“Not sure, but it reminds me of a hymn, ‘Like a river glorious is God’s perfect peace.’”
“I love that hymn, too. One of my favorites.”
Oh, no. The fallen tree again. She steeled her nerves. Lord Winstead formed a hollow with his hands again. She stepped up, again steadied herself atop the trunk, and then, using her parasol for a brace, jumped down the other side on her own. Why didn’t I do that the first time?
“See what a rambler I’m becoming? With all my walking the paths of Honor’s Point, soon I’ll think nothing of it.” Moving along the path with alacrity, she hoped to diffuse the tension and normalize the situation by referring to the original purpose of their outing. A simple walk to see a waterfall. It had turned into something more, but with any grace, she could perhaps level things out between them to a comfortable distance. That’s what she told herself she should want.
~*~
Peter scolded himself with each step. He’d gotten into something without an easy resolution. No denying that he cared for Rosanna. Such a charming young lady, and being with her gave unexpected delight. He scorned his own heart for caring when he would never again be in a position to offer for a lady as exalted as Rosanna.
“I’ve become a dab hand at stepping stones.” Rosanna crossed the stream and then marched to the foot of the steps and began the ascent.
“Remember, don’t lean on the rail.” Keeping her safe for the remainder of their rustic ramble gave him something to focus on other than bewilderment about their putative future. Not even eligible to pursue a female of any rank, he’d nothing to offer a lady of her high caliber. For him to engender this awkward entanglement was beyond dreadful. Going on, as if a benign neighbor, all the while yearning for his true love, forever out of reach—untenable.
Love caught him by surprise. How funny it was, the very day he unburdened himself of his sins, his eyes opened to true love. Rosanna drew his heart out of hiding. He’d have to conceal his affection from her. She must never know. If she ever found out his scandalous behavior of not too long ago, she’d be repelled. The strikes against him were forgiven by God, but society didn’t forgive as easily. He’d deliver her home and try to go on as though naught changed, when in fact, within him, nothing stayed the same.
They arrived at the manor’s front door. He bowed over her hand and stood back. “This has been excellent exercise. Thank you for accompanying me, Miss Cabot.” There, that sounded cool, yet neighborly.
Her eyes narrowed but she mustered a social smile. “It was all that I could have hoped for. The waterfall, that is.”
“It is a marvel. I shall see you again someday.”
Her fading smile smote his heart. “Yes, someday.”
32
Working the soil was said to lead to serenity of mind. Each stab of the spade and toss of the heavy dirt brought up only shreds of that calm state. He’d been digging and hoeing in the garden behind the cottage for two hours. Peace eluded him thus far, though every weed vanquished gave a modicum of satisfaction.
Last night brought self-recriminations, and very little sleep. He woke with a drive to do something physical to release his anxiety. On the surface, things sat in an ambiguous state. If he left it to simmer down, it might be glossed over. His head told him to back away, but his heart would like nothing more than to be crystal clear in regard to his affections. But he could not very well pursue marriage with the woman who owned his former estate. That would appear mercenary.
He jabbed the spade into the dirt, straightened up, and reached in his pocket for a handkerchief. Not there. If memory served, the stray piece of linen resided in the possession of the young lady to whom his thoughts would not stop drifting. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. Hanging his head while leaning on the handle of the shovel, he became aware of sounds from the front of the house—a banging, knocking sound, and then the whinny of a horse.
Entering the rear door, he glanced in the mirror, and shoved his hair into order. He buttoned up his shirt and retied the neckcloth he’d loosened out in the sun. It would have to do.
“Yes?” He spoke as he opened the door. A refined gentleman stood on his doorstep, looking as though he’d stepped straight from the hands of a skillful London tailor. He wore gleaming boots, spotless breeches, a tasteful yet dramatic waistcoat, all surmounted by a dark coat tailored so well it looked like a second skin. Somewhat familiar to Peter, but he couldn’t place him.
The man’s face wore an easy, amiable expression. “Winstead?”
“I’m Winstead. Who might you be?” Peter felt a bit put out. He’d invited no guests and now this man knocked on his door and asked for him by name. He peered beyond the man’s shoulder and observed a carriage.
