I are leaving Yardley Manor tonight and will be staying at the White Hart Inn in Bath. I must go now, but I’ll send word to you tomorrow morning and provide further instructions.”
“I’ll speak with Edward tonight.” The maid pressed her lips together and inhaled deeply. Her forehead wrinkled in concern, she looked directly into Rose’s eyes. “Be careful. When Lady Yardley is defied, she’s often unpredictable and… cruel. I would not wish to see you hurt.”
Rose reached out and clasped the maid’s hands in her own. “Thank you. You needn’t worry about me, but do take care of yourself.” She released Shirley’s hands and walked toward the door. “Good night.”
Now for the second task. Rose left the servants’ quarters and headed toward the library, praying that she wouldn’t encounter Lady Yardley. A hush seemed to have settled over the main rooms of the house. Perhaps in the aftermath of the verbal clash with Lady Bonneville, Lady Yardley had retreated to her bedchamber to lick her wounds and await the viscountess’s departure. Rose hoped so.
The library was dark, except for the light of a single lamp on a small table beside the door. Rose picked up the lamp and moved it to the mantel. She placed an ottoman on the hearth and stepped on it. With trembling fingers, she reached for the painting above the mantel and swung it open.
