A Refuge for Rosanna

by Susan Karsten

  25

  Ellie hurried with an answer. “He is obviously smitten with you. I do sincerely believe you are the object of his affections.”

  “No, I swear it is you he is ever so fond of. He called you a treat and a balm after all. I am merely an immortal nymph. Too droll.” Rosanna sobered, and her next words dampened the amusement and serious thoughts flew into her mind. “We both came here to leave all that behind, but it’s not turning out to be so simple, is it?”

  “There’s your meeting Lord Winstead, too.”

  Ellie meant well, but the innocent young lady didn’t understood the totality of the situation. Her connection with Lord Winstead wasn’t a simple, ordinary event. Proximity to his lost estate had to be painful for him. Embarrassing for him to get caught pretending to be a humble tenant. She wondered whether to confide. “There’s that, yes.”

  She couldn’t deny her attraction to Peter. It came as a surprise, after all these years. For so long, no man had been able to scale the solid walls around her broken heart. Not wanting another love after Clarence’s death, and numbed by grief, she’d welcomed the single state and expected it to go on forever. Naïve in light of recent events.

  The sun went behind a cloudbank and the room grew dim. Memories welled up. She braced herself for the waves of sorrow she’d experienced so many times.

  Instead, she examined her heart only to find a sweet welling of peace. Without the threat of forced marriage hanging over her head, healing filled her soul. The pain no longer remained. Only a faint tinge of sweet sorrow lingered. She decided to tell Ellie about Clarence.

  “Do you recall the day you arrived here? That day, I related a small part of my life story. I partially explained why I’d moved to Honor’s Point. I mentioned Clarence and that I would tell you that part of the story another time.”

  “I remember that. I never will forget your dramatic tale.”

  “Odd how one’s life can seem riddled with drama, depending on perspective.” Rosanna took a deep breath and ran her hands over her hair. “I want to tell you. This will be the first time in many years I’ve spoken of my lost love.” In truth, this would be the first time telling anyone the full tale. She always hated to contemplate how she’d lost her precious Clarence four years ago. But she needed to talk about it.

  Ellie’s blue eyes grew round, “Are you sure you want to speak of it now? I’d hate to presume.”

  “It’s time. I’m ready to completely unlock sorrow’s cage.”

  Ellie sniffled.

  Rosanna extracted two lacey handkerchiefs from her reticule. She passed one to Ellie and kept one ready in her hand. Thus resolved, Rosanna commenced her tale. “My father, a younger son, was an Oxford don. My parents and I lived in a charming residence, tucked against the college walls and built of the same sandstone. I became acquainted with a student, Clarence Huntsdown, the youngest son of a bishop at the local cathedral parish. Our young love flowered.”

  “Clarence was quite romantic and full of fun. He did sweet things like dropping a love note out of a third story window so it would land on the path in front of me as I walked by.” She leaned against the back of her chair, crossed her ankles, and closed her eyes, remembering. “He confided later that for him, it was love at first sight. He’d spotted me in church the first Sunday after we moved there. I grew to love him too.”

  Ellie breathed out a soft, “Oh,” and swept a handkerchief under each eye.

  “A righteous young man, Clarence met his end one night when he tried to stop a malicious attack on another student.”

  Ellie gasped.

  Rosanna wanted to speak of it at last, but her listener might not be ready to hear it. “Shall I cease this mirthless narrative?”

  Ellie sat straight, one hand clenched in her lap, the other dabbing at her eyes. “No, I do want to hear your story. It’s just so very sad.”

  “All right, I’ll go on. The bullies turned on him and beat him viciously. His life on earth ended when overwhelmed by their brutal assault.” After speaking these words, Rosanna lowered her eyes, and her lips moved in a silent prayer.

  “How tragic. My heart goes out to you. What a loss. Your first love.” Ellie began to sob into her hankie.

  Rosanna came over to pat her back. “Now, now. Don’t take it so hard. It’s so long ago. I’ve accepted it now. I did my share of mourning, raging, and living in a blue-deviled state. I hope you understand that I am truly fine.”

  Ellie’s questions came out on a cloud of sniffles. “You are? Suddenly, after all this time?”

