He clambered to his feet and reached out to aid her to rise.
The dog got to its feet as well and waited for its master.
“I’ve decided I must get back. Tempus fugit. I’ll have to see the waterfall another day.” She stood, brushed her dress, and tied her bonnet ribbons.
“May I escort you?”
“So kind, but I shan’t need any help getting home. Farewell!” She turned away and with brisk pace, moved on into the woods, all the while chiding her heart to stop its yearning.
He sounded so nice. But an entanglement with a cottager would be an egregious flying in the face of propriety. That wasn’t in her plan, nor did it serve her intention to remain unattached and obscure. She never wanted to marry, another reason not to encourage such an appealing young man—or any man.
14
Rosanna floated into the house and up to her suite of rooms, elated after drinking in the beauty of the woods, the orchard, and the glittering aftermath of the rain. God’s creation is so perfect. She reveled in owning such a fine and glorious property, while resisting thoughts of Peter, her interesting neighbor.
Miss Barton entered the room after a light tap on the door. “Good morning.”
“I had a grand walk this morning.”
“You must have. Your voice sounds happy today. Have you forgotten about your ride?”
“No, there’s time. Don’t worry.”
“Get into your riding habit. Lord Halburt will be here any minute.” The companion extracted a green ensemble from the wardrobe. She waved it toward Rosanna with a raise of the brow. “I’ll help you with the habit. Dot’s busy.”
“Oh, that. All right, I’ll change. But, the walk was glorious.” Following upon her unsettling emotions, caused by the proximity of Peter, she submitted to being managed.
Miss Barton laid the habit on the bed, and then turned to Rosanna, efficiently removing her walking dress. “Your walk is why I am here. I told Dot I would assist you to change this morning.”
“Her training isn’t complete, though.”
“No, it isn’t. I’m here to remind you that, as your companion, one of my duties is to walk out with you.”
“No need—I was fine.”
“You very well may be fine, but as I’ve said, your solo walks must stop. You might be safe here, but a young lady can never guard her reputation too much. Walking alone is beyond the pale.”
Barton sounded oddly out of breath—probably due to both her head of steam as well as from all the bending, squatting, and reaching to assist Rosanna into the riding habit.
Rosanna moved to the mirror and, facing away from the other woman, fiddled with her hair, tucking it into the habit’s matching shako hat. “Dear Miss Barton, you are sadly out of breath, please sit down and drink some water.”
“Don’t try to distract me. Walking out alone so early after having only a roll and coffee.” She added this to the long list of sins, then clucked her tongue, emphasizing her disapproval. She fastened the final closure and made a heavy exhalation.
Rosanna lifted her chin. “You seem to have all my movements in your sights.”
Barton’s breathing became even more labored, and startled, Rosanna dropped her scornful demeanor. “Oh, my! Miss Barton, please sit down.” Rosanna took Miss Barton’s arm and led her to a comfortable seat near the window. She opened the window a few inches, and fanned Barton.
Soon calmed and out of patience with this solicitousness, Miss Barton batted away the fan, and renewed her criticisms. Her dark eyes flashed, and she clutched the arms of her chair, knuckles white. “Rosanna. What makes you think it acceptable to walk alone here?”
Rosanna resisted the urge to release a scold. “Several reasons, Miss Barton. You must calm down.”
Miss Barton took a few deep breaths.
Rosanna thought she’d left her circumscribed life behind. She raised her hands to tick off the rationales that made walking alone acceptable. Her words, though measured and tempered by Miss Barton’s distress, emerged with a slight edge. “I own this property. It is extremely secluded. I am over twenty-one. Aren’t those enough reasons?”
“Please listen, dear Rosanna. I only want your best. My concern is for your reputation in the community here in Woodvale. I grew up in a small village similar to this and rural gossips can be just as cruel and damaging as in London. I don’t want anyone to be able to speak ill of my young lady.” She gave a reassuring smile, and added, “I don’t wish to spoil your enjoyment of the new freedoms you’ve gained, but I have a responsibility to you.”
