So many homes held lavish studies for male heads of household but nothing for the ladies besides escritoires in the corners of their boudoirs or against the walls in common rooms.
This was the sort of room for whiling away the hours, making lists, planning, writing letters, and simply living—mistress of her own domain without society’s pressure to wed. Pressures she’d had enough of to last her a lifetime. Why people put up with society’s tyrannical marriage arrangements, she’d never understand. She placed a hand over her heart. “It is beautiful, and it shows excellent foresight that such a room was included when the house was planned and built.”
“So glad you like it. The staff went over this room with extra care for you, Miss Cabot.” Beaming with satisfaction, Mrs. Good clasped her work worn hands in front of her ample bosom. “I purposely saved this room for the last on the tour.”
“Having my very own study is so inspiring.” She ran her hand across the glossy mahogany desk. One more confirmation this was the place for her. “Thank you for the tour. I’ll be in here should anyone need me.”
She wasted no time in putting the study to use. Seated at the writing desk in the quiet, charming room, she opened the various compartments and drawers, withdrew a pen, ink, and a piece of stationery and got into position to write. But the pen remained still. The ink on the pen, suspended above the paper, dried. Sentences formed in her mind, only to be rejected. The dry ink didn’t matter, since glib words and phrases vanished like vapor. She realized an inherent problem. How was she to share her planned harbor from undesired marriages with others?
Palm pressed to forehead, heart sinking, she tussled with the dilemma. A large obstacle loomed. How could she not have foreseen this? How foolish to think the plan would go off without a hitch! All those hours of convincing Uncle George to allow this move, and now this roadblock. Offering aid to other young ladies would be more complicated than simply penning an advertisement.
According to Rosanna’s original plan, when a young lady fleeing a distasteful, forced betrothal or an undesirable arranged marriage learned of Rosanna’s services, they would see a discreet advertisement in the Times, and arrange sanctuary here at Honor’s Point. Notices placed in newspapers, however, would also be seen by the very people from whom the young ladies wanted to flee. This presented a severe dilemma.
Rosanna’s head sank until her forehead rested on the desk. She considered the setback from all angles. The crisis appeared to be insurmountable. None of the meager solutions that came to mind solved the flaw. Any announcement of the refuge would reveal its existence and defeat the purpose.
Thanking the Lord she’d not confided the defective plan to anyone save Barton, she suppressed a groan, took a deep breath, and stared out the window while massaging her neck. A walk might clear her mind and perhaps the fresh air would blow a solution into her head.
Rosanna retrieved her bonnet from the table in the front hall.
Perkins let her out the door. He followed her out onto the top step.
The parkland around the large house was landscaped to capitalize on the hilltop setting. Paths diverged from the house in four directions. “Where do the trails lead?”
Deferential, Perkins gave an intriguing answer. “Each one leads to a spectacular view of hills, and woods, or patchwork fields.”
She tied her bonnet ribbons, eager to be on her way—to walk off her anxiety and perhaps concoct a solution. “How lovely, Perkins. Is there any danger on the property, of which I should be aware?”
“No, Miss Cabot. Nary an intruder, incident, or accident of any kind has befallen a lady here. Honor’s Point is safe.” He handed her a parasol and placed a shawl around her shoulders.
She thanked Perkins and set off, loneliness ratcheting through her heart. “I’ve no one to consult with. I alone must think of a way out,” she murmured as she walked toward the convergence of paths, reveling in the fresh air, even while wracking her brain for an answer to the puzzle.
The warm breeze coming off the hill, and the scent of summer flowers combined to restore her spirits within a short time. A sensation of relaxed freedom washed over her. The blessed solitude without the requirement of a maid at her elbow at all times was a refreshing novelty.
Energy flowing, she selected one of the four paths. Her chosen route meandered down the main hill, and then passed into the woods. Within the cover of the trees the path grew less tame. Before she knew it, the path took her to the edge of a ridge.
To her left rose an outcropping of large white rocks in the distance. This must be one of the boundary markers the estate’s steward mentioned. Rosanna planned to walk out on the other paths soon, each one leading to a corner of the property.
