Summerset Abbey (18 page)

Jonathon Wells

Rowena pressed the note to her breast for a moment before she realized what she was doing. Of course she wouldn’t go. She would post a short note telling him that such a gesture was not necessary and that if they had both forgiven each other for their rude behavior, nothing more need be done.

On the other hand, refusing his attempt to apologize might be seen as rude. Wouldn’t it be much better to accept, be very proper at tea, and then have nothing further to do with him? After all, she really should show him that not all Buxtons were ill-mannered snobs. Yes. That was what she would do. She didn’t need to go anywhere with him. Just having tea would be enough.

She awoke early the next morning, surprising Prudence by being awake and digging through her closet, looking for something to wear. Just how much black could one girl have? She felt ashamed, reminding herself exactly why her wardrobe was filled with black. Her father had only been gone a month and here she was complaining because she had to wear black. Perhaps she shouldn’t go at all?

No, her father wouldn’t want her to become a hermit. He deplored the mourning customs that kept young people from enjoying their lives. When her grandmother died he had refused to put them in deep mourning at all.

So she would go.

“What are you doing?” Prudence asked from behind her.

“I’m looking for something to wear, but I don’t have anything appropriate.” She gave Prudence a look of desperation.

“Well, if you told me what you are looking for, I might be able to help,” Prudence said, her voice reasonable. Rowena hated when someone was more reasonable than she was.

“Oh, bother! I don’t know. If I knew, I could find something.”

“What are you doing?”

Rowena gave Prudence a sidelong glance. “I am going into town for tea and then going on a short drive. Maybe.”

Prudence didn’t ask with whom, and Rowena was grateful. She didn’t know whether she could articulate what it was about this young man that made her so nervous and excited all at the same time. Certainly, Lord Billingsly or Kit didn’t make her feel this way. Maybe it was because she’d seen Jon looking so helpless and vulnerable. She felt as if she knew him on a level on which she had never known any other man.

Prudence pushed her back into a chair. “You sit. Let’s see what we can come up with. Now, where are you meeting him for lunch?”

Rowena frowned suspiciously. “How do you know I’m meeting a man?”

“You don’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to figure that out. I took a message to a young man yesterday and today you are going out to tea and a drive, and you’re all flushed and excited about it.”

Rowena’s cheeks burned even hotter. “I’m meeting him at the Freemont Inn. Father would take us there sometimes—we would stop for tea when we were riding. It’s nice but not too terribly grand.”

Prudence brought out a crisp white cotton blouse with a high lace neck and fitted sleeves. She laid it on the bed next to Rowena and then paired it with a walking skirt of dark maroon wool and black braid. A black riding jacket had ruffles at the cuffs, a double row of ruffles down the front, and a flounce under a deeply nipped waist. Even Rowena couldn’t get away with forgoing a corset with this ensemble, and she knew it would flatter her. It would show off her slender figure without looking coquettish and be appropriate for both tea and whatever activity would follow. “It’s perfect. Thank you, Pru.”

“You can thank me by telling me all about it later. Promise?” Rowena nodded. “Now go have a bath,” Prudence told her. “I’ll brush out your wool coat. It’s far too cold to go out with just a jacket.”

Rowena nodded and was soon soaking in the giant white tub, wondering exactly what it was she thought she was doing. Her little sister was practically sick with grief and Prudence was stuck in the kitchen washing pots and pans and God knew what all, while she was running off to tea with a young man she didn’t even know. She closed her eyes against the tears that were welling up. She hadn’t done anything to keep her uncle from selling their home. For the last month she had sunk under a never-ending grayness that discolored her every thought and mood. She knew she should be up and taking care of things, but had fallen under a spell of inertia that made it difficult for her to get out of bed in the mornings. The only times the lethargy had truly abated were that afternoon she had watched over Jonathon and their visit in the hospital. She just wanted to feel normal again. Was that so terrible?

She allowed Prudence to wrap a giant Turkish towel around her and brush her hair until it was smooth. They didn’t speak. Rowena was half afraid that Prudence was angry with her. She had every right to be, after all, but she didn’t want to talk about it. Not today. She knew they would have to talk sometime soon, but today she just wanted to live in the moment, escape from her grief and the crippling burden of her responsibilities—and broken promises—to Vic and Pru.

