by Lynn Bryant
It was a shock to her, and she had no idea how to manage the overwhelming rush of feeling that just the sight of the young Englishman evoked in her. She was suddenly an enthusiastic guest at every soiree and every dance. She paid attention, for the first time, to the style of her hair and the set of her gowns and she wondered, panicked, if she had left it too late to understand these things at all.
It did not seem to matter to young Lieutenant Barton, who had taken her out into the moonlight and kissed her very thoroughly under the summer stars. They had walked together in the hills, danced every dance she was permitted at the balls and she had come closer than she was prepared to admit to her father to allowing him to take her virginity, finding nothing to frighten her in his very ardent lovemaking which he was clearly willing to take to its full conclusion should she allow it.
She had not; not from any considerations of propriety but from a native caution which warned her that for all his protestations of love, he had not yet made a formal application for her hand in marriage. The months drifted by and gradually, although his kisses were no less passionate, he talked less of a shared future and more of his hope that, finally, his wealthy uncle might provide the money to enable him to transfer into a regiment of the line, enabling him to fight Bonaparte as he wanted to.
“I don’t want to leave you, Rose,” he had whispered, as she lay melting in his arms in the unromantic setting of the castle stables. “But it’s what I’ve always wanted.”
“You can have both,” she had whispered, against his mouth. “Talk to my father. We can marry before you leave. Or at least be betrothed.”
“I’ll talk to him. Rose, I can’t bear this. I want you so much…please…”
“No,” she had told him firmly, rolling away from him before her own body, longing for him, betrayed her. “Not unless we’re married. Or at least betrothed. I love you, Edward, you know I do. But I’m not risking falling for a baby like this.”
He had groaned in sheer frustration. “I’ll ask him. I’ll talk to him, I swear it.”
He had told her, more than a week later in few words, that her father had refused. In the next breath he had told her, joyously, of his commission as lieutenant of the 52nd light infantry. He was sailing for England and although she saw him just as often during those last weeks, she could feel him slipping away from her as she tried to cling on.
Roseen had expected to be heartbroken, and she had cried for several nights for her lost hopes, angry that her father had not cared enough for her feelings. Looking back now, she realised that she had deceived herself. If Edward had spoken to him, her father would have told her of it, and of his refusal. She wondered why that had not occurred to her at the time.
And her heartbreak had been interrupted by the exasperatingly persistent courtship of Captain Hugh Kelly with his ready smile and the endless stream of activities which had kept her busy and involved just when she had wanted to shut herself in her room and cry. Before she had realised it, the tears would no longer come and she had felt, along with an immense sadness, relief that she had stuck firmly to her refusal to consummate her brief and passionate love affair with Lieutenant Barton. She might be unhappy but she was not pregnant, and that would have been so much worse.
It had taken her months to realise how important Hugh Kelly had become to her. Long after she no longer thought of the young Englishman, she was still uncertain how she felt about the captain. He was completely unlike her other lover; practical, down-to-earth and maddeningly elusive. For weeks she had refused to admit how much she looked forward to seeing him; how eagerly she awaited the sight of his tall figure riding up the drive to the house. She had told herself that this match was of her father’s making and had deliberately closed her eyes to her own feelings and to his as well.
Their day out in Peel Town with its somewhat unfortunate ending had changed that for her. Suddenly she realised that the marriage that she had refused to even consider at the start was the marriage she wanted. She had grown so accustomed to his dry wit and ready laughter that she found herself missing him when he was not with her; saving up amusing snippets to tell him when they met. The touch of his hand on hers could send her pulses racing and when he occasionally went further and kissed her she was conscious of a fierce longing that was quite unlike the romantic feelings she had entertained for Edward Barton. It seemed to her now that Barton had been a girlhood dream, pleasant but with little substance. Hugh Kelly’s strong arms and quizzical smile was reality and she had wanted it to be her reality. A moment of stupidity in a dark doorway had ruined her hopes and Roseen would have given anything to go back, to have had the sense to shake her head and move away from Lieutenant Barton’s request for that last kiss.
It was worse knowing that she had hurt Hugh. The shock and pain in his slate grey eyes would stay with her for a long time. He had not expected it of her; was as sure of her as she had been of him. Roseen tried to imagine how she would have felt if she had walked into a room and found him kissing Maria Quayle and the thought made her face burn. Her father called it hurt pride but Roseen could not deceive herself that it was no more than that. Hugh Kelly cared for her and her perfidy had hurt him as much as his sudden departure had broken her heart.
It was draughty in the window seat, and too dark to see much more than the twinkle of the lights anyway now. Roseen got up and reached to unbutton her gown. She thought again of her proposed nuptials to Mr Orry Gelling and then dragged her mind away from it. Nothing would happen immediately and she would have time to talk to her father when he was calmer, time to convince him to wait, to give her a chance to repair the damage she had done to her good name. With Hugh Kelly’s smile still fresh in her heart, Roseen could not contemplate learning to accustom herself to being married to a man like Orry Gelling.
