A Refuge for Rosanna

by Susan Karsten

  Redheaded Ellie gasped, and her blue eyes sparkled. She rubbed her palms together. “This is a wonderful story. What were the stipulations?”

  Rosanna slipped into her imitation of Uncle George’s deep voice again. “I have been reviewing the testament and have found a clause that would seem to allow you to live elsewhere. Harrumph, with a companion, of course. Since you intractably opposed my assistance toward a match, I don’t believe your presence in London is either desirable, nor required by the terms.”

  Switching back to her own voice, she went on. “Quick to suppress my delight at the implications of Uncle’s words, I gathered my wits enough to gain control over the situation. Aware of Uncle’s predilection for praise, I poured the butter boat over him.”

  Ellie clapped her hands in glee. “That was clever.”

  “Thank you. Yes, I thanked him for finding such a wise and excellent point. I told him, as much as I appreciated his efforts at a match for me, my thoughts on marriage remained the same. To soothe him further, I reminded him that since Clarence’s death, I hadn’t an interest in any man.”

  Ellie face lit up. “Clarence? Who’s Clarence?”

  “That is a story for another day. Back to me attaining my escape from the marriage mart. My uncle is an excellent and honest businessman who turned a modest inheritance of his own into a tidy fortune. I tapped into his acumen and asked him to locate a suitable, secluded home, away from London, for me to purchase.”

  “He helped you even after you refused to follow his advice to marry? Your uncle sounds like a kind and just man. It’s almost hard to believe compared to how my own parents treated me.”

  “Yes, he helped me find this place, Honor’s Point. I appreciate that he did not ultimately force me into a distasteful marriage.” She couldn’t help but smile.

  “Dear Uncle George.” Eyes twinkling, she resumed her imitation of Uncle George’s deep voice. “Rosanna, there’s an estate for sale belonging to Lord Winstead. The heir proved unable to dig out from under his father’s disastrous mound of debts and it’s on the block. It’s a secluded property of renowned beauty—yes, now I recall. The property is known as Honor’s Point. I shall put my man of business on this right away. Make some preliminary plans to vacate these premises and wait until I inform you of the particulars.”

  “He sounds like a treasure of a man to do all that for you.” Ellie enthused, wrapped up in the account of Rosanna’s travails.

  “He is a dear—imperious uncle though he may be. That didn’t bother me, however, since I was used to him. I never thought I’d miss him, but I do. Now that you are here however, I’ll be too busy to long for anyone. It’ll be such a lark.”

  Ellie’s brow furrowed with sincerity. “Thank you again for allowing me to stay.”

  “With my plan in ruins, this place of safety would have sheltered me alone if you hadn’t found out my direction and summoned the courage to come here. Having gotten away from forced marriage myself wasn’t enough. I wanted to provide others with a safe haven. So many young ladies have nowhere to turn. The thought of a repugnant arranged marriage is so distasteful, is it not?”

  Ellie gave an emphatic shudder. “Disgusting, in fact.”

  “Ellie, you of all people, understand what I’ve been through.”

  A tap came on the morning room door, Perkins opened it, and intoned, “Miss, are ye home to Lord Halburt?”

  12

  Before Rosanna’s lips even formed a response, Halburt swept past the butler and entered the room, bowing from the waist and sweeping one arm out to the side.

  Rosanna found herself short on patience with this intrusion. “Do stand up, sir.”

  Halburt straightened and removed his gloves before flicking back his coat tails and taking a seat. He chose the chair closest to the young ladies and posed his legs in a studied display of his masculine perfection. “Thank you for receiving me. I was out riding and decided to visit my fair neighbor.”

  “Tea?” Rosanna indicated the tray with a nonchalant wave of her hand, hoping to show herself unaffected by the good looks of the intruder.

  “Ah, that would be a treat.” Halburt locked his avid gaze on Ellie and his brows quivered. “Who might we have here?”

  No time like the present to establish her guest’s identity in the neighborhood. “May I introduce Miss Ellie Moore. Miss Moore, Lord Halburt.”

