“Why, thank you, John,” Rosalyn said uncertainly. Had she been that selfish?
Well, of course she had. She knew firsthand how John felt because it had been the way her father’s family had made her feel.
And so she had brought her knowledge of social order to the Valley, which was not to say it hadn’t already existed; she’d just managed to escalate the stakes a bit and had been very proud of herself—until now.
John brought the cart to a halt. “Here you are, Mrs. Mandland. I’ll take the cart to the stable.”
“Thank you,” she murmured and stepped out. John drove off, but Rosalyn stood in the drive looking at the house. By right of marriage, this was her house now. Maiden Hill. She wondered if her husband waited inside and what she would tell him. He must know that Lord Loftus would never give him the Commons seat.
She entered the house. Colin was not in the sitting room, although the desk still had papers and the inkwell and pens from last night. She walked to the back of the house. Cook was busy with dinner. Covey was sitting in a chair in the kitchen doing her needlework.
“Have you seen my husband?” Rosalyn asked.
“No,” Covey answered. “I’m not certain he has returned yet. There was quite a celebration going on at the White Lion. Apparently there were gentlemen there who wished Colin to go into politics.”
“What does that mean?” Rosalyn said, removing her straw hat.
“I don’t know,” Covey answered. “How were Lord and Lady Loftus?”
“They refused to see me,” she confessed.
“It is not such a great loss, Rosalyn,” Covey answered. “They are not your friends.”
No, but they were of her class. Where did one go when one threw off all that was expected and accepted?
The front door opened. “Excuse me,” she murmured and went down the hall. She took only a few steps, however, before she stopped.
Colin was there, standing in the doorway, and she was reminded of the first moment they’d met.
Only, he was no longer a stranger…or the confident man who had come to take over her home. He removed his hat. “Did I go too far, Rosalyn?”
“You won’t have the Commons seat.”
“I don’t want the damn thing.”
She nodded, and then, taking courage in hand, said, “It means we will be here together.” She glanced around the hallway. “No separate lives, you in London, and I in Clitheroe.”
“No.” He was watching her closely now, and there was something in his expression that was different from the way he had looked at her even this morning.
Rosalyn feared to hope. He’d been so quiet this morning….
“A great deal has changed,” she admitted.
“Yes.” He drew a breath and released it. “Rosalyn, I’ve made a muddle of everything. I don’t believe we will be on anyone’s guest list.”
She understood that by “anyone” he referred to the gentry.
“Even my brother is in danger of being ostracized,” he continued.
“Val will like that.”
Her words sparked a reluctant smile. “Yes, she will. She’s a bit of a republican.”
“I expect the sermons will be fiery from the pulpit from now on.”
“They may be,” he said. “He was proud of me, Rosalyn. He told me so.”
There was a wealth of unspoken emotion in his last sentence. She, who had no family that cared, understood what he meant.
“The question is,” he continued, “can you live with what I’ve done?”
For a second, Rosalyn was stunned. Now she understood her husband’s quiet mood. “You fear I disapprove?”
No one had truly ever cared what she thought about anything other than a dinner invitation or a dress hem. The significance of his question set her heart beating in her chest.
“You left,” he said. “I looked and you were gone.”
“I went after Lord Loftus.” Rosalyn caught her breath, fearful that he might not mean what she thought. “I wanted the Commons seat because I believed that was what you wanted. I thought I could help, but he will have nothing to do with me.”
A muscle hardened in Colin’s jaw. “How dare he refuse my wife.”
Rosalyn hurried to his side. She placed her hand on his chest lest he turn and walk out the door to avenge her honor. His heart beat as rapidly as hers. He looked down at her. Their faces were mere inches apart. “Colin, I don’t care about him.”
“You don’t understand. He may never speak to you again.”
“Then it will be his loss.” She dared to move closer, feeling the familiar pattern of his body, which fit so well with hers. “I was proud of you today. Yes, I’m fearful. The crowd, their reaction…Lord Loftus…”
He covered her hand with his. “I’m no radical, but I can’t stay silent any longer. I used to believe that I had to join their ranks. The truth be known, I’m worse at pretending to be a snob than I am at singing.”
Dear God, she loved him so much. “I was the snob,” she confessed. “I’d worked so hard to become someone of importance, I’d forgotten what is important. You are important.”
“Rosalyn, are you saying—?” he started cautiously.
“Yes, Colin, I love you to distraction.” There, she’d said it. She’d taken all of her pride and placed it in front of him.
It was not misplaced.
Colin gave a glad whoop, swept her up in his arms, and twirled her right there in the front hall until she was dizzy. “And I love you,” he practically crowed. He spun her around again. “Ah, Rosalyn, you have made me the happiest of men.”
