The Old Maids' Club 02 - Pariah (28 page)

Instead of joining them, however, he took a seat at his desk in the parlor to go over a few details on the budgetary report Milner had given him at Hassop House. Within minutes, he was so fully engrossed in sorting through figures and making lists that he’d lost track of time.

Mrs. Temple startled him out of his work when she came into the parlor. “Here we are, my lady. And Lord Roman’s already here to have tea with you.” She smiled over at Roman as she guided the lady into her armchair. “Miss Bethanne will be in to join you both in a few minutes. I’ll just go fetch the tray from Joyce. You two will be all right without me?” Without waiting for Roman’s response, she bustled out the door and went about her business.

Roman closed his books and set them aside for another time. Perhaps, once Crandall had arrived and was settled into his new duties, there would be more time for Roman to focus on his own. Not that he minded helping the women in the Shelton household. Far from it. But they were all being stretched rather thin of late.

Once he had all of his records situated, he moved to take up a seat next to Lady Rosaline, choosing the blue brocade sofa, this time. He hoped, almost in spite of himself, that Bethanne would choose to sit next to him there instead of selecting her usual settee.

Roman brushed the thought aside and smiled at Lady Rosaline—who, he noted, was wearing her red velvet gown again. Probably not a harbinger of good things to come. “Have you had a good day today, Lady Rosaline?”

She looked up at him with the eyes of a young lady in the blossom of new love. “Oh, today is to be a
wonderful
day. My Christopher will return home today, you know.”

Just as he’d expected.

Roman took up his usual conversation with her, hearing all of Lieutenant Jackson’s conquests in the war against the rebel colonists—a war which had ended several decades ago. He listened attentively as she painted a sparkling picture of her hero with her words, feeling desolate all the while that, yet again, she would end up with only devastation and a broken heart. Sometimes he wondered if the loss of her love had destroyed her mind, as well. He should ask Bethanne about that sometime, see if she’d open up a bit about her aunt and the life that the woman had led.

Bethanne came in as Lady Rosaline was recounting a battle in which Lieutenant Jackson had rescued three of his fellow soldiers from certain death. The younger lady smiled at Roman, a half-hearted smile, true, but still a smile. He would take any she would give and be thankful for them.

Smoothing her skirts, she took the open seat next to him on the sofa just as Mrs. Temple and Joyce brought in the afternoon tea.

Lady Rosaline ceased her monologue and looked up expectantly at the servants. “Has he arrived? Is my Christopher here?”

Unruffled, Bethanne reached for the teapot and poured. “I’m sorry, Aunt. He hasn’t arrived yet. We’ve had no word at all.” Setting the teapot down, she put in two cubes of sugar and a dollop of cream, then passed the cup to her aunt. “Tea? And let me fix you a plate of sandwiches. That will help you to pass the time until his arrival.”

Roman let out a breath of relief. She seemed so much more composed than she had of late. He didn’t know whether Bethanne’s change in demeanor could be attributed more to his promise that he wouldn’t leave them or to the relaxing afternoon she’d spent in the music room, but it didn’t really matter. He was just glad to see her taking her aunt’s behavior in stride, without resorting to panic.

For the next while, they made small talk, discussing the turn in the weather and debating how soon they’d need to make a trip into town for further supplies. Lady Rosaline sipped from her tea and ate her sandwiches, not paying any attention whatsoever to their discussion as she was full engrossed on watching out the front window.

“Crandall, a footman from Hassop House, will be here no later than dawn to take over as your manservant. At least for the time being.” Roman returned his cup and saucer to the tray and sat back, stretching out his legs a bit.

“You’re sure your father won’t hear of it?” Bethanne only sounded mildly worried, not as certain of impending doom as she usually was.

Roman winked at her. “There’s no reason he should. The house is staffed well enough for the family to be in residence, and since they
aren’t
in residence, there isn’t enough work to go around. Milner and Crandall are both very discreet. Word will neither reach your father’s ears, nor those of anyone else in your family.”
Your secret is safe with me
. The words hovered on his lips, but he kept them to himself.