  Halburt hopped to his feet, scooped up Ellie’s hand, and bent over it while performing another deep bow. As he straightened, he scanned both women’s faces.

  Rosanna wondered why. Did he expect one or both of them to fall at his handsome feet?

  “Miss Moore. Moore. Would that be the Yorkshire Moores? Or perhaps the Northumberland Moores?” The nosy neighbor asked, but his interest rang false to Rosanna’s ears.

  She wasn’t sure Ellie wouldn’t be overawed by their guest, either by his fine looks or his title, so she interjected before Ellie could respond. “No, just Miss Moore from London, Lord Halburt.”

  “Miss Moore, what a pleasure to meet you. To have not one, but two of the loveliest young ladies in Christendom veritably fall into my lap brings such light to my humdrum existence.”

  Into your lap, my eye. Rosanna sought to veer talk away from how lovely she and Ellie were. “Oh, come now. I’ve heard you’re a master at estate management and quite competitive with your yields and flocks. How is that humdrum?” She smiled, then turned down the corners of her mouth so as not to encourage the fop’s attentions.

  “Yes, I suppose you are right. Not humdrum then, shall we say, earthbound. That’s it. Nothing as exalted as Miss Moore here. Why, she resembles a Titian angel.”

  Ellie ventured a mild sally. “Oh, la, you’re exaggerating. Surely your farms are much more interesting.”

  “My farms are indeed a treasure. One does so value one’s property and the heritage of one’s estate.”

  She widened her eyes toward Rosanna, who caught the look and suppressed a snicker.

  Ellie proffered, “One quite does.”

  But he turned to her now. “You must tell me your secret, Miss Cabot.”

  Rosanna’s strongest desire was to either yawn in his face, but he wouldn’t notice, or, get him to his feet somehow and guide him out the door. “I have no idea to what you are referring.”

  “Your secret to such great beauty. You’re magnificent. London beaus must be blind to have let you escape their clutches.”

  She hoped the unwelcome Adonis would retreat, so injected a mild tone of displeasure into her words. “Hardly. I’ve not heard of an epidemic of blindness in London, nor in any other quarter. You’re surely jesting.”

  But he was oblivious to her hints. The visit wore on, with Halburt paying court to Rosanna, then turning his attentions to Ellie, and back again. His polished flirtations caused Rosanna a struggle to attend—not to let her eyes glaze over at his foolish, obvious wiles and flirting. Perhaps she’d find his company amusing on a later occasion, after she got over being peeved at his intrusiveness. Would the man never leave?

  He lifted a quizzing glass, and turned an arch, affected gaze on Rosanna. “Miss Cabot, do you ride?”

  She suppressed a sigh, irritated and starting to dread yet another man pitching himself at her. Denying the temptation to lie, she answered without warmth. “Indeed, riding is among my favorite pastimes.”

  “Well then, tomorrow at nine? Can you prepare by that hour? The best time of day for a ride about my property. You’ll want to see Halburt Arms, no?”

  The man could put a twinkle in his eyes and a winning tone in his voice, she’d say that for him. Why did he have to ask her? Better that he leave Ellie alone—especially this early on in her stay. She didn’t have her bearings yet. “That would be charming. I’ll be ready, with my groom at nine tomorrow.”

  Hiding a yawn behind her hand, Rosanna again wished he’d depart. Now would be the perfect time for him to leave. Why did he sit there, gazing at her between sips of tea? Waiting for a respo
nse of attraction? For evidence of a tendre forming? If so, he’d have a long wait. It would take much more than Lord Halburt’s handsome face and form to draw her into any sort of liaison.

  “So, Miss Cabot, have you discovered anything of interest here in your new home?” With a heightened level of intensity, Halburt leaned forward and watched her face.

  “Of interest? Why yes, many things. Where shall I begin? Perhaps I should tell you of the especially delightful rooms here in the house. Are you aware of the talent for decorating possessed by the former mistress of this house, Lady Winstead? She’s been gone these twelve, long years and I must say the decor looks as fresh and highly enticing as if done over last month.”

  “Can’t say that I knew the rooms were so exceptional.” He glanced around, cursorily. “Of course, this chamber is very nice. Living so close, I never had occasion to stay overnight here at Honor’s Point. Tell me all about the special rooms.”

