A Refuge for Rosanna

by Susan Karsten

  Across from him sat Melissa, now Lady Russell. Grateful for her forgiveness, he still wished she and her husband had left the vicinity after their call on him. Finding himself in this awkward situation served as another reminder of how little control over his life he had anymore. He’d thought losing his ancestral home, his fortune, his pride, and honor had brought him into the depths. But being here, near Miss Cabot, the woman he cared for, but would never to be in a position to make her his own, made his heart even more sore. The situation added up to almost more than his hard-won new equanimity could withstand.

  He played with his soup, not really eating. His gaze kept drifting down to his right, to the end of the table where Miss Cabot presided. Why did she have to be so beautiful? His heart gave a painful squeeze just to view her pretty face. He noted her stunning violet gown of the latest fashion, but without the extreme low necklines that were de rigueur. Another thing to be thankful for. He couldn’t have stood seeing more of her lovely flesh.

  37

  Rosanna fought distraction and played with her turtle soup. She brought the spoon to her lips, in a charade of eating. Her appetite fled the moment Lord Winstead walked into the drawing room. The excitement of seeing him again after their meaningful exchange in the glen took away all desire for food. The cook made several of Rosanna’s favorite dishes, but the sight of him halfway down the table distracted her from the flavorful meal.

  He glanced her way, off and on, but his gaze never rested long. She tried to catch his eye with an encouraging smile, but he didn’t give her any eye contact. She began to perceive a coolness emanating from him. Their intimate interaction out in the midst of the glen began to take on the nature of a lost dream. Why did he abruptly act so cold? Being hurt by a man wasn’t in her plans.

  “Miss Cabot. You must tell our esteemed guest of the tales about this estate. Its reputed treasure and all.”

  “Lord Halburt, how you do go on. I’ve heard no more than what you’ve told me. However, Mr. Scott, the house itself is a treasure, and beautifully decorated by the prior mistress.”

  “I assure you, I agree, this being my first time in this part of England. My wee daughter and I are on our way to London for business and pleasure. Sure and begorrah, stopping here is a high note with the beautiful land hereabouts.”

  “Why, thank you. I hope you won’t be disappointed that there’s no treasure here.”

  “Young lady, relieve your doubts on that score. I can’t say when I’ve enjoyed a bookish discussion the likes of what I’ve enjoyed with Miss Moore. We see eye to eye about the coming ascendancy of the novel as a literary form of great importance.”

  The sparkle in his eyes reassured Rosanna that the famed Scottish bard was sincerely enjoying his table partner. She breathed a sigh of relief that the seating arrangements were working out.

  As the meal wore on, however, Rosanna became queasy. How could she misinterpret events to this degree? Winstead, very recently so sensitive and kind, but tonight giving her not a moment of attention. She wanted the evening to end. But the silly treasure hunt had to be gotten through first. She said the words expected of her, forcing an arch smile onto her stiff face. “Ladies, we shall adjourn.”

  The men stood and bowed the ladies out of the room.

  Rosanna led the way. Gathered in the drawing room again, the ladies chattered to the accompaniment of Miss Barton’s clicking needles.

  “Rosanna, your menu surpassed anything I’ve enjoyed in London. I must get the recipe for that lemon pudding.” Melissa waxed on. “As a newlywed, I find a great interest in the homemaking arts.”

  “May I obtain it too?” Sophia Scott asked in a sweet voice. “I’ve never had lemon pudding before.”

  “Thank you, ladies. I shall have my cook bring it to my study tomorrow and I’ll make two fair copies, one for each of you.” Rosanna’s head ached at the base of her skull. Thinking of writing out a recipe didn’t vanquish her other painful thoughts. Would her head ever stop whirling with questions about Lord Winstead? She dragged her mind back to the present.

  The male contingent trailed into the room.

  Halburt would begin to nag and pry if she didn’t announce the treasure hunt within the first few minutes.

  Lord Russell came directly to stand next to Melissa. Reverend Clough parked himself next to Miss Barton on the blue and white striped settee, and Lord Winstead strode over to the fireplace to lean a hand on the mantel. Halburt paraded along in Walter Scott’s wake and then made a fuss settling the great man in a comfortable chair, offering footstool and shawl.