Prudence dressed her, pulling the corset laces until her waist was as small as a child’s. Then she did her hair, her fingers deftly curling, pinning, curling, and pinning as if she had been trained in France.

“Where is Victoria?” Rowena asked, frowning. It was already almost time for luncheon and she hadn’t seen her little sister at all.

Prudence shrugged. “Susie helped her dress this morning and told me to leave her be for the rest of the day. She didn’t look as if she were going out, but she had that mysterious expression that she gets when she has a secret.”

Rowena shook her head. The only secrets she could manage right now were her own. “She’ll be fine. Still, will you check to see if any of the horses are gone? I will make sure she hasn’t gone to town when I have the driver take me in.”

Prudence nodded and then cleared her throat. “I won’t be here next Thursday. I’m taking the day off.”

Rowena looked up. “So now you have secrets, too?”

Prudence smiled ruefully. “No. You just haven’t asked. If you must know, I am going to spend the afternoon with Andrew.”

“Who’s Andrew?” Rowena asked more sharply than she intended.

“One of the footmen, actually.”

“Oh, Prudence.” Rowena hadn’t meant to sound so disappointed, but she was shocked. She never thought of Prudence in relation to a young man, and if she did, it was a young man more like the ones Rowena had met. Rowena’s cheeks flushed at her own pretentiousness. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” she put in quickly. “I was just wondering about Lord Billingsly, Sebastian. He seemed very interested in you.”

Prudence put down the brush and comb, her manner stiff. “Your hair is finished, Miss Rowena. Would you like anything else?”

Rowena turned, her stomach wretched. “Don’t be like that, Prudence. I didn’t mean it like that, at all.”

“Lord Billingsly is not a possibility for me, Rowena,” Prudence said quietly. “Perhaps your father was optimistic in believing that things were changing between the classes, because it seems to me that in places like Summerset, things are very much the same. Andrew may be a footman, but he is a very nice young man and remember, I am nothing but the daughter of a maid turned governess. And now, as
you
well know, I am a lady’s maid.”

Prudence spoke these last words matter-of-factly as she left the room and Rowena sat frozen. Then tears came to her eyes. She sat at the dressing room table, unable to look herself in the mirror. After a few moments, she stood up and snatched her coat off the arm of a wing-backed chair where Prudence had set it. She didn’t care that she would be early to town. She couldn’t stay here one more moment.

Victoria’s room was still empty when she passed it. Cairns hurried to have the auto brought around for her as soon as she ordered it. Her father may have detested having an army of servants and spoke often against the sense of entitlement it brought, but it certainly was handy, Rowena thought.

From beneath her lashes she covertly studied the young man driving her. He only said “Yes, miss” and “No, miss” to her, and Rowena wondered what he had said to Prudence to make her want to go on an outing with him. Did they talk and laugh naturally? Prudence loved to read. Did this young man have a hidden passion for books? Did they discuss politics or music? How could she have said “Oh, Prudence,” as if seeing a footman was something to be ashamed of? Andrew faced straight ahead, his mouth set. He looked nice enough, with blunt, simple features, but nothing special. But maybe he wasn’t showing her the side that Prudence saw.

Restlessly, she asked him. “You know where the Freemont Inn is, don’t you?” She hated the way her voice sounded so peevish and cross.

“Yes, miss.”

She turned away and fell silent. Evidently, Prudence possessed some charm that she didn’t. Or perhaps he was just being smart. She recalled what Prudence had said earlier that day, about the classes—that nothing was going to change. Perhaps Rowena herself was a part of the problem. Would Jonathon think that way? Who was he, anyway? Nerves bounced around in her stomach and she felt crosser than ever. She hated feeling like this.

“What time would you like me to pick you up, Miss Buxton?”

She blinked, realizing they had stopped in front of the inn.

She waited to answer until he had leapt out of the car and came around to open her door. “I will get my own ride home, Andrew, thank you. And don’t worry about your outing with Prudence. She can take the days she needs.”

He stared at her, his eyes carefully blank. “Yes, miss. Thank you, miss.”