The man gestured toward the carriage at which time the door swung open and a lady emerged, moving down the steps lowered in preparation for her descent. “I am Lord Russell. My wife and I have come to call on you.”
Peter took a step back. Shock assailed his bones when he recognized the woman. None other than Melissa Southwood. He wanted the floor to open up and swallow him—to disappear—to die. His past with her was the source of his deepest shame.
The man stepped up into the main room of the cottage and then turned back, holding out his arm to assist his wife to enter as well. “Buck up, Winstead. We came to merely regain a footing of friendship with you, not to curse or rail at you.”
Peter retained a measure of outward calm and the power of speech, but his mind spun. Fear and confusion swirled within. “This is quite a surprise.”
“Winstead.” Lord Russell took charge. “As I said, we are not here to take you to task. We are on a mission of sorts. As much as it is possible, we want to be at peace with all men.” He seated his wife.
Melissa sat, turning her face up toward Peter. “’Tis good to see you, Peter.”
She smiled at him, and the force of her beauty struck him anew. Her luscious, honey-colored hair peeked out from within the edges of a dainty bonnet. Her blue gown with matching pelisse reminded one of the sky on the prettiest of days. He hadn’t truly loved her, but what an exquisite woman she was.
Peter attempted normalcy by uttering commonplaces. “Tell me, what brings you here? How was your journey?”
The three sat at the one table in the main room. Lord and Lady Russell occupied the bench and Peter the chair. He ate his rustic meals here, alone. Strange enough to entertain guests at the table, but for these two to appear, of a sudden, struck him. An unbidden, rueful smile crept onto his face.
Lord Russell sat back, well-satisfied with the visit so far. “You’re smiling. That’s good. We came to formally forgive you.”
“You’re here to forgive me?” Peter’s mind whirled at this revelation. “I just yesterday confessed my sin before God and received a measure of peace. Then today, you arrive to grant me your forgiveness?”
Melissa smiled and looked at her husband again, as if for reassurance. “Yes, that’s why we are here.”
With calm he didn’t really possess, Peter responded. “If you’ll allow, I prefer to tender my repentant apologies before accepting such a gracious blanket of mercy.”
33
Russell responded with a patient overtone in his voice. “We won’t force an apology out of you.”
A bead of sweat ran down Peter’s back. He wanted to get this over with. “It’s not forced. This isn’t particularly comfortable, you both here in the flesh. But I planned to pen a letter of apology. Now I’ll deliver the words in person.”
Melissa beamed at her husband. Probably secure and happy in her marriage, she exuded a more lighthearted spirit than during their brief arranged courtship. “Ooh. See, Mark? We did the right thing by coming here.”
Peter cleared his throat. “Melissa, I committed a grievous sin upon you—an attempted crime. My sinful actions can rightly be called kidnapping and I give no excuse for my crime. I have repented before God, and I implore your forgiveness.” There, he’d said the wo
rds. Peter let out a breath he didn’t even realize he’d been holding.
“I forgive you, Peter.” She smiled at him, and turned to look at her husband.
“And to you, Lord Russell…”
Russell interrupted, holding up one hand. “Please, call me Mark.”
“Mark, then. To you, I ask forgiveness for attempting to steal a bride not meant for me, but for you. I would have robbed God if I had succeeded. Please forgive me.” A further rush of relief coursed through him.
“It’s yours, Winstead. Our hearts already granted forgiveness, but I agree, your words seal the peace agreement. You were right that an apology completes the circle, so to speak.” Mark looked over at Melissa, who nodded.
A tinge of red crept across his cheeks as he continued. “Winstead, in turn, I am also regretful for assaulting you in the chapel. At the time, you surely must agree, your plot needed to be foiled?”
“I suffered no lasting injuries. Please blot that out of your mind. I deserved what you did, and more, for my actions.” Peter rose. As beneficial as this meeting was, he had no wish to extend it.
Lord Russell rose too and assisted Melissa to her feet. “Thank you for allowing us an uninvited visit.”