  “I shall leave the orbit of a literary lion to pay court to a lamb of beauty.” Halburt announced to no one in particular, and then sidled over to stand beside Rosanna’s chair.

  She cleared her throat. “Friends, we at Honor’s Point prepared an amusement for this evening.”

  This announcement elicited murmurs of mild polite excitement.

  “Lord Halburt has a penchant for treasure hunts, and I decided to pacify his urgings by planning one for this gathering.”

  “Oh, goody! This will be so fun.” Halburt rubbed his hands together. “Playing as teams? Or on our own?”

  “There are ten of us, and of course, I shall sit out, and that leaves nine. If it’s agreeable, I’d like four teams of two, and you, Lord Halburt, will be on a one-man team.”

  “That’s suits me. I’m quite good at this.” Halburt surveyed the group with a smug face. “I’ve done this before.”

  Hard for her to believe the lengths the man would go to for his own amusement. Did he not perceive at all how selfish and pompous he sounded? She glanced at Ellie and caught a distinct flicker of merriment sparkling in her green eyes.

  Lowering her gaze so as not to laugh, Rosanna willed her shoulders not to shake and made a show of checking her list, collecting herself before speaking. “Lord Winstead, you and Miss Scott make up team one. Miss Barton and Mr. Clough, team two. Lord and Lady Russell, team three, Miss Moore and Mr. Scott, team four. During the treasure hunt, I shall be roaming about, perhaps offering cryptic assistance, perhaps sniggering behind your backs.”

  Melissa Russell’s giggle of anticipatory glee emerged from her perfect pink lips. “Miss Cabot, you wouldn’t do that to us—your friends?”

  “Yes, I would. The kitchens are off limits, as are the bedrooms. There are no clues or treasure in those rooms. Once you’ve found a clue, each of which exist four copies, take your copy and leave the rest for those who come after. I’ve made the clues difficult, but within reason. I shall now read aloud the first clue.” Rosanna held a small piece of paper cupped in one delicate hand. “Listen:

  Find the picture, ‘What is It?’

  Tho’ they grumbled when It was found,

  Your clue is also on the ground.”

  “Off you all go!”

  The guests streamed out of the room.

  Rosanna swept her shawl off the chair and handed it to Dot, who emerged from a corner and stood behind the chair. “Dot, we’ll give them a few minutes’ start, then you will accompany me about the house. I’ll be hinting both toward and away from clues by wherever we traverse.”

  “Ooh. Miss, that’s so clever.” The maid’s wispy hair moved in sync with her nodding head. “I’ve got your shawl, anything else?”

  Rosanna allowed Dot to position the shawl across her shoulders. The fashionable thin silk and muslin dresses were feminine, but not warm for the wearer, thus bringing shawls into great popularity and necessity, especially welcome in the evenings. “Since we need to give them time to start, I do believe I’d like my vinaigrette. Let’s go together to retrieve it from my rooms, before we begin moving about.”

  The maid lagged behind.

  As Rosanna rounded the corner, and turned right at the top of the stairs, she let out a slight gasp and stepped back, knocking into Dot. “Oof. Oh my.” She’d spotted Halburt backing out of the Lilac Room—Ellie’s room.

  His evening jacket was the only bright blue
one among the company and even in the dim light of the upper hall, it was clearly he who pulled the door shut then scuttled to the far end of the corridor toward the servants’ stairs. The man was a self-important popinjay, but was it possible he was serious about pursuing Ellie? Perhaps that explained his presence in her bedroom, in a room clearly stated as off limits for the hunt. He didn’t seem the type to hand-deliver love-notes, poems, or nosegays, but it could be possible.

  38

  Dot’s voice held a whiny reproach. “Miss, what’s the matter? Why did we stop?”

  “Nothing, nothing. I merely had a thought.” Rosanna delayed several seconds, letting Halburt get out of sight. Servants’ gossip was never beneficial. She peeked around the corner, not detecting the blue-clad man’s presence in the hall any longer. “Wait here, Dot.”