  26

  Rosanna patted Ellie’s hand for a minute more, then sat back on her chair and hugged herself. She’d never been able to speak of Clarence and their love to anyone after his death, and yet she had told the whole tale to Ellie. A marvelous sense of peace blanketed her. “It is amazing. Yes, I am healed. Coming here to beautiful Honor’s Point and getting away from the arranged marriage circus in London has healed my heart. Please don’t cry for me.”

  “God can do so much with our sorrow, if we let him.” Ellie’s sincere tone spoke of experience in the realm of grief.

  Perkins stuck his head through the doorway after a light tap. “Miss Cabot, Lord Winstead is calling. Are you home?”

  The jolt of delight that sizzled over her caught Rosanna by surprise. “Yes, but put him in the morning room. Offer him refreshment, and I will be with him shortly.” The butler departed, and the two ladies looked at each other, smiling.

  “We certainly have an abundance of male callers this day.” Ellie put away her handkerchief with a rueful smile. “I have some things to attend to in my room. Including some mending, which I actually enjoy.”

  “Thank you for listening to my story. It did me good to finally tell someone after all these years. In God’s providence, it was through you that I was able to bring it out into the light of day.” Rosanna stood and gave Ellie a gentle hug.

  “You are more than welcome, my friend.” Ellie left the room.

  Rosanna stopped in the hall to check her appearance in a mirror and decided her jonquil dress tidy enough. Hard to believe the clock said only ten o’clock, so much had happened already this morning. She suppressed a fleeting wish that she’d worn a prettier dress, but she’d chosen this ensemble when she’d dressed to suit the walk she’d gone out on earlier.

  The walk Halburt intruded upon, that is. When he’d insisted on visiting the house so soon after, she’d had no time to change clothes. Such a contradiction. He looked like a carved angel, but acted like an immature puppy.

  She slipped into the morning room, leaving the door ajar for propriety, and stopped in the center of the carpet.

  Winstead moved toward her from where he’d been standing near the fireplace.

  She lifted one hand over which he bowed. Wariness crept into her senses as an attitude of tension emanated from Winstead. “Shall we sit over there?” Not waiting for an answer, she went over to an alcove window and sat in one of two striped-satin armchairs positioned to take advantage of the breezes wafting in, carrying the scent of lilacs. “What brings you to call?” After these words slipped out, she kicked herself. What sort of impression did that make? So undiplomatic. He looked distracted, so maybe he didn’t register the inadvertent tone of challenge in her question. She must be ever more careful with her words.

  Serious, his brows lowered into straight lines. “I wanted to see you.”

  The rattle of the tea trolley’s arrival masked her sharp intake of breath. Her mind whirled. He wants to see me? There was a serious tone in his voice. This neighbor was certainly more congenial to her liking than the last. Even though this man warmed her senses, she wasn’t prepared to accept an onslaught to her heart’s affection.

  The servant departed, leaving the door wide open.

  Dot appeared in the doorway. “Miss?”

  “Oh, hello, Dot. Wait for me on that bench in the hall. I’ll call you if I need you.”

  “Yes, Miss.” Dot scurried o
ut of view.

  “Your household staff is efficient,” Lord Winstead said, his tone unemotional to the extreme.

  “Indeed.” She’d been mistaken, for this discourse hadn’t the sound of the suitor. A thread of a thought edged around her mind. What would it be like to be pursued by him? She’d enjoyed her interactions thus far with the dark and handsome blue-eyed man. He also possessed a fine build, and excellent manners.

  He placed his cup gently back into the saucer. “Delicious tea. Ah, lemon scones. I remember these well. I believe you retained Hannah, the cook?”

  “She’s a treasure. I’ll be sure to tell her you praised her scones.”

  This must be so difficult for him—sitting as a caller at his former home. Visiting Honor’s Point had to remind him of everything that he’d lost. Her heart squeezed with warm compassion for him. She couldn’t do a thing about his loss, other than be kind and charitable in her attitude toward him. That wouldn’t be an unpleasant chore. But she sensed the agreeable and easy-to-talk-to man arrived with something uncomfortable on his mind, and she wished he’d get to it.