From this ridge, through a cluster of trees below the rocks, she could make out the roofline of a structure. It appeared to be a small dwelling—a cottage perhaps? Besides the dower house and gatehouse at the foot of the drive, she was aware of no cottages on the property, other than the tenants’ homes, which were in the opposite direction. She would ask the steward about it the next time they spoke.
She backed away from the precipice and sat on a convenient tree stump near the path. Bowing her head, she thanked God for her safe arrival at her own place of refuge, for peace of mind, and for an answer enabling her to offer sanctuary to other young ladies. Reinvigorated, and with a lighter heart, even without, as yet, any resolution, she rose and walked back to the manor house. Due to her exertions, she anticipated a reviving cup of tea.
Perkins appeared as if by magic to open the door before she’d barely touched the steps.
She shed her bonnet, shawl and parasol. “Thank you, Perkins. I had a lovely walk. The beauty of the property is unrivalled. Please send tea to my study.”
She spotted a letter on the silver mail tray. Lifting it, she examined it. The front of the envelope featured a feminine scrawl. In a murmur she read, “To Miss Rosanna Cabot, from E. M.” Who was E.M.? None of the few people who knew her direction had those initials. Perplexed, she entered her little study. While waiting for a servant to bring tea, she tore open the letter.
Dear Rosanna ~
Perhaps you recall the last time we met. It was at the Banting ball. You remembered me and our friendship at the academy. Those idyllic years seem so far off, don’t they? Even though that ball was over a month ago, our conversation stayed with me. You said you were about to buy a property and move away to the country. The name Honor’s Point stuck in my mind and after much difficulty, I was able to find its location through a discreet and helpful reference librarian.
My situation is dire. I must presume your permission to visit. I heard some whispers you’ve escaped the arranged marriage a relative planned for you. Your kind friendliness to me allows me to assume and plead you will give me aid toward the same end. My parents are pressing me fierce to accept a revolting codger as husband. This was while also attempting to affiance me to a hideous first cousin. In fact, I run for my life as soon as this is posted.
With much hope and trust, your friend,
Elspeth Mordant, London.
Elspeth Mordant. The young lady with the flowing red hair at academy. Never had a prayer been answered so visibly and so quickly. Tears of joy welled in Rosanna’s eyes. Let the tears flow. This is amazing. A possible refugee landing almost right in her lap. Such an express answer—a clear sign that God listened to her prayers. This needed contemplation.
A maid tiptoed in, white-knuckled hands clutching a fancy, enameled tray. “Miss? Here’s your tea.”
Rosanna snapped back to the present. She’d fallen into a daze, hands limp in her lap, staring out the window with a wide smile on her face. What the little maid must think. “Oh, dear me, I was woolgathering. Don’t be afraid, dear. I’m sure I met you on the day of my arrival, but your name escapes me.”
“Me name is Dot, Miss.”
“Dot. I shall make sure to use your name so I remember it. Well, Dot, I would dearly love a spot of tea. Please put the tray over here.”
She indicated a table in front of two cozy armchairs in an alcove.
“This fine?” The tray’s contents rattled as the nervous maid set it down. Her hands flew to her red cheeks.
“That’s perfect, Dot. Ooh, some of cook’s delicious bread, with butter and jam will suffice. Thank you for bringing the tray so promptly. I shall enjoy my repast.” She smiled and the relieved maid curtsied on her way out.
Indeed, the food tasted delicious, but only distracted her for a few moments. Thoughts of establishing the refuge returned. After almost giving up on the idea, Elspeth had found her. What to do now? To start, she would prepare for a guest. Her plan could be enacted, and at least one young lady in want could be helped. A friend—who was also a wonderful, suitable guest in dire need of Rosanna’s refuge.
4
Barton began to scold the minute Rosanna entered the room. Any louder, and her voice would qualify as a screech. “Is it true, what Perkins told me? That you went out alone? I am severely opposed to that.”
Interrupted by the outrage poured out on her by the lady’s maid, Rosanna’s pleasant musings ceased. “Please. You are hurting my ears.”
