A Refuge for Rosanna

by Susan Karsten

  A maid answered and ushered him into a cozy dining room. He discovered the minister already seated at a table with an expectant look on his face.

  “So glad you could join me, sit right here.” He gestured to a place set across the table.

  Peter sat down with rising trepidation.

  A mob-capped serving girl backed into the room carrying a loaded tray. She unloaded a tureen, a heaping basket of rolls, and a butter dish. She then served each man a bowl of steaming soup, before leaving the room with the tray tucked under her arm.

  “Shall we pray?” Mr. Clough proceeded to ask God’s blessing upon their meal and their time together. “Lord God, King of the Universe, we beseech a blessing upon this bounty mercifully provided for us. May our words be edifying and full of grace. Amen.”

  “Delicious.” Peter set down his spoon a short time later. The meals he’d been throwing together of late consisted of nothing near as tasty as this. “Living alone in my cottage has its merits, but cookery isn’t one of them.” Peter’s words set the course of the conversation, preparing the basis to work his way around to the painful revelation he needed to make.

  “My small staff takes good care of me. I am grateful.” The minister’s response downplayed Lord Winstead’s reduced circumstances.

  Clough’s kindness gave him the courage to forge on into difficult territory. “I want to talk about…” The serving girl re-entered the room bearing another tray with two plates of roast beef and vegetables. She set one plate down before each man, bobbed a curtsey and departed for the kitchens.

  Peter let his words die away for now, instead addressing the appetizing meal with his knife and fork. What he had to say could wait. Determined to get it off his chest today, a half hour either way made no earthly difference. Besides, the maid would return with pudding before long. He’d bide his time.

  ~*~

  “Ah, a fine meal.” Mr. Clough pushed back his chair and moved over to an alcove featuring a bank of broad, low windows.

  The arrangement of two upholstered chairs and a divan provided a view of the gardens and the woods beyond. Both men sat.

  The minister locked his fingers, elbows on the chair’s arms.

  Peter leaned forward with his hands clasped and arms resting on his knees.“My compliments to your excellent cook. Thank you.” Peter used small talk to ease into the painful topic.

  The minister smiled but said nothing.

  The silence lengthened before Peter dove in. “I need to unburden myself. There’s something on my conscience.”

  “I see. A peaceful conscience is greatly to be desired. Confession is good for the soul.”

  “I hope you’ll still think that after you hear what I have to tell.”

  “Your soul’s condition is quite important.” The minister’s calm demeanor showed no signs of stress.

  Peter began to perspire and found his breaths harder to come by. “You are perhaps aware I was residing in London for a time earlier this year? Before Honor’s Point was sold?” Peter’s mouth got drier with every word. He swallowed before continuing. “I did something reprehensible.”

  The man crossed his ankles, unlinked his fingers, and leaned back, looking as though he heard this sort of thing every day. Maybe he did. “Young man, all have sinned and fallen short of God’s glory.”

  Peter’s resolve ratcheted down, but he pushed onward, forcing the words out. “Thank you for the reassurance. It’s just quite hard for me to forget what I did and forgive myself, let alone believe God will forgive me.”

  “Go ahead. Tell me everything. It won’t be any worse than things I’ve heard before, so don’t worry.”

  He shortened the sorry tale of his offense against God and man. “I abducted a girl I was courting and tried to force her to marry me for my own financial gain. I am very sorry for my actions.” There it was, flopped out like a bale of dirty laundry.

  The minister cleared his throat, and paused, thinking before responding. “What you did was clearly wrong. You certainly know that.”

  “I do.”

  “Though you don’t need an intermediary, I can guide you. God sees the heart and true repentance. God has given us a Savior through whom we can resolve sin. When we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us and cleanse us from all unrighteousness. As God’s children we are assured that Jesus has fully paid for all our sins. We will pray together.” The two men bowed their heads and lifted their hearts to the Lord.

  Tears rolled down Peter’s face. His sin burden was gone. He was free.

