The Old Maids' Club 02 - Pariah (29 page)

Bethanne’s breath caught. That was not what she wanted to talk to him about. She shook her head and cleared her throat. “Aunt Rosaline was talking about Christopher Jackson, not our cousin.”

“Christopher
Jackson
?” Isaac repeated, his eyes narrowed. “Who in bloody hell is Christopher Jackson?”

Of course, Isaac wouldn’t recognize the name. He’d never paid much attention to those sorts of things, preferring instead to run off with his friends or some of the other male cousins near his age when anyone started talking about the past. His exodus was always hastened if they started discussing people he’d never met.

“Christopher Jackson was the man Aunt Rosaline intended to elope with—the man Grandpapa refused to let her marry.”

“He’s dead, though, right?” Isaac scratched his chin and frowned. “Died in the colonies or something.”

Bethanne nodded and waited for her brother to piece the puzzle together. He just stared at her, blankly, with no sign of comprehension.

She sighed. “Yes, he died. She doesn’t understand that today, however.”

That seemed to strike a chord within him. Isaac narrowed his eyes and looked at her pensively for a moment. “But some days she does?” he asked slowly.

She pressed her eyes closed tight, knowing she ought to tell him the whole truth. The family deserved to know just how far Aunt Rosaline’s mind had gone. They needed to know that she was only herself on rare occasions, and that by the day, those occasions grew fewer and farther between.

Instead, she looked squarely into her brother’s eyes and said, “Yes, some days she does.”

It was the truth, to an extent. Yet Bethanne felt like a monster for not revealing everything to her brother.

Isaac nodded. “Well, we aren’t travelling today, so that won’t matter.”

Her heartbeat raced even faster. Aunt Rosaline couldn’t go to Ainsworth Court. The family couldn’t see her like this. And Bethanne absolutely couldn’t chance her aunt having an episode on the road. That was a disaster waiting to happen.

He kept talking, though, seemingly unconcerned that she hadn’t responded and had almost stopped breathing in her desperation to find an excuse to oust him from her home.

“I’ll stay with you here at the cottage for a few days, and when she’s feeling more herself, we’ll go together to Ainsworth Court.”

A loud clatter sounded from above, followed by a
thunk
.

Good heavens, what could that be? But she had other matters which needed her attention at the moment. Roman and the servants would just have to sort it out for themselves.

Bethanne shook her head and finally found her voice again. “No, Isaac. No, that won’t—”

“Mama!” Finn blubbered through his sobs as he burst through the doors and rushed straight to Bethanne’s side. He buried his face in her gown, streaking it with his tears. “Nurse fall down.”

Isaac caught her gaze, and in a brief moment she saw confusion turn to dawning realization as it passed over his visage.

There was no more time to fret. No time for panic.

In a single move, Bethanne lifted her son into her arms and rushed into the hall with him, oblivious as to whether Isaac was following her or not.

Mrs. Wyatt needed her.

The crash from above stairs was the last thing Roman needed to hear.

Lady Rosaline squealed in shock.

Almost as an afterthought, he settled her in a chair in the kitchen and caught Joyce’s eye. “Stay with Lady Rosaline. Keep her calm.”

The cook nodded, and he rushed out into the hall—not soon enough to block Finn’s tearful foray into the parlor, however. “Mama!” the boy cried, and Roman’s heart plummeted, but it was too late to do anything about that.

Mrs. Temple met him at the foot of the stairs, her eyes filled jointly with fear and fortitude, and together they rushed up.

“It sounded like it came from the nursery,” the housekeeper panted, leading the way to Finn’s domain.

The door was open, and the faint sound of Mrs. Wyatt’s moans met them in the corridor even as more footsteps clattered on the stairs behind them. He couldn’t worry about who might be coming up behind him, even if it was Isaac Shelton—nor could he worry what Shelton might do. Mrs. Wyatt was hurt. Roman pushed his way inside.

No blood. That was an excellent sign, though the nurse was crumpled on the floor in a wholly unnatural position, with her left leg bent at an awkward angle beneath her. He knelt to the floor beside her, and she lifted her head as he reached out to lift her.

“Put your arms around my neck,” he commanded, even as he situated his arms in such a way as to provide her with the maximum amount of support and the least amount of discomfort.

She didn’t obey. Mrs. Wyatt’s warm, brown eyes widened and she shook her head. “But my lord—”

“My
lord
?” Isaac Shelton half-shouted as he forced his way into the nursery. “Who in God’s name are you, and why are you impersonating a servant in my aunt’s household? In my unmarried
sister’s
household?”

Roman wanted to sigh, but it would serve no purpose. He turned his head slightly to look at the younger man, whose green eyes were so strikingly akin to Bethanne’s, save the fact that they were blazing holes through him right now. He had no doubt that Shelton would run him through at the moment, were the women and child not present.