She flounced out of the motorcar, feeling at a disadvantage. She hadn’t meant that she would give Prudence the days off, but that Prudence could have whatever days she needed. That they were Prudence’s days, for goodness’ sake. She had a feeling she’d been misunderstood.

Taking a deep breath, Rowena smoothed her skirt and went into the inn, hoping that she wasn’t too early. Mr. Dirkes was sitting alone at one of the tables and Rowena’s heart fell with disappointment, but she put on a smile and approached him, her hand outstretched. “Mr. Dirkes, how wonderful to see you again.”

“Good afternoon, Miss Buxton. Jon will be down in a moment. Have a seat.”

She sat down at the table, her spirits lifting.

“Please, call me Rowena. How is Jon feeling? I was worried that he would be too tired for tea today. He did just get out of the hospital.”

“Oh, no. He is a trouper, that one. Can’t keep him down for long. That’s why I wanted the lad to go into business with me.”

“And what kind of business do you do again, Mr. Dirkes?” she asked politely. She didn’t really care that much; her eyes kept flicking over to the staircase that led up to the guest accommodations.

“I’m in the motorcar business, but I’m expanding into aeroplanes. Right now, Jonathon does all the testing. He does a fair bit of the planning, too.”

She turned her attention to him. She found him infinitely more interesting when he was speaking of Jonathon. “Don’t you think they’re just a fad? My uncle certainly does, though my father wasn’t sure.”

“Ah, the peerage hates to see such sweeping changes. Most of them find it too much to cope with. I’m hopeful that you younger lot will adapt better.”

Her father had said the very same thing.

“And no, I don’t think they are just a fad,” he continued. “I think they are going to revolutionize travel, the shipping of freight and warfare. My compatriots think I’m either a genius or a madman.”

“Ah, going on about the future of aeronautics again? Are you trying to bore our pretty guest to death?”

Even with a cane, Jonathon Wells had come up behind her so silently that she hadn’t heard him. He smiled down on her and her breath caught and held as she stared up into his strikingly blue eyes. The sounds around her—the muted conversation of the other diners, the soft clinking of the dishes and silverware, and the muffled street noises from the front—were drowned out by the deafening beat of her heart in her ears. She smiled back, and for the first time since her father had died, she had an unwarranted urge to giggle at how ridiculously giddy she felt. She lowered her eyes for a moment to gain her composure, then met his gaze.

“I am so glad to see you up and about, Mr. Wells. Thank you so much for inviting me to tea.”

He smiled, showing straight, even teeth. “Thank you.” He tapped his leg with his cane. “As you can see, my leg is actually healing quite quickly. And please, call me Jon. Mr. Wells sounds like my father. And I am going to call you Rowena, if I may. After what we’ve been through, Mr. and Miss sound ridiculously formal.”

“Adapt or die! That’s what I always say,” Mr. Dirkes put in, waving his arms about. His curly black hair was streaked with silver and his moustache was waxed stiffly against his lips. He looked quite mad, but in a nice sort of way.

“You may call me Rowena.” She paused for a moment and then added, “Jon.”

He smiled and inclined his head. A maid in a crisp black uniform wheeled a tea cart out to them and poured their tea. The men spoke excitedly about this and that, and Rowena forgot her manners, so interested was she in their conversation.

“But don’t you think at some point the labor unions will have their day in court? I know the last lawsuit was a devastating loss, but I think it will either be overturned or answered with another lawsuit, which will set precedent.”

Mr. Dirkes sat back in his chair and blinked. “I daresay we’ve been boring you?”

Jon’s lips curved, showing dimples just above the corners of his mouth. “I don’t think so. She seems very knowledgeable on the subject, maybe more so than you. What do you always say? Adapt or die? I think this is one of those instances. Perhaps Rowena is one of the
New Women
you hear so much about.”

Mr. Dirkes held up his teacup in salute. “Touché.”

Rowena gave Jon a rueful smile at his teasing use of the derogatory term
New Woman
before answering. “My father was good friends with Ben Tillett, so labor issues were a normal topic of conversation. And if you’re asking if I’m a suffragette, I would have to say yes, of course. Women certainly should have the vote, but I also think we should be educated equally in order to use our vote most effectively, don’t you agree?”