Melissa extended her gloved hand to Peter. “So glad we had this chance to put that episode of our lives to rest. God’s peace is too valuable to be disrupted if it’s at all possible to regain, isn’t it?”
Peter bowed over her hand.
The group moved through the door and out into the sunshine again.
Lord Russell called out a parting question as he got into the carriage. “Back to the main road, then to the right? That’s the way to Miss Cabot’s, correct?”
Peter’s stomach dropped to his feet. He managed to answer, though cold fear and a sickening premonition swept over him. “Yes.”
“Thank you. You see, we are making double use of this trip. We’re off to visit Melissa’s old friend, Miss Cabot. Farewell!” Mark called as the vehicle began to roll away, “Blessings!”
~*~
Rosanna sighed, then softly stated her estimation of their social milieu. “I like the quiet and the seclusion here but having one caller as persistent as Halburt is too much.”
Ellie held up a thread and a needle to the light. “A complete lack of callers is nicer at times. Of course, my relief at having attained refuge colors my opinion.”
Rosanna mulled the truth that neither one of them wanted a social whirl at this time in their lives, and they were both weary of Halburt and his incessant calls. Miss Barton snoozed in a comfortable chair by the fireplace, while Rosanna sat with Ellie near the windows with the best light for needlework.
Ellie, the younger of the two, had borne half the brunt of his attentions. She pulled the thread through the needle. “Is he not aware of his pompous airs and preposterous flattery?”
“No, he is oblivious, Ellie. It’s been clear since the very day I met him. He is still nattering on about me having a treasure hunt.” Rosanna snipped a strand of yarn and looked up. “I’ve about decided to host a treasure hunt just to shut him up.”
Ellie laughed, pausing her needle. Soon her fingers found their rhythm again. “This beaded reticule won’t be useable if you keep making me laugh.”
“My shawl will probably have holes from dropped stitches as well.” Rosanna held up the knitted expanse and examined it, before flopping it down onto her lap. She stretched out her hands and wiggled her cramped fingers. “The day is fine. Shall we…” The sound of wheels on the gravel drive caused her to break off mid-sentence.
Ellie’s gaze locked on Rosanna, seeking reassurance.
She kept her voice calm and steady for Ellie’s sake. “Now who can that be? Not Halburt—he’s been arriving on horseback. Not Mr. Clough, or Lord Winstead, for they arrive on foot. Perkins will announce whoever it is. Hmmm, we’ll have to see.”
As if on cue, Perkins tapped and opened the door without waiting for an answer. “Miss, Lord and Lady Russell have arrived. Are you at home?”
“Yes. I am most certainly at home to them. Please, show them in and order some cakes, sandwiches, and tea.” Rosanna turned to Ellie. “My friend from academy days recently married. She wrote me saying they’d be in the neighborhood and would visit.”
After a moment, Perkins showed the guests in, first sweeping open the door, then standing aside to allow them to enter the sunny drawing room. The handsome couple, glowing with newly wedded bliss, entered.
Rosanna immediately noticed the transformation in her friend. She remembered her as a pretty, but insecure merchant’s daughter. But now, Melissa Southwood embodied an absolute paragon of confident female beauty from the top of her glossy blonde head to the tips of her fashionable slippers—stunning.
At school, Rosanna shared a room with Melissa, and proximity brought strong friendship. But life diverged on separate paths. Affection endured, however, and she threw herself into Melissa’s arms and kissed her cheek, all the while laughing and hugging.
They stood apart and held each other’s hands at arm’s length.
“So good to see you, Melissa. Introduce me to your husband.”
Melissa laughed again, broke away, and drew her spouse forward. “This is Lord Russell, we’ve been married two months.”
“Charmed, Miss Cabot. We thank you for your hospitality.”
“My pleasure. It’s wonderful to see Melissa again, and so happy.”
The group turned and Rosanna introduced them to Ellie. No flicker of recognition. Good. They didn’t seem to recognize her. Ellie’s time at the academy hadn’t overlapped with Melissa’s.
“Melissa, would you like to go above and freshen?”