“Rest assured. No one observed my outing today. Well, no one except a neighbor. But he is no concern—in fact, he’s a bit of a hermit and wouldn’t tell a soul.” Even as she spoke those words, she wondered if they were true.
“A neighbor? Not Lord Halburt?” Barton’s forehead creased again.
“No, that’s yet to look forward to.” Rosanna answered wryly with a glance at the clock. “Just a cottager named Peter. I saw him at church, Sunday last.”
“Exactly the type of meeting that would give fodder to the village gossip mill. What if he gossips? Say you’ll walk with me in the future?” Miss Barton wrung her hands.
“My my, don’t look so alarmed. Yes, I will venture out with you or Ellie. I’d hate for you to be worried about me.” Miss Barton’s passionate persuasion caused a rush of guilt to sweep over Rosanna, and the concession with it brought a returned spirit of peace.
A tap came on the door, Dot entered, and attempted a tentative curtsey. “Miss Cabot, Mr. Perkins says Lord Halburt has arrived.” The timid girl bobbed her head as she backed out of the room without waiting for any response.
“Are you comfortable with my riding out with Halburt, Miss Barton? If not, how shall I let him down?” Rosanna would love to do just that.
“You are toying with me. There could be no objection to a ride, with a groom trailing behind, of course. Two people on horses followed by a groom couldn’t get up to much mischief.”
The very idea of mischief with vain Lord Halburt caused her to cringe.
Miss Barton made shooing motions toward the door. “You just go on.”
“I’m glad you’re feeling better.” Rosanna smiled and stopped at the looking glass. Her bottle green velvet habit looked bandbox fresh as did the matching ostrich plumes quivering atop her jaunty hat. “Thank you for helping me.” She left the room and sped down the stairs.
The sight of the perfectly turned-out Lord Halburt waiting in the hall caused Rosanna to stop in her tracks, her mouth falling open. Annoying though he was, she couldn’t deny he was a glorious-looking man.
He tapped his foot and slapped his leather gloves into his hands. “Charmed, Miss Cabot. Shall we?”
Responding in kind to his chilly, impatient greeting, she breezed past him. “Let’s get out to the horses. We wouldn’t want to keep them waiting.” She thwacked the side of her thick skirt with her riding crop. Why did I ever agree to this?
Ambling along on trails suited for nothing faster than a slow canter, the two riders chatted on the topic of weather, until Halburt pointedly cleared his throat. “How do you enjoy estate living? Is Honor’s Point all you expected it to be?”
Puzzled and a bit irritated at his tone which implied a problem, Rosanna answered with asperity. “It’s wonderful, and it’s lovely. Did you think it otherwise?”
“Just curious about the legends.”
“Legend, or rumors? I’ve heard nothing of the kind—except from you.”
His gaze shifted away from direct contact with hers. “There’s something, but the memory eludes me at this moment.”
How strange. “I shall ask my staff, you needn’t concern yourself.” Rosanna’s stomach began to ache. Whatever was the man getting at?
“Oh, but mysteries intrigue me—it’s no trouble—in fact, if you learn anything in the way of a clue, I’d like you to call on me for assistance. I’m something of an amateur enigma collector you see, as is my g
uest. I’d love to have a puzzle to put before my notable visitor.” Halburt’s face wore a prideful smirk.
“So, he’s coming? As of yesterday, you weren’t sure.”
“Yes, today I received the long-awaited acceptance to my invitation. Scott and his party will arrive soon. To be certain, this will be the most eminent visitor in these parts for many a decade, nay, a century.”
“That will be a feather in your cap.” This ride couldn’t conclude soon enough to please her. For such a handsome man, he irritated her more than any man she’d known, and something unsettling lurked beneath his surface.
15
Horses have their uses, but my, how they make one smell. As soon as she extracted herself from the presence of her annoying riding partner, Rosanna ordered a bath and sought solitude in her suite. After a soak, she put on a dressing gown and enjoyed a full breakfast on a tray, the roll and coffee a distant memory—one supplanted by the interlude in the rain.
~*~
Some time later, a soft tap on the door brought an end to her privacy.
