A Refuge for Rosanna

by Susan Karsten

  Easing herself up to a sitting position, Rosanna took a sip or two, then laid back. Replaying the dreams in complete form proved impossible, since waking up scattered them, but she could grasp snippets, one of which involved Lord Winstead on a ladder outside her room, knocking on the window and holding out the figurine from the treasure hunt. Dreams bordered on the bizarre so often, but some said they held nuggets of the future. Not in this case she told herself, suppressing her desires. She drank the rest of her coffee and then swung her legs over the side of the bed.

  She stretched her arms, and tipped her head from side to side, attempting to remove the kinks from her neck. Enough dawdling. “Dot, please come here,” she called out. “I’d like your assistance in selecting a gown this morning.” In truth, she’d be quite able to choose her own dress, but as a kindness to the maid, who showed great interest in the wardrobe, she included her in the process. “But first, tell me if you learned anything about a ladder on the premises.”

  “Miss, I did not. Nobody knew anything.”

  Frustrating. The more time passed, the less likely to find a clue. “Thank you for trying, Dot. A blue day dress, I think. Bring me a few to choose from. I’ll be meeting with Lord Winstead at ten o-clock, so something dressier than my normal morning wear.” Some of the styles for at-home mornings looked like glorified boudoir robes, and she didn’t want to give that impression.

  Dot pulled several muslin day dresses from the armoire. “Here, miss. I thought the delphinium, the sapphire, or the azure print.” The girl looked pleased with herself as she used the color names Rosanna taught her.

  “Good. Those are excellent options.” Rosanna tapped her chin, then decided. “The delphinium today, Dot. With my paisley shawl and Mother’s pearls. The small ones.”

  Hair dressed, wearing a gown of white calico sprigged in delphinium blue, and banded with matching blue silk ribbons at waist and sleeve, Rosanna prepared to face her day. She prayed for peace of mind all the way to the dining room. She slipped into the room where she found a selection of her favorite breakfast foods in covered dishes on the sideboard. Pointing to eggs, bacon, and toast, she allowed a footman to fill her plate and place it on the table. He assisted her with her chair then retreated to his post against the far wall.

  After breakfast, Miss Barton joined Rosanna in the morning room. She dismissed the maid and footman, then related the discovery of the jewels and the accompanying letter, ending her tale with “…and I expect him here at ten.”

  Miss Barton, hands pressed together, fingers touching her chin, gave her reaction to the tale. “This is fantastic—like something out of a fairy tale.”

  “Indeed.” Rosanna entertained a mental picture of Winstead upon a white horse, come to rescue a damsel.

  An aura of excitement pervaded the room. The significance of the coming meeting with Lord Winstead hung in the air like a tangible object. Sketchy details known, but the notion of a lost fortune titillated the imagination. Not every day brought a task of such import. Rosanna had never been involved in restoring a fortune. The imminent meeting involved a story with almost biblical themes.

  She mused that the only logical explanation for Peter’s sudden coldness was his loss of status. He must think she wouldn’t deign to consider his suit. While Barton chattered on, excited about the coming significant event, Rosanna’s heart was squeezed by a combination of fear and desire. The banked fires of attraction might be relit today.

  45

  “Good morning. Won’t you join me for tea?” She held up a cup. By ten, Rosanna’s nerves were stretched thin. The anticipation of this meeting had taken a toll on her serenity. Between restoring his fortune and their awkward interpersonal standing, she struggled to present a calm exterior. She glanced at the door, left open for propriety’s sake.

  A footman lounged on a hallway bench, but far enough away that he couldn’t hear their words.

  “No, thank you. No tea for me.” Lord Winstead appeared distant and impatient—as if he’d like to be anywhere else

  “Please sit down. I have something of great importance to deliver to you today. Not a chiding, or a charity subscription request, nor a question about the history of the estate.” She didn’t want to draw things out too long, but it seemed appropriate to give some preface, some build-up. After all, the poor man had no idea at all what was about to be handed to him.