“Thank you, but we lunched at an inn nearby, and I removed my travel dust there.”
Rosanna took Melissa’s hand and brought her to a comfortable settee. “You newlyweds sit together here.”
Lord Russell joined his bride upon the plush upholstered seat.
“Perfect.” Melissa proceeded to regale them with their travels. “We’ve had beautiful weather for our travels. And today, we visited Lord Peter Winstead, your neighbor. Such an important visit.”
34
“Important?”
Lord Russell interjected. “Melissa, tell Miss Cabot about our wedding.”
The couple exchanged smiles and Melissa complied. “We had two hundred guests. Held at St. George’s, of course. The day’s weather cooperated.”
Rosanna noticed the abrupt change of subject. She had no idea of the reason behind it, but soon became wrapped up in the details of the wedding and forgot that Melissa had been about to mention something about their visit with Lord Winstead.
Tea arrived, and Melissa described the wedding day at length.
Setting her empty cup down, Rosanna turned toward the newlyweds. “Reuniting with you, Melissa, is so wonderful. I am reminded of our friendship and how we enjoyed our time together in school. In your letter, you mentioned stopping in for a visit, but it would be grand for you to stay for at least a few days. Company has been thin of late, hasn’t it, Ellie?”
Ellie looked down at her teacup in her lap and murmured “Indeed.”
“Can you put off your departure?”
Melissa gave her husband a yearning look. “Please? I’d love to stay a few days. Maybe until Wednesday?”
“We accept. We can send a message ahead informing Aunt Lucy of a slight delay. She’ll understand.” He patted his bride’s hand and the two smiled into each other’s eyes.
Rosanna reached for the bell. “I shall have a small dinner party tomorrow night.”
Miss Barton piped up. “Dinner party? Tomorrow night?” Her voice sounded groggy, but she’d woken up in time to catch those important words. “Mr. Clough might be available.”
“Yes, dear Miss Barton. I don’t believe you’ve met Lord and Lady Russell? My friend Lady Russell was a schoolmate of mine. They will be staying for a few days.”
Her companion came nea
r and met the couple. “So pleased to meet you. Miss Cabot mentioned your name frequently.” Formalities accomplished, Miss Barton turned to Rosanna. “I shall meet with Mrs. Good about accommodations, and tell Perkins to have their bags carried in.” Miss Barton bustled out.
“Ladies, I think I will take a bit of a walk to stretch my legs, check on the horses, and get the lay of the land. I shall be back in time to dress for dinner.” Lord Russell bowed to the three ladies, kissed his wife’s hand, and left them to their visit.
Rosanna recalled her curiosity regarding the visit with Lord Winstead. “So, how was your visit to my neighbor, Lord Winstead? Such a coincidence that you are acquainted with him.” She sat back with false nonchalance to listen to whatever Melissa would choose to share concerning the somewhat mysterious visit.
“Oh, yes. A coincidence indeed. We simply had to see him on a matter of spiritual importance.” She sipped her tea and then closed her lips in a firm line.
At this, Rosanna, chastened at her own nosiness, stopped her probing. “We shall be eight for dinner tomorrow night. You and Lord Russell, our neighbor Lord Halburt, Ellie, me, Lord Winstead, Miss Barton and Mr. Clough. Unfortunately, Lady Brook is away—you’d love her. I’m off to see our Hannah. She’s such a treasure of a cook. That reminds me, I must plan an amusement as well.”
She hugged Melissa and moved to leave the room. She turned before going out the door. “You and Ellie can visit until Miss Barton returns to take you to your suite. I’m so glad you’re staying. It will be so fun!”
~*~
Ensconced in her study, Rosanna tapped her forehead with her fingertips to get ideas rolling. She hadn’t expected planning and then writing the clues for a treasure hunt would prove such a challenge. Renegade fantasies of Lord Winstead which kept popping into her head didn’t help matters.
“To step sixteen, left or right, where you turn, shall bide the night…” Hmmm. Too obscure. How did one arrive at the correct level of mystery and challenge without crossing over into impossibility?
A Refuge for Rosanna Page 15