  In light of such strong interest, the house seemed a safe enough topic to Rosanna. “One floor above, there are three rooms decorated in floral themes: lilac, camellia, and cornflower. Each room is a treat to the senses.” She stopped short then, realizing she’d let her inner chatterbox out to play. Increasing his interest in anything to do with her or her home was not her intent.

  “Anything else special about the rooms? Legends, trapdoors, the like?” He leaned forward, eager for her answer.

  “I am aware of nothing of the kind. What gave you such a peculiar idea?” Rosanna turned her attention to straightening the tea implements.

  “Oh, I seem to have heard rumors about something to do with the house. No matter. I’m a fiend for mysteries. If you learn any, please do tell me. I’m like a child in my delight at such tales.”

  “There is a time for us all to put childhood aside.”

  “Yes, you are so wise, Miss Cabot. But I’m afraid I am incorrigible with mysteries, legends, treasures, and the like. In fact, I am expecting an answer to my invitation to an important personage any day now. A very significant man.”

  Rosanna tamped down a sigh yet obligated to respond to this blatant hint. “Who might that be?”

  “The great Walter Scott, himself.”

  “Here? In Woodvale?”

  “I’ve invited him, and am in communications with his secretary, Mr. Purdie. They are planning his itinerary for a visit to England.”

  “That will be noteworthy. To have a visit from the man who refused the position of poet laureate of England would be quite a social coup.”

  “I can only hope meeting Walter Scott will be as special as meeting you both.” The man stood, bowed yet again, and said his goodbyes. “Ladies, it has been a pleasure. Miss Moore, charmed to have you adorning the neighborhood. Miss Cabot, I shall meet you tomorrow morning promptly at nine.”

  After he left the room, Rosanna looked at Ellie and chortled. “Have you ever, in your life, seen such a popinjay?” Rosanna clutched her stomach and tried not to hoot loud enough for Halburt to hear her on his way out.

  “Legends, trapdoors, a visit from Walter Scott? What a strange duck he is.” Ellie smiled and shook her head. “I think he is nice enough, though. It must be hard not to get a big head when one is so handsome.”

  “Ellie, you are sweet. You put me in the shade. Here I’m laughing at the poor man, and you look for the positive in him. I’m chastened.” Rosanna stirred her tea and thought for a moment. “How good it is you’ve joined me here. I’m so blessed that you found me. Until you arrived, I didn’t admit quite how lonely I’d become.”

  13

  Rosanna woke early the next day, hurried to dress and then descended to breakfast. As a morning person, praise was on her lips as she made her way downstairs. “Exalt the Lord, His praise proclaim.” Her voice trilled out before she subsided to merely humming the Haydn tune. She downed a cup of coffee and carried a roll outside.

  The peace of the wooded paths which were hers to discover and explore lured her out of doors. Surely, she could get back in time for the ride with Halburt, scheduled for nine o’clock. She entered the woods on one of the paths she’d not tried before. Each stroll provided a fresh experience for absorbing nature’s glory. The freedom of these solitary walks filled her spirit and were too precious to relinquish yet. Who could tell her not to walk alone on her own property? Miss Barton tried, but Rosanna retained final say. Surely, just this one time, no one could fault her.

  This new path wound downhill, then up again to a rise about one half mile from the hill the manor house sat upon. She nibbled her roll as she walked. The hill’s peak overlooked a patchwork of fields lit by the clear morning sun. Her delight grew when she found nearby a simple rope and board swing attached to the limb of a strong oak. Seating herself on the weathered wood, she pumped her legs, and soon soared out and back. Each forward motion gave her the sensation of flight and she laughed aloud in delight.

  She allowed the swing to come to rest, and was about to disembark, to walk the path a bit further, when she heard the rustle of someone nearby. Whirling around, she spied Peter, the dark-haired cottager emerging from the wood, hat in hand.

  “I declare, you startled me.” Voice high, her hand fluttered at her throat. Shaking, she heard herself spouting prattle again as whenever she came in contact with the man. She pressed her lips into a line, reflecting that awkward moments followed her like ducklings after their mama.