  “Deliver? Has some mail been misdirected?” His tone was annoyed—did he think she’d bring him up here at a set time to hand him a letter that could have been sent to him with a messenger? He sat on the edge of his seat, ready to bolt.

  “Not mail. Please sit back. This may come as a shock to you.” She rose, went over to a shelf next to the fireplace and retrieved the heavy jewel box. She held it out to him and he raised his hands, somewhat hesitantly, to take the box from her.

  “This belongs to you. It was found in the Lilac Room.”

  “Miss Cabot, I distinctly remember the terms of the property sale. All the contents of the property were included. So, if this box was found here, it surely belongs to you. It’s a beautiful box, with this inlaid marquetry flower cluster. You must know that it is yours.”

  He made as if to lift the box off his lap, but she forestalled him with an outstretched hand.

  “I assure you, this is an exceptional item. Its existence was unknown, and never would have been included with the estate and contents. This was inside. Read it first, then you’ll understand.” She handed him the folded piece of paper and moved over to the window. With her back to the room, she afforded him privacy. Her heart ached for the man. So proud, so honest.

  After a few minutes, he spoke, and she whirled around, hands clasped at her waist.

  “I see. Thank you. I shall treasure this letter, it’s the only one I have from Mother.” His voice sounded constrained, as if he were choking back a sob.

  “You need to be alone. I’ll leave you for a time.” Rosanna slipped out of the room and shut the door with a gentle click.

  ~*~

  Shaken to his core by this unexpected turn of events, Peter didn’t even look inside the box. He dropped his head into his hands and let the tears flow. The pain of losing his mother stung afresh. As he read the letter, he heard her voice in his mind. “… dear and only son…” She’d called him that many times. He’d used to respond, “Yes, dear and only mother?”

  The shock of his circumstances being overturned overwhelmed him as well. He’d just gotten himself resigned to his new life in poverty, faced the world again in his reduced circumstances, and now came this upheaval.

  Good news though it was, it still shocked him to the soles of his feet. He’d been brought so low, and now, top of the trees again. How would he keep his newfound spiritual focus? He’d only started to understand his riches in Christ. “Lord,” he prayed, under his breath. “Keep me on Your paths. Thank You for restoring my spiritual fortune, and a measure of earthly means. Guide me in righteousness.” Striding over to the door, he wrenched it open. Spying a footman in the hall, he gave an order, “Summon Miss Cabot.”

  Serious turmoil rocked his heart. What to say to her in the midst of such uncertainty? He paced, brain working overtime. He rehearsed different approaches, discarding them each in turn. Forget it. He would not plan his words. He would trust God to guide his speech. Here she is, oh, what a darling.

  Rosanna entered the room again, compassion on her face. How sweet. Even after his coldness toward her, she still treated him well.

  He held up the letter, kissed it, then secreted it in an inner pocket of his coat, and laid a hand over it. “Thank you for delivering this treasure to me.”

  “You are quite welcome.” She twisted a dusky curl by her cheek. “Have you looked inside the box yet?”

  46

  “Let’s do that now, together.” Peter took Rosanna’s hand and led her over to the settee. He placed the box on a small table and sat down next to her. “Based on the letter and knowing my mother, this is qui
te full of exquisite jewelry. Am I correct?”

  Rosanna, looking flummoxed, answered. “Yes, that’s right. You didn’t even look at it yet?”

  Not able to stop himself, he reached over and slipped his hand over hers. “No. You see, I have thoroughly accepted the loss of my financial and societal status. I’ve come to terms with my life as it is. Or, was. God’s given me peace, not peace as the world gives, but His peace.”

  Gathering his wits, he went on. “I’d like us to look at it together, if you don’t mind.” He reached out to clasp the jewel box. Drawing it onto his knees, he released the catch and opened the lid. Sparkling gems and the burnished gleam of precious metals met his eyes. In possession of a small fortune again, it truly struck him how content he’d become with his new life. Other than the lack of peace caused by loving Rosanna and knowing her to be above his touch. The drive he’d felt to make her his own, knowing he couldn’t, had been agony. Treating her coldly when he’d wanted only to caress and embrace her had been unbearable.

