The Old Maids' Club 02 - Pariah (5 page)

The only possible explanation for what Roman did next was that he’d taken clear leave of his senses.

“What errands do you have left to complete?” He reached for her hand and drew it to the crook of his arm, holding it tight when she tried to pull it away. “I’ll assist you and then see you home. I promised your aunt I’d come for tea, after all.” He had only come into town today to visit the pub. He’d merely wanted to get a sense for how the villagers felt about his father and the property. He had no pressing matters to attend—none as pressing as hers, at the least. Miss Shelton’s needs outweighed his by a mile.

“You’ll do nothing of the sort.”

“I believe you’ll find, Miss Shelton, that this will all be much easier if you stop fighting me at every turn.” Roman ignored her undignified snort of derision. “Where is your next stop?” He started to walk toward town, tugging her along with him.

She dug her boots into the ground, but it did no good. Her petite frame could do little against his battle-honed build. After a few steps, she scurried to keep up with him.

“Our destination?” he prodded.

“I still need to visit the grocer.”

Roman changed course at her admission. How did she plan to transport the provisions she would purchase there, in addition to the rest of what she’d already acquired? As it was, the small carriage hardly had enough space left for her on the bench. Even a small stock would force her to walk alongside the vehicle.

He’d have to deal with that problem when they got there, however. He had a niggling feeling that any argument he put forth, she would find a way to vehemently counter.

As soon as they walked through the tinkling door, a shop assistant rushed over. “Miss Shelton. How can I assist you today?” He seemed like a green youth, practically panting at the promise of the lady’s attention for a moment. But at least he wasn’t like the men in the street, watching as she struggled when they ought to have been assisting her.

“Joyce has sent me with a list, Mr. Byfield.”

She pulled a slip of parchment from inside her coat and started to hand it to the man, but Roman took it from her. “Allow me,” he murmured, looking it over with narrowed eyes. Foodstuffs like fruits, vegetables, and butter filled a portion of the list, but much of it consisted of household items like candles, coal, and lye soap.

Roman frowned. How on earth did she think to deal with all of this on her own? “Byfield, is it? Will you help Miss Shelton gather the pantry needs for her household while I procure the rest of her requirements? I’ll thank you to assist me in moving her goods to her carriage when we’ve finished.”

Byfield looked at him as though he had slapped a glove in the lad’s face. “I’ll be glad to assist
Miss Shelton
with anything she needs, Mr….?”

The insolent boy. “Sullivan. Lord Roman Sullivan.”

Byfield’s eyes shot wide, and he stood straighter. “Lord Herringdon’s—”

“His son, yes.” Roman kept his tone smooth, as always. Letting his ire free would serve no one. Better to maintain an even demeanor for everyone involved. “And I can assure you, he’ll be informed of your response to my requests. However, I would think you’d be quick to do as I asked no matter who my father is. Is it not your responsibility?”

The shop assistant spluttered. “Of course, my lord. Right away. Anything you need.”

Roman nodded and headed off to gather the bulkier, heavier items Miss Shelton required without further comment. He placed them on the front counter as he collected them, until a massive pile awaited. By the time he’d finished, Miss Shelton and Byfield were also done with their task, and the lady was speaking with the owner as the assistant sorted her purchases into boxes.

Roman placed the soap he was carrying on top of a crate Byfield had just packed. “Shall we move this to Miss Shelton’s carriage while she settles her account?” With the assistant’s agreement, they each hoisted a crate into their arms. Once it was situated over his shoulder, Roman took a second, smaller box in his free hand, and they both headed out the door.

When they returned a few minutes later, Miss Shelton remained at the counter—but now she was near tears, stuffing something into her reticule. Roman gestured for Byfield to take the remaining box to her carriage before making his way to the lady’s side. “What seems to be the problem?”

The portly, gray-haired grocer neglected to look at Roman even for a moment. He turned to his assistant. “Byfield! Stop right there. Leave those goods where they are and go back to retrieve the rest.”