When she could gather her wits, she dared to ask, “When did you know?”
“That I loved you? I don’t recall. It seems to have been living inside me, a constant companion waiting for me to notice.” He kissed her hand joined with his. “Last night, when you stood in the doorway, I realized my one fear in speaking what I truly felt was of losing you. When I looked out in the crowd and you were gone…” He shook his head. “But I knew you hadn’t left. Deep in my soul, I knew.”
“I could never leave you,” she said. “And I think I started to love you from the moment you butted your head into my life.”
His eyes danced with mock offense. “I never butted into your life.”
“You walked right into my house.”
“Whose house?” he dared to ask, and she laughed.
Colin swung her up in his arms and started up the stairs. “It will be time for dinner soon,” she weakly protested.
“I’m not hungry,” he answered. “At least not for food.”
She didn’t argue. She couldn’t. Her appetite was for something decidedly different too.
Colin carried her into their room so no demons could follow…and none did.
Oh, no, none at all.
Matt insisted that they remarry “decently,” as he put it.
Colin and Rosalyn made no protest. They even went through the formalities of having the banns announced. Everyone in the congregation took great delight in teasing them. Everyone, that is, save for the Lovejoyces and Lord and Lady Loftus. They no longer patronized St. Mary Magdalene’s Church. Neither did Mrs. Sheffield and her husband, although Mr. and Mrs. Blair still came.
Mr. and Mrs. Shellsworth left in a month’s time for London, so they didn’t have the opportunity to wish Colin and Rosalyn happiness.
The wedding itself was held on a Tuesday afternoon with the wedding “breakfast” at the White Lion. Colin spared no expense, and Rosalyn found herself married to a wealthy man. No more worrying about candle stubs.
She’d discovered over the past few weeks he’d been talking to John about improvements to Maiden Hill. What she learned at the wedding was that she wasn’t the only one who had noticed. Their farming neighbors had been wondering what “Young Mandland” was up to, and they had questions about new farming methods.
They drove home in the phaeton, which Matt’s children had decorated with colorful
bits of paper and ribbon.
On the way to the house, they passed a stretch of woods. Rosalyn saw a flash of color in the border of the field. She put her hand on Colin’s arm.
“Please stop.”
He did, and she pointed to the fox sitting in the shadows. It was their fox, and sitting by him was a vixen. “Is it my imagination, or is he grinning at us?” Rosalyn asked.
“He’s grinning,” Colin agreed before their bold little friend disappeared back into the shadows. His mate followed in his steps.
Colin and Rosalyn sat for a moment in the middle of the road. “Once I wondered where in the world I would find a place to fit in,” she said.
“Do you know now?” he asked.
She nodded. “In your arms.”
“Let’s go home,” he whispered.
“Yes.”
And together they drove off.
Yes, life was good.
Very good indeed.
Epilogue
Colin and Rosalyn decided to change the name of their estate from Maiden Hill to Fox Hill.
The move was enough to set Lord Loftus’s teeth on edge. To everyone he could, he told the story of how Mandland had denied him his fox.
Most people sympathized with the fox.
Of course, Lord Loftus’s hunting days were over. Lady Loftus discovered she and her friends didn’t have the wherewithal to create a society in the Valley without Rosalyn. They could have their routs and soirees, but they lacked the special “extra” Rosalyn had brought to these functions. Hers had been interesting; theirs were boring.
There was nothing left to do but return to where society reigned, and so Lady Loftus packed up her household and her husband and moved all to town.
The Valley heaved a sigh of relief. Most people liked Lord Loftus but agreed with Colin that a new age was arriving. Loftus was part of the old order. The Mandland brothers were the new.
Fortunately, Colin’s viewpoints were those of a Moderate. There were those with more radical opinions, and he was instrumental in cooling down hot tempers. Not to say he didn’t relish the role of loyal opposition and having the power to badger Mr. Shellsworth at every opportunity.
Very quickly the people in the Valley started talking about what steps could be taken to send Colin to the Commons. After all, not every seat was “owned” by a peer.
In December, Rosalyn realized she was pregnant. What’s more, she’d grown very close to her sister-in-law, Val. Still, there was something missing from her life. She couldn’t decide what…or, rather, she was afraid to face it.
On a sunny day the following May, Covey helped her discover what it was.
Rosalyn was scattering seeds in her front flower bed, the one that was her pride and joy and Oscar’s favorite snack.
“A letter has arrived for you,” Covey said.
“I don’t remember seeing the post.”
“It didn’t come that way.” Covey held out the envelope.
Rosalyn recognized the writing and the seal. Heedless of her serviceable gray dress, she sat on the lawn and broke the wax.
The letter was from her mother.