  ~*~

  On his way home, in time to prepare for his stroll with Rosanna at three, Peter’s steps floated. His heart soared with grateful relief and firm resolve to walk rightly in his life from then on, no matter how difficult it was. Hard times were starting to feel normal.

  29

  Rosanna slipped out the front door just as Lord Winstead lifted his hand to the brass knocker. She’d been waiting for his arrival and didn’t want a loud knock to wake up any of the resting inhabitants of Honor’s Point, many of whom made it a habit to nap on Sunday afternoon.

  She’d now met Lord Winstead in a socially acceptable way, so it was suitable to walk out with him unescorted by a maid, wasn’t it? She had only promised Barton not to walk alone. She wouldn’t be alone and the fear of being accosted gave no concern, since she’d be with a protective male. In the country, surely the strictures governing a young lady’s behavior weren’t as strict as in town. An escorted woman, of age, on her own property shouldn’t have to worry. Thoroughly justifying playing games with propriety, she rattled off more reasons: she had reached her majority, and was nigh onto the shelf, and if that wasn’t enough, he was an eligible lord and a close neighbor.

  Shy for a moment, she glanced up at him from under the brim of a fashionable bonnet. She chose to wear it, in hopes of pleasing him—hard to admit that, even to herself. The green silk walking dress she wore featured few of the furbelows of the day. She didn’t want to appear to be flaunting her superior wealth or property in front of Lord Winstead, the former owner of her home.

  “You look as fresh as spring in that shade of green, my dear.” He said, bowing over her hand.

  The endearment caught her by surprise. Did he mean that? Perhaps, but his tone hadn’t been overly warm, but rather brotherly, in fact. Was she too suspicious? She twirled around, which allowed the pleated flounce near her feet to swirl out. “Do you like it?”

  “The color is lovely on you.”

  Thinking better of coming across as silly, she stopped after one turn, straightened her dark green spencer jacket with a gentle tug, and tapped the pavement of the steps with the tip of her parasol. “Thank you. Shall we?”

  “Certainly, let’s begin our walk.” Lord Winstead crooked his left elbow and extended it toward Rosanna, who placed her fingertips upon his forearm. “Have you explored all the paths yet?”

  “Didn’t you say there was a waterfall on the property somewhere? The day we got caught in the rain, remember? Waterfalls fascinate me.”

  He guided her a bit further along before answering. “Yes, I certainly do recall getting caught in the rain with you. How could I forget the web of glistening raindrops in the tree above our heads?”

  She glanced over at him to ascertain whether he was teasing her about her poetic babblings. He looked serious. Gathering her addled wits, she responded, trying to defuse the sudden tension between them. “Of course, you remember. Silly me, who’d forget that? What a downpour that was. Can we get to the waterfall easily?” She hoped this flow of words covered up her nervousness. It wouldn’t do for him to realize how he affected her.

  He patted her fingers before covering them with his warm right hand. “It’s this way. It’s not all that easy to get to, and not because it’s terribly far away. We will have to descend a set of rustic steps, ford a shallow stream on stepping-stones, and wend our way down a viney path. Do you have sturdy shoes on?”

  Their progress
interrupted, Rosanna looked down at feet clad in half-boots, having forgotten everything but the feel of his hand on hers, then up to meet his sparkly blue eyes. “I think these will suffice.”

  He gazed into her eyes. “Are you sure you are up to it?”

  She nodded her chin in determination. “I’ve become something of a rambler since moving here and I’m longing to see it. You said it’s not far.”

  Where the path entered the woods, the uneven surface of the descending trail soon caused her to cling to his arm with both hands. He appeared not to mind, in fact, she never recollected seeing him so relaxed.

  He patted her hand. “More rocks and roots crop up on this path every year.”

  He seemed so happy without the brooding glower that used to hover on his brow, and there was an air of lightness in his demeanor so different from other times they’d met.

  “Is it much farther?” She tried to keep any hint of complaint out of her voice.