  No more, though. He now could let his natural desires and intentions toward her flower into matrimony. Possessing her as wife became his goal.

  Now turning his attention to the tangle of jewelry, he spied a blue sparkle. With care, he extracted a golden chain from which suspended a tear-shaped blue sapphire. He took her hand in his, turned her palm up, and let the chain and pendant descend into her hand. Then he closed her fingers over it. “As your ‘reward’ for restoring my fortune to me, I humbly implore you to accept this gift as a token. It shall be a memento of this incredible event.”

  He looked directly into her eyes, willing her to read the message in his own. She returned his gaze for a moment, silent, then refocused on the necklace, appearing to have accepted the gift. She held it in one palm, stroking it with the tip of a finger.

  She blinked, and looked up at him again, cheeks aflame. “I was hurt by your cold attitude toward me, after our interlude in the glen.”

  A drop of sweat formed and began to trickle down his back. “Ah, that. Yes, well, I am very sorry, my dear. I felt I could do nothing else. I had no means to offer you anything, and it seemed best to create some distance between us.”

  So innocent and sweet.

  His heart warmed even further toward her. Many women would be raging at him right about now, demanding an offer. He set the box on the table again and closed the lid. “My dear. Please forgive me.” He began. Letting his heart guide his words, he allowed his newly-freed emotions into his voice. “You enrapture me, my love. I’ve never felt such waves of love and passion as that day in the glen.” He hoped the word ‘passion’ didn’t scare her. “Tell me I haven’t spoiled things between us with my coldness.”

  She gazed into his eyes. “I forgive you. I felt as if my heart would burst into flames. I wanted only to be in your arms forever.”

  Close on the settee now, he edged away, then placed his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him. He leaned forward and took her into his arms in a gentle embrace. After a moment or two, with a ragged sigh, he pushed himself back, and rose.

  Rosanna whispered. “Don’t leave.”

  He rushed to answer. “I’m not leaving, dearest, I just thought it best to move around a bit. Here, I will sit in this chair, right next to you.”

  47

  “From whom do I need to obtain permission to court you, Miss Cabot?” His hand felt hard and warm, so warm, as it covered hers.

  She stalled for time. Not desiring this bliss to end, yet she needed more time to decide if she would go forward. “Court me? For marriage?”

  He took the necklace out of her hand and clasped it around her neck. “For a life together in wedded bliss. Since I can claim the semblance of a fortune once again, I can rightfully court you. And I will, Miss Cabot, until you are mine.”

  At these words, a thrill coursed through her body. This sensation must be passion. “That sounds delightful, but please call me Rosanna.”

  His eyes caressed her, and he reached out to gently capture her hand. “Rosanna, please call me Peter. I couldn’t pursue you without any fortune. It would have looked havey-cavey if I sought marriage with you. The ton would have accused me of being the basest fortune hunter. That’s no longer a concern.”

  She clutched her chest. “Oh, Peter. To think how I fled here to escape those hounds who sought to force me into a dynastic marriage. My uncle, dear man, thought nothing of selecting one titled candidate after another to cast my way. You would not believe the pressure I was under. He was my guardian only until I gained my majority. So, you needn’t ask him for permission.”

  Paleness overtook Peter’s face. His skin had turned an ashen shade and he drew back his hand.

  She wanted to tell him now. He must know everything about her. “I moved here to get away from arranged marriage and fortune hunters. I finally got my uncle to assist me to buy my own estate and I left London and its marriage mart behind forever. Before meeting you, I never wanted to marry after my first love was brutally killed four years ago.”

  Odd, his face had a shuttered look. Puzzled at his expression, she sought to reassure him. “But when you held me that day in the glen, my heart melted, and my world shifted. I believe getting away from pressures of the marriage mart allowed me to heal from my loss and to love again.”

  “I planned to use Honor’s Point to offer a formal place of refuge to other women under that same duress. Alas, that hasn’t worked out. But, you see, God used that plan to bring us together.” She noticed Peter’s mood had gone quiet, and she gave a tenuous, questioning smile.