“Miss, Mr. Perkins sent me to tell you Lady Brook is here to pay a call. He said to ask if you are at home.” Dot’s voice shook, but less than the last time she’d delivered a household message.
Rosanna gave her a reassuring smile. “Very good, Dot. You may tell Perkins I am at home and please tell Miss Barton that I need her assistance.”
Miss Barton arrived and scurried into the room, scolding on her tongue. “You’ve been hiding away up here for quite a while. I was already on my way here, when Dot informed me of our guest. You should change—Lady Brook is dressed to the nines.” Miss Barton selected a dress of pale coral trimmed with matching satin bands, and then assisted Rosanna to dress.
Rosanna sat down at her vanity table to smooth her hair and check her appearance in the mirror, turning her face this way, then that. She dabbed Hungary water on her temples as a final touch. “When will Dot’s training be complete? I don’t want you to work so hard anymore.”
“She’s quiet, but a quick learner. Any day now, you won’t even remember she’s new.”
“Fine. I look forward to that.” Rosanna stood, and shooed the companion onto the dressing stool. “You sit now. It’ll only take a moment to fix your bun, it’s lost its moorings.”
Miss Barton clucked her disapproval, but nonetheless allowed herself to be seated. Rosanna had a gift and love for working with hair, and the loyal retainer never deprived her of the pleasure. A pin here, a strand there, and within a short, few moments the companion’s black hair looked much improved.
“Let’s go down now. I am ready.” Rosanna sailed through the door, assured Miss Barton would follow in her wake. After her rest, she looked forward to her guest.
Ensconced in the drawing room off the main hall, Lady Brook appeared every bit the grand dame. Her purple gown, simply ravishing, adorned with the latest details, appeared to be straight out of Ackerman’s, the most popular source of fashion.
The warmth of her greeting belied the grandeur of her mien. “Miss Cabot, I declare you become lovelier each time I lay eyes on you. Oh, and Miss Barton, how are you enjoying our district so far?” Without waiting for answers, she patted the seat beside her and gestured to Rosanna to sit next to her on the divan. “I mustn’t delay telling you of a cure I recently learned of. Such a common plant and so effective.”
Rosanna sat next to Lady Brook, then responded. “Marvelous you are still learning more.”
“Yes, well, I do thrive on serving others with my modest efforts.”
“What is the plant, and what does it do?” Rosanna didn’t mind adding to her own humble stock of remedies.
“The lowly daisy.”
“Daisy? Narrow white petals, yellow center? That daisy?”
“Yes, there’s something in the daisy that heals a bruise like nothing I’ve seen.” Lady Brook raised her fingertips to prop her chin in a dainty pose.
“That’s amazing. How did you stumble upon this interesting fact?”
“I was combing an archaic medical tome, practically falling asleep, and I kept seeing the term ‘day’s eye’. Didn’t give it a thought—so much in these old books is quite impenetrable—until I came upon a page with a small engraving. Imagine my delight when I put the clues together.”
“Clues?”
“The picture, plus the words ‘day’s eye’.” Lady Brook gave an emphatic nod.
Rosanna retrieved her notebook from a side table. “Daisy is, or was called, ‘day’s eye’? How intriguing. Let me make note of this.”
“And further, day’s eye is a term which refers to the sun.”
Eyes wide with interest, Miss Barton added her two cents. “Amazing what one can learn—almost by accident. In all my years, I’ve never known a cure for bruises existed.”
Gratified, Lady Brook kept up a flow of conversation pertaining to the doings of the neighborhood until a maid brought in a cart and Rosanna served tea. At which time, the chatty guest subsided for a moment in order to sample the best Honor’s Point’s kitchens had to offer. She selected a pastry. “They know I love anything made with lemon. I must remember to send over some more lemons from my succession house.” She quieted to savor the scrumptious, tart treats.
“Lady Brook, what can you tell me of the cottage on the corner of my property? I first spied the unexpected roofline, and subsequently met the occupant.” Eyes fixed on her teacup, Rosanna schooled her features to hide intense interest behind a bland façade. She had to admit, to herself alone, the mysterious and attractive cottager, Peter, had everything to do with her curiosity. The undeniable elation she’d experienced earlier while in his company under the apple tree hadn’t been merely the outcome of taking in the beauty of creation during her walk. The warmth of their connection left her senses reeling, and her heart in serious danger.