She nodded and took another sip of her tea. Roman’s eyes were drawn to her delicate hands, perhaps half the size of his own. Everything about her was so dainty and small, so very dissimilar to anything about him. Further proof that he needed to keep his distance from her, no matter what he was drawn to do. It would be so easy for him to hurt her, to break her, to do her significant harm.

Crandall couldn’t arrive soon enough.

Just as the thought struck him, the sounds of horse and carriage rolled into the drive. The man must have decided not to wait until tomorrow morning. Perfect timing. He’d be able to introduce Crandall around to Bethanne and the rest of the women before they all went about their next tasks.

Lady Rosaline’s eyes widened with delight, and she shot up from her chair.

Damnation, she must think that the carriage housed Lieutenant Jackson and not the new manservant for the cottage.

He stood to block her, should she try to run from the room to greet the man. That proved unnecessary, however, as Lady Rosaline darted to the window. “He’s here!” she shouted, with equal amounts of delight and longing coloring her tone. “My brother Drake has finally come to pay me a visit.”

That might be a simpler misunderstanding from which to calm Lady Rosaline. She wasn’t desperate for a visit from her brother, so she wouldn’t be quite as devastated when she learned it wasn’t him but instead a new servant. Roman relaxed.

Until Bethanne’s head whipped around to look at him, her eyes in a full state of panic. She bounded from the sofa to stand by the window, and all color drained from her face. “It’s Uncle Drake’s carriage. It’s his crest.” She shook her head, her eyes vacant. “Jo never sent a letter. She didn’t warn me.”

The sound of booted feet crossed the pea gravel, coming ever closer to the door. As a knock sounded, Finn’s feet pounded down the stairs and he shouted, “Mama!” Bethanne looked as though the world had come crashing to an end.

And he’d be damned if he could determine how to save her from it.

This couldn’t be happening. Bethanne stared dazedly at Roman, as though he could suddenly burst out with superhuman abilities and sort out the mess she was in the midst of—a mess she’d created, at least partially, for herself. All she could do was shake her head, as countless thoughts raced through her mind.

Finn leapt into her arms and kissed her on the cheek, even though she almost hadn’t caught him due to how hard she was shaking.

“Someone here.” His grin was as wide as the doorway.

“I…yes…” Yes,
someone
was most decidedly here, as evidenced by another knock at the door. She tried to move her feet, to walk to the door and let Uncle Drake in, but it was as though her half-boots had turned to lead. She couldn’t budge. Not even a blessed inch.

Roman stepped over to her and took Finn from her arms, passing him to Mrs. Wyatt. “Take Finn back to the nursery.” Then, when they were moving away despite Finn’s howls of protestation, Roman turned back to Bethanne. “You must remain calm.”

Calm. Yes. Somehow, she could do that. Well, she could if the pulse trying to explode through her veins would somehow slow itself to a halfway normal rate. What were the odds of something such as that happening? Likely slim to none.

Roman took her by the arm and guided her back to the sofa. He chucked her under the chin so that she was forced to look up into his eyes—steadfast, reassuring, gray eyes that never wavered. “This will be all right. I promise you…”

For lack of anything else on which to hold, Bethanne grasped that statement for dear life and refused to let go. It would be all right. Somehow, Roman would make sure it was all right. She nodded, and then he left her, pulling the parlor door almost to a close.

Over the roaring of her pulse pounding through her head, Bethanne heard the front door open. Then her heart stopped beating completely, freezing along with her hopes of ever keeping her secrets from her family.

“I don’t know you.” The gentleman’s tone was haughty and laden with suspicion—and belonged to none other than her hot-headed, foolhardy brother, Isaac.

Good God, was the world conspiring against her? It must be.

“Where’s Inwood?” Isaac demanded.

“That isn’t Drake’s voice,” Aunt Rosaline whimpered, her eyes wide and confused.