  She proceeded to the end of the hall, wanting to be sure of Halburt’s departure. Yes, the door to the back stairs stood open a crack. A house rule ordered that door to be always closed at night. She reached out and latched it. She didn’t want anyone else to wander down the dark stairs, and possibly fall down the steps. No one would, if they followed the rules of the game. And if Halburt fell, he’d have his recompense for being a snoop and a boor. Reversing her steps, she paused at the head of the main stairs. “The stair door was open, Dot. Let’s go to my rooms.”

  Dot followed, huffing to keep up with Rosanna’s quick steps. To the left of the main stairs lay Rosanna’s suite. Pensive, she sank onto the bench at her dressing table for a moment, trying to make sense of what she observed. Twiddling her fingers over her comb, brush, and hand mirror, she came to a decision. The question of Halburt’s presence in the Lilac Room would have to be set aside for the moment, for the sake of the other guests, but she would not forget. She’d speak with Ellie about Halburt’s intrusion, later.

  “Dot, get the vinaigrette, we must hasten to do our part. Since clue number one leads to the long gallery, we shall go there.” She rose and with a brisk step, swept out, navigated the halls to the narrow room lined with windows on one side.

  Dot, having scurried to keep up, panted out an observation. “No one’s here yet.”

  Rosanna checked the niche which held the slips of paper. “And no clues taken, thus far. Hmm. Perhaps I made them too hard. At least, the first one. I shall play the pianoforte. That will draw them to this room.”

  Dot scurried to assist with opening the instrument and swept the seat with a feather duster kept nearby for that purpose.

  Rosanna seated herself, flexed her fingers and began to play a Mozart piano sonata.

  The poignancy of the music eased her emotional state. My, how she wished this evening was over. Being near Winstead with his strained and cold behavior gave her an almost physical pain. Her befuddled heart squeezed with the agony of uncertaintly. No mistake about the warmth he’d shown her in the glen, though his current behavior told a different tale.

  Thoughts interrupted, she looked up and stopped playing as Winstead entered the gallery. She wasn’t surprised, for he’d be one of the few treasure hunters who would recall the series of Biblical paintings hung at the far end of the gallery, one of which portrayed the Israelites in the desert, complaining. The remaining guests would have to straggle in as they ruled out other rooms, or perhaps would hear the music and realize it as a clue.

  “Oh, hello. Where’s your partner? Sophia, correct?” Her calm voice belied the way her heart pounded.

  His gaze flicked over to where the maid stood by the wall. “She tore her hem, so we separated, while she went with the housekeeper to repair it. I shan’t be long. Just here to get my clue before the others.” He moved down the narrow room and reached down into the pertinent alcove. Straightening, he read the next clue.

  Attraction clenched Rosanna’s stomach as she watched him run raking fingers through his springy, attractive hair.

  He strode back to where she sat with one hand still on the keys.

  “Please resume your delightful music. When I heard it, my mind flew back to the long gallery and the clue made sense. My mother used to play here by the hour. She’s also the one who explained the meaning of the Hebrew word manna to me.” He edged toward the door as if he couldn’t get away fast enough.

  “Fascinating. You are the first, however, so don’t tarry if you want to stay ahead of the rest. Halburt is rabid about this hunt.” Though hurt by his seeming disregard, she met his eyes, holding her gaze steady, willing him to look at her. Coolness, no, coldness shrouded his expression, and his eyes didn’t meet hers.

  “Thank you for the advice, I shall be off.” He gave a minimal bow—little more than a nod, and shot out the door at a fast clip.

  Rosanna’s head dipped in discouragement, but her hands sought out the keys as she moved into a mournful nocturne. Before she concluded the piece, the other seven treasure hunters appeared all at once.

  Stymied by the clue, they’d finally followed the sound of the music and now, gathered around, expectant, waiting for hints and help.

  Miss Barton, Mr. Clough, Melissa, and Lord Russell all acted lighthearted and as if they were having a jolly time, hunting around the manor house.

  Ellie and Mr. Scott stood off to the side, chatting about literature.

  Rosanna could pick up a few words, such as editor, printer, books.