Chapter Seven
Autumn was wild that year in Mann, high winds bringing down trees and ripping slates from the roofs and torrential rain causing rivers and brooks to overspill their banks. The sky seemed permanently iron grey and the sea was precarious, causing the packet to be frequently late or unable to sail at all. Merchant ships were less affected although fewer of them sailed in to Derbyhaven, preferring to wait until more clement weather to bring goods to the island. Josiah Crellin watched the skies and his daughter with equal anxiety with an eye to his business and her future, two things he had hoped would be linked.
Roseen could sense her father’s concern but she could do nothing to alleviate it. The grey skies mirrored her mood as she moved through the weeks after Hugh’s departure with little to say and no inclination to say it.
Her father had been right about the gossip and she attended those social functions she could not avoid with her head high and her heart heavy. She could see people watching her, could hear the sniggers of Maria Quayle and her friends and she sensed little sympathy for her position. She had never been particularly popular and had never tried to be, preferring her own company to the endless round of tea parties and dinners that her aunt attended. Manx society was close-knit and it was impossible to hide from its critical gaze. It did not help that Lieutenant Barton was English and Captain Kelly, whom she was considered to have jilted, was both Manx and well liked.
Barton had gone, pleading the need to return to his regiment before their next posting. Roseen had not spoken to him again and had tossed his letter of farewell and apology into the fire. She did not for one moment believe his excuse. Mr Barton had run, his own popularity severely dented, and she wondered with new cynicism if he would be as much of a coward on a battlefield as he was in the rest of his life.
Her father did not mention the Gelling marriage again for several weeks and Roseen appreciated his tact, although she knew it was there, hovering unspoken between them. In early October the weather finally calmed a little, not into late sunshine but into fog and drizzle and cold, but at least Roseen was able to ride a little and she toured the estate, surveying the damage done by the wind. Her father’s men were out be
ginning repairs to fences and gates and dragging fallen trees to be cut up for firewood. Several of the farm cottages had sustained damage to their thatched roofs and Roseen could see men on ladders working on them, hazy through the mist. There would be more bad weather to come and they were making the most of this dreary calm to secure a dry roof before winter came.
With her groom at her heels, Roseen turned Bridget back towards home. She was thoroughly wet and she knew that her aunt would scold her for going out in this weather but she had been going mad confined to the house with her sewing. A fine rain soaked her riding habit and it brought back the memory of the day in Peel Town with Hugh when she had got so wet on the way back. Roseen looked down at the inside of her wrist, just above her riding glove. There was a scar there which might fade with time from her tumble down Peel Hill. Roseen did not want it to disappear. It was a reminder, real and tangible, that on that day, with that man, she had been happy.
Arriving back at the house she was surprised to see a carriage on the driveway. She had not been aware that visitors were expected and she turned Bridget towards the stable, intending to leave her there and slip in the back way as she had often done before. Her intention was thwarted by her father’s voice.
“There you are, child. Let Corey take your horse and come through, we’ve a visitor.”
Roseen dismounted. “Sir, I would, but I should change, I’m wet through.”
“Aye, I can see that,” Crellin said in disapproving tones. “What were you thinking of to be riding out on a day like this?”
“It wasn’t raining as much when I set off,” Roseen said, coming forward. “Let me change and I’ll…”
“Inside, now.”
Roseen stared at him in some surprise and then felt a little chill as she understood. She nodded and went up the steps and into the front hall where a stocky man with dark hair showing streaks of iron grey was standing with his back to her studying a hunting scene on the wall. He was plump and prosperous looking, dressed in respectable although slightly old fashioned clothes and as she moved forward he turned.
His face was florid; a man who enjoyed both food and drink and probably rather too much of both. Slightly narrow brown eyes surveyed her and then moved very slowly over the whole of her. It gave Roseen the impression that Mr Orry Gelling was inspecting a brood mare offered for sale and moreover that he was not particularly impressed with the merchandise.
Angry, she lifted her chin slightly and dropped a very small curtsey. “Mr Gelling. My apologies for my sad state, I was out riding and was caught in the rain, as you see.”
The brown eyes flicked over her again and then Gelling came forward. “So I see,” he said. “Did you take a groom with you?”
Roseen was astonished. “I beg your pardon?” she asked frostily.
“A groom. If you didn’t, make sure you do in future. If you’re to be my wife I’ll expect you to be above reproach. Which you clearly haven’t been so far, but that needs to change.”
Roseen could feel her pulse beating more quickly. “Mr Gelling, I am not aware of any betrothal between us,” she said, trying to keep her voice civil.
“No, and there won’t be for a bit. Still officially in mourning for my wife, and I like to do these things properly. I’ll have put off my black by Christmas and we can announce it then. In the meantime, I’ve told your father how I’d like things to be done. We need to put this scandal to bed. Shouldn’t be hard, you’re young and silly, like all girls, and no doubt some of the fault was your aunt’s for not watching you properly. That needs to change now. I want you home here with your sewing and spinning, not careering round the island like a hoyden. I’ve spoken to your father and he agrees with me.”
Roseen clamped her jaw to stop herself speaking. Her heart was pounding in sheer fury but she was determined not to allow Gelling to see how upset she was. Instead she looked over at her father.
“Have I leave to go to my room, sir? I’m becoming very chilled.”