The irate companion stood her ground with hands on hips and a martial gleam in her eye. She inhaled, then lowered her voice to a shade above a whisper. “Fine. To think, a refined young lady such as you, out gallivanting alone. The good Lord knows what might have happened. You promised not to go out unescorted.”
Rosanna turned her attention to Barton’s words “Now, now, Barton, I’m not a child anymore. It’s surely acceptable for me to stroll about my own property. Is it not?”
Barton’s worried brows descended from their heights. “Best to be careful.”
“Oh, my. This isn’t London. I can manage without a chaperone on rare occasions. Please don’t read me a scold today. Join me. I’ll share my freshly-brewed tea with you as well as some excellent news.”
“Fine. No more scolding this time, but don’t think I shall forget, nor shall I stop caring about your safety. What news?”
“First, let me ring for a second cup.” Rosanna jingled the bell, making Barton wait for the tidbit. “Once you have a cup of hot tea, I’ll tell.”
Barton took her hands off her hips with reluctant compliance and made herself comfortable on one of the chintz-covered chairs near the tea table.
Rosanna stood and moved over to the French doors, to drink in the delightful landscape. Near the house, a petite terrace was surrounded by a hedge of roses and farther out, gorgeous local hills were sprinkled with numerous shades of green foliage. She glanced over her shoulder, leaving the luscious sight, to study Barton’s posture. Keeping bossy Barton in suspense for a minute or two more wouldn’t hurt.
Dot answered the bell and scurried off to get another china cup, saucer, spoon, and plate as instructed.
Barton patted the other chair. “Please come and sit, Miss Rosanna. The water will stay hot, and I’d like to hear the news. It will take her forever to return—too long to wait. Tell me now, if you please.”
“Before I tell you, I must start a list.” Rosanna went to her desk, wrote for a moment, then held up a small, black notebook, giving it a shake for emphasis.
Barton’s lips straightened into a pursed line. “You love to keep me in suspense.”
“I’ve started a list of tasks to help me become better acquainted with Honor’s Point.” She read aloud. “Number one: ask the steward about the cottage I saw in the distance. I shall add to the list as other tasks occur to me.” She closed the petite book, keeping it in her hand, and sat in the second armchair. “Oh, Barton, the news is so special.”
“Start at the beginning.” Barton settled in, avid eyes glowing. “First, tell me, how exactly did you come about the news?” Clearly impatient, she tried a guess. “Did you meet someone on your walk?”
Her encouraging expression made Rosanna want to laugh—the woman did love tittle-tattle. Amused relief coursed over Rosanna, as it appeared Barton’s avid interest in news caused her mind to gloss over her opposition to Rosanna going on walks. “No, I encountered no one. It was after I returned from the walk. Let me tell in my own way.”
Dot arrived and silently placed the second setting of china on the table, making a bit less nervous rattle this time. She bobbed her way out, as if scared of her own shadow.
Rosanna chose to hold Barton in suspense a little longer and dawdled in preparing the cups of tea. At last, she handed the older woman a delicate china cup and saucer. “Here you are, dear Barton, milk in first, just how you like it.”
“You’re a dear, always thinking of me.” Barton sipped the steeped tea and sighed.
“You are familiar with my plan to establish a refuge here for young ladies fleeing forced marriage?” She took her first sip, watching over the cup’s rim for Barton’s reaction.
Barton gave a sniff of disapproval. “Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten your plan to help others escape the clutches as you did. Are you still set on that questionable idea?”
“Not exactly. The plan had a major flaw.”
Sardonic, Barton’s eyebrows lifted in a quirk worthy of Drury Lane. “Only one?”
Rosanna pushed an errant curl away from her cheek, dreading Barton’s disdain. “Yes. Only one. Any method used to advertise the availability of my refuge would alert the very individuals from which such a woman would be fleeing.”
“Oh, my yes, that’s a problem.” Barton sipped, peeping over the edge of her teacup.
“I was stymied and forlorn about ever being able to help. My hopes dashed.”
“I can readily imagine so.” Barton overlaid her words with sympathy.