Bethanne shushed her as apologetically as she could, all the while trying desperately to hear every muffled word spoken between the two men.

“Inwood no longer works for Lady Rosaline. May I help you, sir?” Roman kept his tone low and polite. He sounded as though he could even be a servant.

Which might very well have been his aim, now that Bethanne took a moment to think about it.

Roman couldn’t know that this was her brother on the other side of the door, could he? Yet despite his ignorance on that matter, he was doing whatever he could to protect her—to protect the secrets she hadn’t confided in him. Bethanne shivered and tried to ignore the unfamiliar, warm sensations coursing through her veins. She’d done nothing to deserve Roman’s loyalty, and yet he had never wavered in his determination to aid her in any and every way he could.

“Take me to Lady Rosaline and Miss Shelton,” Isaac commanded, apparently accepting Roman’s ploy. At least for now.

Only half a second passed before Roman answered. “And who may I tell them has come to call?”

“Isaac Shelton. Lady Rosaline’s nephew and Miss Shelton’s brother.”

“Nephew?” Aunt Rosaline barked out. “I’m hardly old enough to have a grown man for a nephew. This cad is trying to pull the wool over his eyes.”

Bethanne pressed a hand to her temples. “Please, Aunt Rosaline, not now.”

Roman cleared his throat. “Right this way, sir.”

Thumpity-thumpity-thump. Her heartbeat had taken on a new, unfamiliar rhythm, one which might never return to normal. What could she tell Isaac about what was taking place in her home? What could she possibly say?

More importantly, how soon could she convince him that all was well and escort him out, back on his way, so she could continue with her mess of a life as it had been?

A series of booted footsteps clomped along the floor, and then the door opened fully. Isaac rushed in before Roman. He smiled briefly at Bethanne, and then turned his attention to Aunt Rosaline, placing a chaste kiss on her cheek. He seemed oblivious to their aunt’s dazed expression, or at least oblivious as to what it might mean.

“Aunt Rosaline, it has been far too long since we’ve seen you. And you, Bethanne.” Isaac’s gaze caught hers for a moment, and held in the way he always did when he tried to impose his will upon her.

Behind him, Roman remained by the door as though standing sentry, watching over things. He looked to Bethanne, his eyes filled with a combination of protectiveness and compassion.

Botheration, he didn’t know what they ought to do, either.

Isaac plopped down in the seat Roman had vacated when he’d gone to answer the door. “You two must come with me to Ainsworth Court for Christmas.”

A dreamy expression took over Aunt Rosaline’s visage. “Ainsworth Court! You’re going to take me to see my brother.” Then her excitement flagged, and she turned fretful eyes to Bethanne. “Oh, but I can’t leave until my Christopher arrives!”

“Christopher?” Isaac’s brow furrowed in consternation. “Aunt Rosaline, of course Claremont will be there, as will the entire family.”

But on a day like today, when Aunt Rosaline was dressed in her red gown, she wouldn’t know anything about her nephew Christopher Faulkner, Lord Claremont—Jo’s elder brother, who happened to be the very nephew named after the man Aunt Rosaline had loved and lost well before any of them were born. She wouldn’t know who any of them were, or that she had any nieces or nephews at all, let alone a solid dozen.

“Isaac,” Bethanne began timidly, unsure what she was going to say but knowing she needed to say something. “I think it would be best if you and I speak privately for a moment.”

The words had hardly left her lips before Roman rushed into the room. “I’ll just take Lady Rosaline with me to the kitchens then.” He helped her aunt to her feet, though the elder woman looked up at him in bewilderment.

“He
is
coming, isn’t he, sir?”

Isaac followed them with his eyes until they were out of the room and the door closed behind them, and then he turned back to Bethanne questioningly. “Who’s the new manservant? He looks more like a gentleman than a servant. Rather queer, that. And what’s happened to Inwood? He’s worked for Aunt Rosaline for an eternity or two, if not longer.”