Lady Brook dabbed the corners of her mouth and set down her plate. “How much do you know?”
16
“Know?” Her heart beat faster than normal, but she continued steely control over her facial expression. No need for Lady Brook to get any inkling of her interest when she wasn’t even sure if she cared. “I know nothing except that one corner of Honor’s Point land appears to have been truncated. A cottage sits upon it, and a dark-haired, youngish man appears to live there.” Rosanna ticked the facts off her fingers as she spoke.
“Rosanna, does the name Lord Winstead mean anything to you?” Lady Brook’s keen gaze pinioned Rosanna.
“I have heard that name. Let me think now.” She paused, casting her look to the ceiling, as if to find the answer there. Her mind worked full speed trying to make sense of Lady Brook’s question. “Oh, of course, that is the name of the family who sold this estate. And, I believe I may have heard mention of a young gentleman by that name at one of the countless balls I attended this past season.”
“Just as I thought—you aren’t aware.” Lady Brook took a deep breath and laid her fingers at the base of her throat. “Now, this isn’t something you need to feel guilty about, for no one blames you for buying this gorgeous property, but the estate went on the block because of the poor management and squandering of the late Lord Winstead.”
“I wondered why anyone would sell such an attractive estate. Uncle George hinted at financial straits but wasn’t specific.”
“It was so sad. Lord Winstead absenting himself from here, year after year, combined with unfortunate investments, dare I say, schemes. His affection for gaming removed any remaining solvency.” The emotion visible on Lady Brook’s face teetered on the brink between sympathy and contempt.
Rosanna brought her guest back around to the original subject of her query. “I’d suspected something of the sort, but what does this have to do with the cottage on the corner of my property?”
“I’m getting to that. The current Lord Winstead valiantly traveled through the dun territory caused by his father’s imprudence, and arrived at point-non-plus, able to retain nothing of his
family estate, save the cottage you discovered. He’s been a recluse since he returned to the district.” Lady Brook sat back, as if having divested herself of a burden. Her eyes flickered from Rosanna to Miss Barton and back. “I thought you should know.”
“You are bamming me! Peter, I mean the occupant of the cottage, is Lord Winstead? I am astounded. Handsome, yes, but he spoke and acted so humble.”
“Humble?” Lady Brook’s confusion was an echo of her own. “Winstead?”
“He behaved much as a tenant would. He must have been putting on a sort of disguise for me.” She hopped to her feet to pace the length of the carpet. “How embarrassing.”
“He has been truly humbled, yes.” Lady Brook reached for another lemon tart. “Why he’d put on such a pretense is understandable, but strange. After all, he will be living nearby, you’d find out eventually.”
Rosanna halted pacing and turned. “Of course, why am I surprised he’d stay, painful though it must be? If it’s all he has left, and the estate property is so beautiful I can imagine how it would be difficult to relinquish it entirely.” Rosanna recalled the idyllic interlude earlier that morning, and a shiver ran up her arms. “It’s so special.”
Willing the heat in her face to subside, she went to the window and stared out until she’d regained full composure. She forced herself to sit down with some poise. It wouldn’t do for Lady Brook to suspect any discomfiture. Control and reveal nothing of the turmoil within.
Casting about for distraction, Rosanna observed Miss Barton’s head down and her needle stilled, making no progress on the needlework project, an embroidered reticule. Rosanna scoured her rattled brain for a diversion and landed on a hackneyed topic. “Miss Barton? Tell Lady Brook how well you like it here.”
Miss Barton raised her head, cleared her throat, and offered a few words in a tentative voice. “The neighborhood is a fine one. So many congenial folk.”
Rosanna waxed on from that opening, cataloguing the excellencies of Honor’s Point and hoped her effusions sufficient to deflect attention from the topic of Lord Winstead. She had an affinity for the man, but it would not do for anyone else to know.
A Refuge for Rosanna Page 7