  “Not far now. Use this railing only for balance. Don’t put your weight on it, though, it’s none too sturdy.” He gave the rail a shake to show her the truth of his warning. “But, I’ll go first and make sure there are no cave-ins on the steps.”

  “Cave-ins? Are you positive this is safe?” She sensed a waft of cool air sweeping down the hill behind them, and she shivered.

  “Very safe. I’ve never gotten as much as a scrape here. It’s simply a precaution since the steps follow the edge of a deep glen. Theoretically, the bank could give way, but we’ll be fine. I assure you.” He moved on down the rustic steps and she had no choice but to follow.

  Not wanting Lord Winstead to think her a coward, she clarified things after they’d descended several steps. “I do love ravines, paths, grottos, and the like.” That was just about as silly a remark as she could have made.

  He made no response, so perhaps he didn’t notice.

  The railing came to an end, she arrived at the foot of the steps. Shafts of sunlight filtered from on high, lighting up stepping stones in a shallow stream. “Is this the lowest part of the glen?”

  “Yes.” Lord Winstead stood on a large, flat stepping stone facing her, holding out both of his hands. She hesitated, then decided there could be no harm in him merely wanting to help her across the rocks. She reached toward his hands. He grasped her fingers, then her hands, guiding her forward onto the stone, and to her surprise, into a sudden embrace. His lips descended upon hers.

  Surprised at the response her traitorous body gave, she struggled to tamp down the flames of desire sparking inside. Her physical self had a mind of its own and wanted only to get closer to this man. Rosanna allowed a moment of this sublime pleasure, before pushing him away with a firmness that surprised her because all she craved was to be held in his arms forever.

  30

  Shocked at his own actions, Peter railed at himself, since pulling her into a hug had not been part of his plan for this Sunday outing. “Rosanna. Please forget I did that. My apologies. Shall I escort you home now?”

  “Only if there is no waterfall for me to see.” Rosanna looked stunned but straightened her jacket and brushed off her sleeves. “We’ve come all this way, through the perilous descent on those steps with the rickety railing. I, for one, am enamored of stepping stones as well, and don’t want to miss them either.”

  “Of course. We can proceed.”

  Chin up, she edged past him and then picked her way across the shallow stream. Shafts of light guided her steps.

  His heart sank like lead as he followed her from stone to stone. He read disapproval in the rigid set of her back. Would he never learn? Why take such liberties with a young, innocent lady? She deserved to despise him for taking her to this isolated place and practically molesting her. “The falls are that way.” He pointed to the left. “The path on this side of the stream will lead us to the waterfall.” His gut roiled over offending her, but since she wanted to keep going, he must attempt to be an efficient guide.

  Silent, she managed to step over a few downed branches and some trailing vines that crept over the footpath. He hoped she could navigate the entire trail, because he must avoid touching her again.

  A fallen tree blocked the way ahead. She stopped, stymied, the trunk too substantial for her to climb over unaided. He bent over and locked his hands together to make a step for her to use to get to the top of the trunk. He’d have to assist her down the other side as well.

  “I’m steady now.” She made quite a picture, sitting so ladylike on top of a downed tree in the shady, moist glen. He blocked her beauty out of his mind and clambered over the tree in a trice. In order to help her down so they could continue, he’d have to touch her, to reach out both his hands again—just as he’d done back by the stream when he’d pulled her into his arms.

  “Please get me down. The bark is poking through my dress.”

  She did say the most delightful things, and he loved her unaffected personality. Did she realize how charming she was? Gathering the remnants of his courage, he wished he were at least a temporary eunuch. He had to place a hand on either side of her waist to lift her down. After he set her on her feet, he locked his hands behind his back.

  She looked away for a moment then spoke. “Are we close to the falls? I’m a bit weary of this rough path.”

  What would she think if he picked her up in his arms and carried her to the secluded grotto? He should’ve thought through the pitfalls of this rough excursion. He’d never imagined she’d need so much assistance. Or that giving such assistance would become fraught with unruly physical attraction.