“All’s not lost, however. A letter arrived, Barton. Its contents have sent me over the boughs.” Unable to suppress a smile, Rosanna tipped her head back and massaged her temples, relishing the happy outcome. The news was still so fresh, and she was overwhelmed with God’s answer to her prayer.
Barton’s fingers pleated the long lappet of her lace cap. “So, a letter. Get to the letter, Rosanna.”
“Have you ever heard me mention Elspeth Mordant?”
Barton shook her head.
“No? She’s a diminutive redhead. Does that ring a bell?” Rosanna sat up and proceeded to cover a piece of bread with jam then nibble the edge, waiting for Barton to respond.
“Hmm. Can’t say that it does, Miss. Did you get word of her?”
Rosanna placed the bread onto a plate and brushed her fingers with a napkin. “You must be on pins and needles, so I’ll get to the point.”
“Finally?”
“Today, I received a letter from Miss Mordant. She’s just about the prettiest little thing. We attended academy together. She’s one of the Hertfordshire Mordants. And so…this is almost too precious.” Drawing out the moment, she sipped the now-lukewarm tea.
Eyes wide, Barton’s cup clattered into her saucer. She leaned closer. “What did she say?”
“She wrote to me, looking for exactly the sort of help I want to provide here. Her relatives sound horrid. She said they pressed both an old man and a close relative upon her as candidates for her hand.” Rosanna relaxed back into her chair, having delivered her tidbit of news, and smiled with satisfaction.
Barton’s eyes widened. “You must have been mightily upset when you realized you had no way to help pressured and unwilling brides-to-be. But look what God has done.”
The still-fresh memory moistened her eyes with grateful tears. “He answered my prayer almost before I prayed it.”
“I hope she is able to get here safely and undetected.”
“We must make that a matter for prayer as well.” Rosanna sent up a silent petition then and there. “Thank you, Barton, for being excited for me. You had doubts.”
“How on earth did she come to write to you? It’s so amazing.” Barton raised her brows. “Miss Rosanna, did you somehow say more than you should? To someone you shouldn’t?”
“Here’s the letter.” Rosanna rai
sed the missive. “She recalled I was leaving London to live in the country and then heard a whisper referring to my avoiding the parson’s mousetrap, and she ferreted out my direction. Oh, here it is. I’ll read the part where she explains. ‘…Your words stayed with me. You said you were about to move away to the country to your own property. The name Honor’s Point stuck in my mind and after much difficulty, I was able to find your direction through a discreet and helpful reference librarian.
My situation is dire. I must presume on your permission to visit. I believe I heard some whispers you escaped the arranged marriage a relative had planned for you.’”
“May I read it?” Barton held out a hand for the letter and perused it. “This is too wonderful to be called chance. This is God’s good Providence, clear as day!”
“I suppose servant’s gossip spread a whisper about town that I was being allowed to reject arranged matrimony. What with all the rows I had with Uncle George, the servants could easily have overheard.”
“That would account for any whispers.” Barton crossed her arms. “I disapprove of gossip.”
“Miss Mordant must be very clever to ferret out my location. It doesn’t appear that any word of my plans leaked out. You were the only one who knew. It’s more as if she was guided to me and the Lord is providing what she needs.”
“That’s what I was saying. It was meant to be.” Barton’s chin came down in a forceful nod. “God’s will.”
“Yes, yes. That’s what it is, Barton. Where did I put that notebook? Oh, here it is.” Rosanna jotted down the second item on the paper, then looked up. “Prepare guest room for E.M.”
While Barton re-read the letter, Rosanna rang for Dot and reviewed the two items on her list while she waited.
“Dot, I need to speak with the steward. If you need help finding him, ask Mr. Perkins.”
No reason to delay. Tapping her foot, she waited to question the steward as she envisioned the mysterious roofline spied on her walk. Eager for the information she wanted, Rosanna sang out, “Come in.”
Entering the room with a cloth cap in his hands, the brawny, middle-aged steward bowed and waited for the mistress to speak first.
A Refuge for Rosanna Page 2