  His words rushed out. “Miss Cabot, I want to make it clear that I carry no resentment toward you for buying Honor’s Point.”

  “Oh, my. That’s good to know.” A mild response leapt to her lips—suspicions of the source of his tension confirmed.

  “I harbor no ill will. In fact, it pleases me that someone so,” he paused, “nice came to live here.”

  “I intend to take care of it to the best of my ability. Between Bramstock, Perkins, and Mrs. Good, the estate runs quite well, and I am learning all about the property.” She hoped this remark didn’t accentuate his ouster from the estate. Choosing this moment to butter a scone, she prolonged the spreading procedure, taking the time to help get her past this touchy moment.

  His face held a slight smile and his eyes locked on hers. “After you so graciously forgave me for my little deception, I couldn’t let another day go by without making sure you knew that I have no enmity towards you.”

  Aware of his every nuance, she drank in the pleasure of his presence. “You had me completely fooled.”

  “It’s not often in life one gets to take on the persona of an entirely different person.”

  “Did you enjoy baffling me?”

  “Enjoy? No, indeed. You arrived at the depths of my despair and humiliation.” He lifted his cup and saucer but neglected to take a drink. “I did not relish it. In retrospect, it was absurd and I sincerely regret deceiving you.”

  All appetite flown, she took a small bite of the lemon scone, just for show, set her plate down, and then touched a linen napkin to the corners of her mouth. “But I think we’ve moved beyond that, now haven’t we? You’ve asked my forgiveness for the trick you played on me. Perhaps we needn’t speak of it again?”

  “Your forgiveness means the world to me. So graciously given.”

  “I’m over it. It’s clear that your pretense wasn’t personal. You had no nefarious motives.” Rosanna took another miniscule nibble of scone.

  “Thank you again for your forgiveness. I shall treasure it and never presume upon it again, Lord willing.”

  “Oh, la, say no more of it. I can understand your reasons and am only glad for your sake that you are out of seclusion. The dinner party proved delightful, no?”

  “Indeed. The vicinity is blessed by the presence of the three ladies of Honor’s Point. Lady Brook’s dinner parties have never been so well-bedecked in the past.”

  His lavish, yet sincere compliments touched a chord within in a way Halburt’s never could. A flush of warmth heated her cheeks. She wondered again if this visit indicated the beginning of some sort of pursuit. Would she welcome that? Her healed heart notwithstanding, it was a long time since she’d entertained such thoughts. She tucked them away to enjoy contemplating later. The visit lasted for another ten minutes, and he rose to depart.

  He reached toward her, and her hand lifted as if drawn by an invisible cord. His touch was warm and firm.

  “Thank you again. Your arrival here was the catalyst for my return to life.” He bowed over her hand, and brushed his lips across her fingers, causing a quiver to rush up her arm.

  She tilted her head and looked at him through lowered lashes. “You are very gracious, sir.”

  He released her, clicked his heels, and departed.

  She sat back, bowled over by the man’s attentions. His personality carried a refreshing frankness. Recollections of the sensations she’d experienced in his presence overtook the day’s realities.

  Perkins stuck his head in again. “The mail is here, Miss. You have a personal letter today, shall I bring it in?”

  27

  “Yes, that would be fine. Bring it in here, please.” Personal mail arrived rarely now, with no family but for Uncle George and his brood. Her parents had succumbed to cholera the year after Clarence died.

  She’d only received one letter from Uncle George. A perfunctory note regaling her about London society in which she had no interest. She hadn’t given any of her friends her direction upon departing London because of her initial plan for a secret refuge. With the original idea a failure, due to the insurmountable difficulties in getting it off the ground, she’d written to one or two special friends. Maybe one of them had answered.

  Perkins proffered the letter on a silver tray,

  Rosanna picked up the envelope off the tray.

  He bowed his way out again, closing the door behind him this time.