What the devil? Roman stepped between Byfield and the door, planting his feet and blocking the lad’s exit. No one was leaving until he understood what had happened. “Miss Shelton?”

She didn’t look up at him. Nor did she speak. A tear spilled over and coursed down her flushed cheek.

Damnation, this was too much to be borne. “Why are you not allowing the lady to make a purchase?” Roman leveled the grocer with a commanding glare—one which countless men had cowed beneath over the years.

The man sneered in his direction. “Miss Shelton’s funds will not cover her purchases. She can’t pay for the goods, so she can’t have them.”

She turned her head away from him, but lifted a gloved hand to her cheek, likely dashing away another tear.

Roman was dumbfounded. “Surely you can extend her a line of credit. Her uncle is a peer of the realm.”

“Her uncle,” the grocer scoffed, “is not present to make the purchase.”

Devil take it, Roman had never heard the like. But he’d be damned if he was going to leave that shop without the lady’s purchases. They were necessities, for God’s sake, not frivolities. “Charge it to the Hassop House account.”

Miss Shelton spun around. “I cannot allow you to do that.”

“On the contrary, you cannot stop me.”

“Lord Herringdon has not authorized such an anomaly,” the grocer said. “I can’t do anything of the sort.”

The man was lucky Roman had sworn off taking lives for the next eternity or so. “Lord Herringdon sent you word that I would be taking over the stewardship of his property and all of his accounts in town, did he not?”

The grocer’s jaw dropped. “I beg your pardon, Lord Roman. I didn’t recognize you, sir.”

“Indeed,” Roman drawled. That much was obvious. “But now that we’ve corrected that oversight, I’m sure you can handle these matters.”

“Of course. Byfield, carry out the final crate.” The grocer marked a few notes in his ledger as his assistant hustled along to do his bidding. Then the man looked hastily up at Roman again before passing his gaze to the lady. “I’ll just need you to sign here,” he said to Roman, “authorizing the transaction. If I had realized Miss Shelton was under your protection…”

The grocer left the vile insinuation hanging in the air alongside Miss Shelton’s sharp, indrawn breath.

“I hardly think,” Roman said, keeping his tone measured, even, “that is an appropriate thing to say about a lady. I’d advise you to apologize for your comment at once.” The grocer spluttered, eyes bulging from his head.

“That isn’t necessary, Mr. Talbot.” Miss Shelton’s words were almost inaudible after her sniffle. “I’ll be on my way now.”

Roman put out a hand, grasping her upper arm firmly but not so tight he’d cause her pain. He kept his voice low, as well. “You’ll stay to receive your apology.”

Talbot gawked at him for long minutes without saying anything. Miss Shelton shifted from foot to foot next to him, turning her head to the side. It didn’t matter. Roman had more obstinacy than all of them combined, and they would not leave until the lady heard her apology.

Finally, Talbot threw his hands in the air. “But this is ridiculous.”

“On the contrary, what is ridiculous is a man thinking he can disrespect a lady in my presence.”

Miss Shelton looked up at Roman with pleading green eyes and an almost indiscernible shake of her head. She tugged against him.

The shopkeeper hemmed and hawed before finally giving in to the inevitable. “My apologies, Miss Shelton,” he mumbled.

Talbot’s pathetic excuse for an apology was hardly satisfactory, but Roman had no desire to prolong the lady’s suffering any more than necessary. “Very well. A good day to you, Talbot.”

Before he changed his mind and dragged the man bodily outside to beat him to a quivering, bloody mess, Roman guided Miss Shelton from the shop and to the mews. She seemed disinclined to speak about the encounter, so he did not prod her. There would be many other opportunities for such a discussion. He had a standing appointment for tea with her aunt, after all.

Byfield had already placed the last of her purchases in the chaise. Roman nodded to him as they passed on the way.

When they arrived at her conveyance, there could be no doubt. Not even a tiny creature such as Miss Shelton could fit alongside the crates and boxes. “And how, pray tell, did you intend to travel home?”