  Peter scooped up the box and held it against his chest. Something about his stance made it look like a shield. “We’ve been alone too long, Miss Cabot, I must go now.”

  Miss Cabot? She held out a beseeching hand. “When shall I see you again?”

  “Soon.” Then he was gone.

  ~*~

  Lord, how can this be? How can I be given love and moments later, a stumbling block? Peter blindly staggered along the path to his home. He wanted to hide. Slamming through the door, he shoved the jewel box onto the scarred table and threw himself across the bed in the alcove.

  He couldn’t marry her with such a black secret. That was no way to begin a life together. But, if she found out, she wouldn’t want anything to do with him. He rolled over onto his back and put one hand behind his head and one over his eyes. Think. What are your options?

  Lie. Say nothing. Ask Mr. Clough explain to it to her. None of these choices sufficed to salve his honor. Only one solution stared him in the face. He’d have to make a final confession. To Rosanna. Baring the awful truth about what he did to Melissa.

  48

  He’d like to put off this necessary meeting with Rosanna. Avoiding such a revelatory scene appealed to him on some level. However, if he went on any longer with what amounted to deceit, the delay could forever taint and spoil their extraordinary love.

  That might happen anyway, but it would be better to tell her soon, if there were to be any chance at happiness. But why must it be this way? His own sin caused this debacle. Even though he’d done the right thing and confessed to God and man, the consequences of his misdeed lived on and affected him. He’d go immediately—this afternoon.

  ~*~

  One last glance in the mirror. Preparing to make such a momentous call, he tried to appear at his best, even donning an embroidered waistcoat and a few fobs. Dressing well gave one confidence, correct? Then why did he feel lower than dirt?

  He forced himself to set out for Honor’s Point after a failed attempt at eating a light lunch. He couldn’t eat a thing at this moment to save his life.

  He reached Rosanna’s front door much quicker than he really wanted. It needed to be done. Cooling his heels while Perkins extended his invitation, he firmed his resolve to do the right thing.

  “Miss Cabot, Lord Winstead’s here to see if you would care to walk out with him.” The butler’s loud, reedy voice carried from three roo
ms away. Perkins came back down the hall. “Miss Cabot and her maid will be with you shortly.”

  And soon, they were on the garden path. Rosanna at Peter’s side. Dot about twenty paces behind.

  “Shall we sit on that bench under the pergola?” By now, Peter regained his composure and steeled himself for his distasteful task.

  “Yes, that’s one of my favorite places. Dot, would you please sit over on the seat by the oak? Yes, that one. Thank you.”

  Treating the maid so kindly showed her to be a true lady of character and virtue. Peter cherished the hope of enjoying Rosanna’s fine disposition the rest of his life and that revealing his peccadillo would not derail true love.

  “I brought you out on this walk for a specific reason, my dear. If, after I tell you my story, I can still call you ‘my dear’, I shall be a happy man.”

  “What is it?” Rosanna’s voice held a teasing giggle, and it made his insides groan to know how he was about to disappoint her.

  “I have a confession to make. It has to do with your friend, Melissa, Lady Russell.” He paused, assessing her reaction, and giving her time to digest this information.

  “Melissa? Something to do with her?” Confusion swept away Rosanna’s lighthearted expression of a moment ago.

  “Yes, I was acquainted with her in London, you see.” Hard words to say and his heart pounded.

  “Oh. Did you and she… Where you an item at one time?”

  If only that were the extent of the problem, it could be explained easily. “Sort of.” Get it out, man. “I had her wealthy father’s permission to court her. After two months, she wasn’t sure.”

  Rosanna’s eyes flickered with doubt and her delicate brows were lifted in inquiry. “And you agreed to end the courtship?”

  “Not exactly that simple. She wanted more time to decide. She’d agreed to her father arranging a marriage to an aristocrat, but she retained the final say. I, desiring to cling to my estates, put myself in the running. The marriage settlements would have saved Honor’s Point. Her father selected me out of a host of down-at-the-heels aristocrats.” Self-deprecation seemed all too appropriate.