  “Don’t say you’re all stumped?”

  Halburt, however, had a pout on his face that threatened to become a full sulk.

  “Miss Cabot, do tell us how you thought we’d decipher your impenetrable clue.” He placed his hands on his hips and put one foot ahead, pointed forward.

  She fully expected him to begin to dramatically gesticulate and expound, so she forestalled him with a hint. She swept her left arm in the direction of the painting. “My dear friends, please take a stroll to the other end of the gallery. There you’ll see a scene that fits the clue.”

  Halburt dashed ahead of the others, giving Mr. Clough a slight shove. He reached the alcove, grabbed up a slip of paper and without even stopping to read it, ran out into the hall.

  Rosanna laughed behind her hand, since the light in that passage shone much too dim for reading. Her amusement at Halburt’s’ expense short-lived, as a swath of mortified chagrin again sank her spirits as she remembered Winstead’s rejecting attitude.

  The rest of the guests stood around the alcove, sharing ideas, laughing, and having a pleasant time with the process.

  “I say, didn’t I read somewhere that manna tastes like coriander?” Mr. Clough offered. “Whatever that is.”

  “It’s a spice. I’m hoping ‘tis a mild one since they had to eat those flakes for years on end.” Miss Barton tapped Mr. Clough’s arm with her gloved finger for emphasis.

  Rosanna kept a smile on her face While she watched them—a good façade to hide her heartache, though her entertaining evening had turned sour.

  The way Winstead acted now didn’t make sense combined with his actions in the glen. She remembered every golden moment, and she’d done nothing to give him a sudden disgust of her. Or had she? Rumors said that some men preferred young ladies not to show any amorous responses. He’d been so close, so kind. The episode receded as if she’d imagined the whole thing, but she hadn’t.

  Something else was wrong.

  39

  Pressing her fingers into her temples, Rosanna returned to the sitting room where she gave the first clue an hour ago and waited for the group to reconvene. She’d done her best to both help and misdirect the treasure hunters.

  The final clue would lead the guests to return here—to square one.

  Sitting motionless, thoughts of Winstead rushed in again. Her head pounded. She sent Dot on an errand. “Dot, please scamper down to the kitchen for some willow bark tea. My head is sore. Do hurry.” She massaged her temples. Moments after Dot scooted out of the room, Rosanna heard steps and steeled herself to face all the guests and the denouement of the hunt. But the footsteps belonged to one guest, again out ahead of
the pack.

  Lord Winstead entered the room, leaving the door open. “Miss Cabot. The search for treasure proved to be an excellent diversion. Pardon me while I find the prize.” With those words he turned away and scanned the bookshelves to the right of the fireplace. He stepped over with confidence, let his long fingers play over the surface of the books, then drew out two thick volumes. After placing the books on the table nearby, he reached into the gap.

  “Eureka!” He held out the canine figurine with the golden collar. “What’s this, a beagle?”

  Before she could answer, the others entered in a cluster.

  Still floating on a cloud of happy excitement, Miss Barton enthused, “That’s a darling treasure!”

  Her partner beamed down at her through his wire-rimmed glasses, then turned his attention to their hostess. “Miss Cabot, I can’t remember when I’ve been so diverted. You have a marvelous way with words and your hints were great fun.” Mr. Clough rocked back on his heels and smiled about at the other guests.

  Walter Scott added his plaudits. “Your clues were quite poetic. I find myself inspired to replicate this fine entertainment when I’m next home at Abbotsford.”

  The group fell silent, as if waiting for pearls from the renowned wordsmith. He went on, “Such figurines shall be collected for centuries, if I don’t miss my guess.” Mr. Scott contributed from his fund of knowledge. “The market for antiquities continues to expand.”

  “May I hold it?” Miss Barton reached out toward Lord Winstead, who handed the china beagle over to her.

  Lord Halburt frowned at Rosanna as he spoke “Not the treasure I expected. But, Miss Cabot, I will credit you. You gave us a challenge. Some of your clues perplexed me to no end.” He chatted with the other guests, giving special attention to Sophia Scott, while alternating glances at the clock on the mantel and at the door.