“On foot, my lord. I’ll lead and pull the team along behind me.” A resolute expression passed through her eyes. “Thank you for your assistance today. I’ll work out your repayment—”

“No repayment is necessary.” Based on the state of her fence and the lack of a manservant, Roman had no doubt that her uncle was not properly providing for their needs. He owed the lady nothing, but he’d be damned if he’d allow her to suffer. He couldn’t. Nor could he allow her to make the trek back to her cottage on foot. “Can you ride, Miss Shelton?”

“Beg your pardon?” She looked at him like he’d lost all semblance of sanity. As he apparently had.

“Can you ride a horse? I’ll borrow a sidesaddle from the groom for my mount and lead your team back to the cottage.”

She snapped her jaw closed. “Don’t be absurd. I can manage perfectly well on my own.”

“As well as you procured the supplies you needed for your household?” He’d seen more than enough of her
managing
.

Upon that statement, she went silent. Indeed, she remained so as he readied the horse and lifted her into the saddle, and continued that way until he’d returned her to the cottage and unloaded all of her purchases.

When he finished with that, Roman unhitched the team and removed the saddle from his horse. Miss Shelton watched him silently for a few moments, her frustration rolling off of her in waves, before spinning and stalking off into the house. He brushed the animals all down, going through the familiar routine he’d long since perfected.

When he was almost finished, one of the servants—the housekeeper, he’d guess, since a belt of keys hung at her waist—came out to him with a glass of water. She passed it to him and bobbed a brief curtsey.

“Thank you,” he said, taking a long swallow. “I’m afraid I don’t know your name to thank you properly.”

“Mrs. Temple, my lord. Lady Rosaline asked me when you might be in to join her for tea.” She gestured to a window with a jerk of her head. “She’s been watching you.”

Roman looked up and caught a green eye staring back at him from behind the draperies. He waved. “Let her know she shan’t wait much longer. I’ll be in as soon as the horses are all settled.”

Mrs. Temple smiled at him and waggled her eyebrows. Good heavens, what was that about? But then she rushed away before he could think on it too long, calling out over her shoulder, “We’ll all look forward to it.”

After she removed her redingote and changed her gown, Bethanne hurried down to the parlor. With that man coming to join them for tea, she needed a sense of how Aunt Rosaline was getting along today. Maybe it would be a good day. Maybe her aunt would be lucid today.

Not that Bethanne wanted to get her hopes up. Those days had been few and far between.

But there was always the possibility, wasn’t there?

After coming down the last few steps and turning the corner, she squeezed her eyes shut for just a moment, saying a prayer for fortitude. Then she pushed the door open.

Aunt Rosalilne sat by the window, peeking behind the draperies while dressed in her red velvet gown. Bother and blast, why today?

Mrs. Temple stood before the sofa table, setting out the platter of tea, biscuits, and sandwiches fresh from the kitchens. She turned her head and looked at Bethanne with a sad smile. “Lady Rosaline is waiting for her beau.”

“She thinks…?”

Bethanne stopped herself before she voiced the question. There was no need to ask. Of course Aunt Rosaline would think that the man outside, tending to the horses, was Christopher Jackson. She always wore red when she was waiting for him. Yet she’d been waiting for him for years, and he had never made an appearance. Clearly, she wasn’t lucid today.

This could be a very interesting tea.

This also provided Bethanne with yet another reason to wish Lord Roman had never come upon them. Having him around yesterday was bad enough. But every day for tea? There was no telling what Aunt Rosaline might reveal to him, no telling what Finn might say at any moment should he burst through the doors.

She could trust Mrs. Wyatt, Mrs. Temple, and Joyce. And herself.

But anyone else? Hardly.

A peal of giggles raced past the open door. “Master Finn! Up to the nursery with you now.” Mrs. Wyatt poked her head in for a moment. “I’ll keep him upstairs. At least I will once I get him there.”