  “My apologies, Miss. The former owner allowed free roam to the neighbors on all sides.”

  She realized her hand was still at her throat, and she dropped it as if it were scalded. “Is that so?”

  His tone held no subservience. “I’ve long been used to walking these woods. Hope you’ll continue that policy.”

  “Indeed, I shall. Such beauty,” she spread her arms in benevolence, “is too grand to be hoarded, is it not?”

  Demeanor serious, he glanced toward the view and nodded in affirmation before speaking. “I agree, ’tis grand. The land hereabouts is known for its splendor.”

  “There are two paths diverging from this clearing. Are you familiar? With them, I mean?” She kicked herself with the foot she hadn’t put in her mouth. Would she never stop saying such ridiculous things…especially to this man?

  At least he didn’t let on that he noticed her faux pas.

  He pointed to each path in turn. “Yes, this one leads to another overlook with a charming view of the surrounding fields. The other wends its way down to a grotto, complete with waterfall.”

  “Such an embarrassment of riches. Since I’ve swung high over fields today, I’ll choose the other. The one with the falls.”

  “No doubt you’ll be pleased.”

  It was odd to be speaking to a man, alone in a secluded spot, yet this particular man gave her no unease. Her intuition for detecting cads did not cause one tingle of warning to rise within her. “Would you care to accompany me? Show me the way, so to speak?”

  “If you think it proper—seeing that you have no companion again today.” He looked around the clearing, then down, as if contemplating the hat in his hands.

  “Proper? There’s that. But at this early hour, who else will be on any of these hilly paths? They’re not used by the staff, and are merely for sightseeing and gamboling, are they not?”

  “True. I’d just as soon accompany you along the path, if not for the potential impropriety.”

  “I’ve convinced myself it’s acceptable for me to walk alone here. Do you think me wrong for that?”

  “Not necessarily, simply asking if walking together would be appropriate, both in your sight and in the unlikely chance someone would see us.”

  She hesitated, distracted by a shaft of sunlight accenting the man’s sensitive, yet strong jaw, before answering his doubts. “Let’s do. I am my own mistress now and have reached my majority. At this hour, it’s almost certain no one will be on the paths to observe us anyway. I simply must view the grotto.” She removed her bonnet, for the sun and the exertion of
swinging had warmed her.

  She shook out her bangs and fluffed them, then stopped abruptly, realizing this might have an unwanted effect on her walking partner. She jammed the bonnet back onto her head but left the strings to hang. Men were known to be silly about a woman’s hair, and she didn’t want to draw that kind of attention.

  He turned away and moved into the shady wooded path.

  Rosanna followed behind since the narrow path wouldn’t allow them to walk side-by-side. The trail soon opened onto a hilly meadow, and from about halfway down the slope she spotted masses of white flowers ahead. As she neared, she realized it was an orchard in bloom. A gust of wind swept curls across her face. She lifted her voice. “I say, the leaves have turned over and the breeze has picked up. Do you think it’ll rain?”

  The first raindrop fell before he could answer. He grabbed her hand and they ran to the nearest apple tree. They both crouched down, backs against the trunk. How odd to be taking shelter from the rain with such an intriguing man.

  A damp brown dog loped up and settled next to Peter. He patted the animal’s head and its tail flopped back and forth. “This is Nellie, my dog.”

  “Hello, Nellie, nice of you to join us.” The smells of spring rain and apple blossoms gave Rosanna momentary bliss. The dry and warm ground under the tree’s canopy added to the suitability of the ideal shelter.

  The shower soon subsided, and the sun emerged again.

  “Look up! The raindrops cling to the blossoms like a glistening cocoon of gems.” Why did she have such a propensity for saying such silly things?

  He looked up at the sparkly net of droplets above their heads, then at her. “In my experience a special sight like this doesn’t come along very often in life.”

  The reverent tone in his voice and the seriousness of his eyes as he spoke, gave Rosanna pause. Warmth coursed over her skin that had nothing to do with the sun’s heat coming on again after the rain shower.