  Dear Rosanna,

  Thank you for your letter. Where do I start to catch you up with my news? So much has transpired since I saw you last. I’ll be brief. You may recall seeing me at Mrs. Banting’s ball? That was my first ton ball. Soon after that, my courtship with an aristocratic man of my father’s choosing ended abruptly. Through a series of events, I am now married! To Mrs. Banting’s nephew, Lord Russell. He’s all that I ever dreamed of—such a wonderful, godly man.

  One reason for my letter is to tell you we will be in your neighborhood soon, calling on our acquaintance, Lord Winstead. When we are so near you, we shall call on you as well. God be with you, Melissa (Southwood) Russell.

  Interesting. The newly wedded couple was coming to call on Lord Winstead. Perhaps the two men were close friends.

  Seeing Melissa again would be diverting. The busy day wore to an end and Rosanna fell asleep and dreamed of a dark-haired man with blue eyes.

  ~*~

  At church on the following Sunday, after a particularly rousing hymn, Rosanna and Lord Winstead made eye contact across the pews. His glance shot desire down to her toes, and back up to nestle under her heart. Guilt welled up that such a sensation occurred during a worship service. She pacified her remorse by inward assertion that she hadn’t sought the stirring, rather it came unbidden. A sidelong glance at Ellie and Miss Barton showed neither noticed anything untoward.

  They both appeared deep in worship.

  Gracious Mr. Clough greeted the group from Honor’s Point after services. “Miss Cabot, I’d like to call on you very soon. What day would be convenient?” The man beamed at her from behind his round spectacles.

  Her thoughts came back down to earth when Miss Barton jabbed her in the ribs from behind. She gave the first answer she could think of. “Friday. Yes, the end of the week is better for me. Shall we say one?” As she shook the minister’s hand, she reached back with her foot and pressed Miss Barton’s toe in retribution.

  The three ladies nodded and smiled then moved off, trailed by Dot, having decided to walk the mile back home. Before they got around the first bend in the road, footsteps approached from the rear.

  Rosanna glanced over her shoulder only to discover Lord Winstead a few steps back.

  “Miss Cabot, fine day, is it not?” He doffed his hat and came alongside, matching his longer stride to hers.

  Miss Barton and Ellie dropped back, falling into step with Dot about six feet behind the couple.

  Her cheeks w
arm, she smiled up at him. “Tis fine, indeed.”

  ~*~

  Her big brown eyes sparkled out from under the brim of a stylish bonnet—dazzling him. He’d battled with himself whether to invite her to go on a walk. He wasn’t in a position to woo a young lady, yet he couldn’t help himself. The strong draw of his attraction to Rosanna wouldn’t take no for an answer. From the moment she’d fallen out of her carriage into his arms the day she’d arrived, he’d been aware of the pull.

  “May I beseech your company later this afternoon? For a walk upon the paths, or a stroll in the garden?” How insipid he sounded to his own ears, but there was no help for that. Many a lovesick male trod this foolish ground before him. A few long moments passed before she answered.

  “That would be lovely. Shall we say three o’clock?”

  His heart swelled with gratitude that even though she’d hesitated, her response didn’t reveal any disgust. “I’ll be there, Miss Cabot. I must be off. Have to meet with Mr. Clough over Sunday dinner to discuss spiritual matters.” Why did he say that? She’d think him a braggart or a nodcock.

  “Goodbye.” Rosanna’s lilting tones didn’t sound annoyed, however, so maybe it rang fine to her.

  She acted so natural, and unaffected. He liked that about her. She didn’t put on a show as many young ladies did. When she looked at him with those trusting eyes—his heart hoped.

  28

  Departing from Rosanna’s delectable company, he reversed course and entered the vicarage grounds through a black wrought iron gate. After closing the gate, Lord Winstead approached the vicarage door, his emotions mixed. He enjoyed his few talks with the minister so far, but the time had come when he needed to go deeper—to confess his sin. An ugly blot kept him from a clear conscience. He needed to deal with his transgression.

  Compassionate to a fault, Mr. Clough appeared to be the best person to help him rid himself of a mortifying burden of a sin too heavy to bear alone. Convinced the minister wouldn’t be too shocked, and if he was, he’d hide it, Peter forced his reluctant feet to the door and knocked, half-hoping no one was home.