For a moment, Rosalyn couldn’t breathe. Covey was watching her with concern, and Rosalyn didn’t want to show emotion. She forced herself to focus on the words:
My dear Rosalyn—
It has been my fondest dream to someday see you again. Mrs. Covington has told me of your marriage and the impending birth of a child. I have always prayed for your happiness and take great joy in knowing you are married to a good and honest man.
I have decided to take a great risk. I have journeyed from our home in Glasgow to see you. I am staying at the home of a friend of Mrs. Covington’s. I will be there until Monday. I hope you will have time to see me.
Your mother
For a moment, Rosalyn couldn’t think. Now she knew why Covey watched her so anxiously.
“Should I not have given you the letter?” Covey asked.
“No, it’s fine.” Rosalyn raised her hands to her temples and rubbed them. She got to her feet. “I need to find Colin.”
She found him in the barn. Without a word, she handed him the letter. He read it. Except for when they were first married, she’d not mentioned her mother again.
“Do you want to see her?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” She fanned her hot face with the envelope.
“Rosalyn, how would you feel if our child had this decision to make?”
“Our child will never have this decision to make.”
Colin put his arms around her waist. “The world changes every day. You don’t know what the future holds. How would you feel if our child had this decision to make?” he repeated.
“I’d want her to see me,” she said. She leaned against his strong chest. “And yet, I’m afraid.”
“I’ll go with you,” he said, and he did. They went that very afternoon.
Rosalyn was nervous—until they arrived in front of Mrs. Howell’s cottage. There was no mistaking the identity of the woman sitting on a bench in the sun there.
This woman was a far cry from the mother of Rosalyn’s memory. This mother was older, sadder, rounder. She came to her feet, and for a moment the two women stared at each other as strangers—and then her mother opened her arms and said, “Rosalyn.”
Rosalyn could not have stayed away if she’d wanted to.
That afternoon was bittersweet. The rift between her and her mother would never be completely bridged, and yet, at last, they could understand each other better.
Charles Mandland was born September second. He came into the world screaming with the healthiest set of lungs anyone had ever heard. Matt predicted he certainly had the makings of a bishop and told everyone so during Charles’s christening.
Colin didn’t care what his son had the makings of. He’d learned it made no matter if a man was a cobbler or a vicar or a farmer.
What was really important in life was whether or not a man had learned to love and to love well. Wasn’t that what Val had once tried to tell him?
He stood in the church, his son in his arms, his wife by his side, and felt his parents’ blessings.
“No demons,” he whispered when they retook their seats.
Rosalyn smiled. She knew he referred to the threshold and his mother’s tale.
“No,” she agreed, “not now or ever.”
And so it was.
Acknowledgments
I had the best time researching this book.
If you ever find yourself in the Ribble Valley, you must visit the Old Post House Hotel on King Street in Clitheroe, John and Janet Spedding, innkeepers. Order John’s toffee cake and cream. I tell you, I wake up in the middle of the night dreaming of it. John promised me the recipe, which he then never shared. You have my permission to badger him for it—and if you get it, I can be reached at [email protected].
Truly, John and Janet are delightful hosts and well worth a visit.
I’d also like to express my appreciation to Mr. Simon Entwistle, local historian, raconteur, delightful traveling companion. He gave us a tour of the Valley unlike any other and patiently answered my questions. What a day we had.
Let me advise you now that any errors are my own and cannot be credited to that good man, who did his best to set me straight.
Also, if you are in the mood for a good story, Simon is easy to find. He conducts ghost tours for tourists like us, and the local tourism offices have his name. But see if you can share a few minutes over a pint alone with him. He knows the rumors behind every murder and bit of skullduggery in the Valley for the past eight hundred years and has the talent for telling a tale.
Exit, pursued by a bear.
Stage direction in
The Winter’s Tale
Wm. Shakespeare
About the Author
New York Times-bestselling author Cathy Maxwell has written thirteen romance novels, including Adventures of a Scottish Heiress, and The Seduction o
f an English Lady. She lives in Virginia with her children, horses, dogs, cats, and a husband who drives her crazy in all the best ways.
Fans can contact Cathy at www.booktalk.com/cmaxwell.
Don’t miss the next book by Cathy Maxwell! Sign up now for AuthorTracker by visiting www.AuthorTracker.com.
Romances by Cathy Maxwell
The Seduction of an English Lady
Adventures of a Scottish Heiress
The Lady is Tempted
The Wedding Wager
The Marriage Contract
A Scandalous Marriage
Married in Haste
Because of You
When Dreams Come True
Falling in Love Again
You and No Other
Treasured Vows
All Things Beautiful
Temptation of a Proper Governess (coming September 2004)
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
THE SEDUCTION OF AN ENGLISH LADY. COPYRIGHT © 2004 BY CATHY MAXWELL. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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