Crellin nodded without speaking and Roseen dropped another curtsey, impartially between the two men and made her way upstairs.
She was crying by the time she reached her room and Karann fussed over her, drying her wet hair with a towel and wrapping her warmly in a robe while she patiently combed it through. Roseen did not attempt to explain and she was fairly sure she did not need to. All the servants had known of her expected betrothal to Hugh and she was fairly sure they all knew that Gelling was her father’s next choice.
She remained in her room until the sound of wheels on the drive told her that Gelling had left. Her maid coaxed her into dry clothing and had just finished pinning up her hair when the housemaid appeared.
“Master wants you in the parlour, Miss Roseen.”
Roseen nodded and rose. She found Crellin seated in his favourite high-backed chair and he rose as she entered.
“Warmer?” he asked and Roseen nodded. Her father indicated a chair but Roseen walked past him and went to stand by the window.
“What are your instructions, father?” she asked frostily.
“Instructions? Lass, I’ve asked them to bring tea. I thought…”
“You know what I mean. What are your instructions? I thought that’s why I was here. If you have none, I’ll go back to my room.”
“Roseen, there’s no call for that. You brought this on yourself.”
“What I did was stupid and thoughtless, but it lasted for thirty seconds. Are you going to sell me to that man for half a minute’s madness?”
“I’m not selling you to anybody!”her father shouted. “With your reputation, lass, I’d likely have to pay a man to take you! Thank God Gelling’s rich enough and powerful enough to snap his fingers at the tattlemongers!” Crellin took a deep breath and appeared to recollect himself. “I didn’t call you in to quarrel with you, child. I do feel sorry for you, you’ve got yourself into a mess. But this marriage will get you out of it. If we…”
“You mean it will get you out of it!” Roseen snapped, losing her temper finally. “You don’t give a damn about what happens to me!”
“Watch your language, miss, you’re not too big for me to take a strap to you, I’ll not be spoken to like that in my own house!”
“Is that what you intend to do if I refuse him, father? Beat me until I give in? Well go right ahead, because I’d rather you took the skin off my back than marry that man! And if you won’t tell him so, I will!”
“That’s enough!”Crellin roared, getting to his feet. “Do you think I’m doing this for me? I’m trying to take care of you! What happens to you once I’m gone and the money is yours? Are you expecting to live here with your brother and his family, because I’m telling you, Roseen, they don’t want you. She’s a good respectable lass and she’s embarrassed about the things she overhears them saying about you! As for living alone, it won’t wash, lass! I know well what the gossips would make of that; there wouldn’t be a house on the island you’d be received in!”
“There’s not a house on the island I’d want to be! Let them talk and whisper and make up stories, they know nothing about me! But you do!” Roseen lowered her voice, looking directly at him and she could sense discomfort under his bluster. “You do. You know how unhappy I am and you know how unhappy I’d be married to a man like that. I know we’ve not always agreed, father, but I cannot believe you would do this. I cannot believe that you’d force me to marry a man like him once I’d known a man like Hugh Kelly.”
There was a long and difficult silence and Roseen did not drop her gaze. Eventually her father sighed.
“I’m not stupid, Rosie,” he said, and his use of her childhood name told her that she had reached him. “If you don’t come to see the wisdom of this match then there is no point in dragging you to the altar, you’d refuse to say your vows. But I’m not telling that to Orry Gelling. I’ve spoken to him about what happened earlier. Told him he’s going about it the wrong way, that he needs to give you some time to come round.”
/> “I will never come round to this!”
“Well try, Roseen, because this might be your one chance. We’re a small island here, love, there aren’t that many eligible men looking for wives and the ones who are, want a nice well-behaved girl with a bit of money who will give him children, tend his house and…”
“And share his bed!” Roseen said flatly. “And that’s why Orry Gelling wants me, isn’t it father? I know all about his first two wives; he likes them young and stupid and easy to push around. I’ll guarantee I wasn’t his first choice, I’m twenty-two which is a bit old for his tastes and not nearly silly enough but he’ll have to make do because I don’t suppose there are many parents keen to hand over a frightened sixteen year old to him these days. Well I am not going to do it! You can do whatever you like and tell him whatever you want and I don’t care if I die an old maid in a cottage in Peel Town with a couple of cats and a maid-of-all-work, I am not going to marry Orry Gelling!”
Her father sighed. “We’ll talk another time, when you’re calmer. Come and sit down and have some tea - they’re probably hovering outside the door with it, too scared to come in while we’re yelling at each other. I’m not so much worried about you being a lonely old maid, Roseen, I’m worried about what else you might come to without a man to keep an eye on you. But let’s not talk of it again now.”
It was not mentioned again, but Roseen was not deceived. As autumn drifted into a mild, wet winter, she was aware of a difference about both her father and her aunt. Her freedom to roam at will was strictly curtailed. She rode still, but always with a groom at her heels. Her afternoons on the hills were a thing of the past as her aunt dragged her out to pay calls, attend tea parties and help with church functions. There seemed always to be somebody around her, watching her and correcting her speech, her manners and her behaviour. To Roseen, used to considerable freedom and a good deal of solitude, it was intolerable.