  “We’re quite close. It’s only about twenty more feet. You’ll be able to see it once we round this curve and pass that clump of hawthorn.” He pushed the shrub aside for her to pass.

  There it was, in all its dark glory, forty feet of glistening waterfall, tumbling into a shadowy pool. The water had carved out a grotto over the centuries, and the scene held a rare, sheltered allure. The heavy scent of plants and moisture gave the air the redolence of a jungle. Drops of the dark water escaped the rushing cascade and caught the filtered light, giving the whole spectacle a sparkling sheen.

  Awed, Rosanna sank down onto a handy boulder, big enough for them both, so he sat down next to her to view the falls, careful to avoid any physical contact.

  Peter wanted to remind her of the reason they ventured on such a temptation-strewn path. “Do you understand now why this is a renowned beauty spot?”

  She spoke in a hushed, reverent voice. “This is marvelous. Thank you for bringing me here.”

  She thanked him? She was so kind and sweet. That would seem to indicate forgiveness for his precipitous embrace. Relieved that the awkward results of his impetuous act were subsiding, and his fair companion was able to forgive and forget, he passed his hand over his face in chagrin. God was good, to allow him to touch even the hem of her garment.

  A sudden wash of relieved gratitude came over him. Peter noticed some moisture under his companion’s eyes. “Miss Cabot, are you all right?” He whipped out a linen handkerchief and offered it to her. She took it and wiped her eyes.

  “I’m fine, just overcome by the beauty of it all. To be honest, you overwhelm me as well.” Tears swam in her warm brown gaze, and a flash of yearning showed itself for only a moment before it disappeared, leaving him unsure of what he’d seen.

  31

  Peter’s eyes went smoky and his voice dropped. “I overwhelm you?”

  Rosanna explained her tears. “You see, I haven’t been hugged in so long. My parents are both dead, and my life contains little or no affection of that sort. Your warmth, well, it is more than I expected to find when I moved here. My reason for moving here was to live in a refuge of my own creation.” Talking about her life to this attentive man gave her the sensation of being treasured.

  “I understand. Think nothing of it. I’m glad my impulsive act had some merit after all.” He glanced around, and changed the subject. “This spot has such peace and an aura of
otherworldliness. It would affect many.”

  So kind of him, to try to put her at ease about her tears. Rosanna’s chest throbbed with a mixture of pain and exhilaration. Her dim memories of loving Clarence didn’t include this intense pull toward a man. Was this love, again? If life played a trick on her after all these years, would her resolve against love weaken under the gentle assault of this man’s affection?

  Awareness of their isolated location flashed into her mind. He’d compromised her with his embrace and kiss. Perhaps since no one knew, that would negate the consequences. But Lord Winstead knew. A trickle of unease ran down her spine. She hated the thought of him offering for her out of convention. She wasn’t sure she wanted him to offer for any reason. Her long-held opposition to marriage still held some sway within her.

  Having seen the waterfall, she gave a belated nod to propriety. “We should go now. I’ll be missed at home. I really mustn’t wander about without a maid again.” She stood, brushed at her skirt, and tucked his handkerchief in the reticule hanging from her wrist. “I’ll have it laundered.”

  Rosanna forged back the way they’d come, this time not holding his arm. She used her parasol to shove the hawthorn clump out of the way. While she navigated the uneven path, thoughts of Lord Winstead ran rampant. Being with him filled a deep unmet and previously unknown need. Hard to guess what would happen next.

  According to convention a proposal might arrive later today. Tomorrow? After all, in the moral code of the ton, he’d compromised her.

  The fact that she’d brought it on herself by willingly going off alone with him didn’t matter. That kind of proposal didn’t suit her dreams, however, and she fervently hoped societal mores wouldn’t force him to the point.

  She began a stream of nervous chatter. “The never-ending water of the falls recalls to me God’s infinite love. Do you suppose this has been here since the creation?” She didn’t expect an answer to her rhetorical question, but he surprised her.