Roman eyed the younger man with a look of authority. “Allow me to aid the nurse, and then I’ll answer whatever questions you may have,” Roman said calmly, but with the full weight of influence he had used with the men who served beneath him.

Shelton’s eyes flashed, and he ground his teeth together, causing a muscle in his jaw to jerk. Roman knew that expression well…it was the expression of a man who waged an internal war, whether to do what was right or to do what his heart called out for.

Eventually, Shelton gave a curt nod. “How can I assist you?”

Bethanne’s eyes drew Roman’s attention then, or perhaps it was more the tears glistening in them and falling down her cheeks unhindered. She stood behind her brother, holding Finn close to her chest, looking as hurt and lost and dejected as he’d ever seen.

A bayonet to the chest would have caused far less discomfort than knowing he could do nothing to ease her hurt. Losing a leg or an arm in battle would have been less painful than being unable to remove the fear from her heart.

For the first time since Waterloo, Roman wished he had never sold his commission. Then he wouldn’t have known the devastation unraveling before his eyes within the woman he loved.

He shoved the felling wound to his heart aside. “Fetch something we can use to secure her leg.”

Mrs. Temple took over from there. “If you’ll follow me, Mr. Shelton. I’d think the spare fence rails we have should work. You can carry those up, and I’ll find some strips of linen to tie them in place.”

After a prolonged look filled with unnamed emotions, Bethanne took Finn and left, as well. That was just as well. Roman could think more clearly about what was to be done without… He shook the thought away and set back to work, securing Mrs. Wyatt in his arms.

This was not the time to lose his focus to emotion.

Time had come to a stop, it seemed. For who knew how long, Bethanne had sat at the bench of the pianoforte playing Beethoven in order to keep Aunt Rosaline calm, while Joyce played with Finn on the floor. After a while, Aunt Rosaline had nodded off in her chair near the hearth, thankfully—yet Bethanne had continued to play.

She needed the distraction. If she didn’t have that on which to focus her thoughts…

Countless times since they’d come to the music room, she’d heard the heavy, cocksure footfalls of her brother pounding up and down the stairs; the softer, slower padding of Mrs. Temple often accompanied him and occasionally traversed the path alone. At one point, Isaac had come down the stairs and gone out the front door, not returning for well over an hour. When he did, it was with another set of footsteps accompanying him.

Panic set in, and a fresh wave of tears flooded to Bethanne’s eyes. Had he gone off to fetch Uncle Drake or their brother Gerald, or any of the other men in the family?

“The doctor, I’m sure,” Joyce said reassuringly.

Bethanne nodded. Of course, she was right. The broken bone in Mrs. Wyatt’s leg would need to be looked after. Not only that, but her relatives were hardly close enough that they could be fetched so quickly. It would take days, not hours. With studied effort, Bethanne fought off her fears and refocused upon the notes on the page before her.

Sometime later, a knock sounded at the front door. Joyce slipped out of the room, leaving Finn playing with his blocks, and stepped into the foyer. She rushed back in moments later holding a letter with a red wax seal, her eyes as filled with fear as Bethanne’s heart was.

Bethanne stopped playing and ripped through the seal. Sure enough, it was from Jo.

We tried to stop him, but Isaac is on his way. Prepare yourself.

All our love,

Jo, Tabitha, and Noah

Turning the missive over in her hands, she had to laugh lest she go mad. Fools! All of them, fools. How had they thought to keep such secrets from the family? The idea that a letter could fend off discovery was laughable at best, and yet they’d latched onto it like it was a lifeline.

Bethanne passed the letter back to Joyce and resumed her seat at the pianoforte. She started to play again, as it might very well be the last time for a great long time she was allowed to do something so frivolous. Before she could stop him, Isaac would likely be sending for Father and Uncle Drake and every other man of her relation, and her life as she knew it would be at an end.

It was only after a great, long while that she heard the steady, rhythmic steps of Roman making their way down the steps, as though he were marching. To war? To her funeral? She listened intently as she played, trying to determine where he was going and what he would be doing. It wasn’t difficult to sort out his destination—he came to a stop at the door of the music room and remained there, quietly waiting until she stopped her recital.

When the final chord of the piece dropped off, still echoing in the room, she turned and faced him, her eyes scratchy and dry from shedding too many tears.

“Mrs. Wyatt is resting,” he said after clearing his throat.

Bethanne nodded, unable to find her voice.

From her position on the floor, Joyce asked, “Did the doctor leave any instructions?”

Roman nodded and rubbed a hand over the slight growth of stubble along his jaw. “She’s to have laudanum when she’s in pain, and certainly at night. The bone will take a month or more to heal, so we’ll all have to assist in her care, I would think—as well as seeing after Finn.”

The only thing Bethanne heard in his response was
we’ll all
—he was still including himself. A fresh wave of tears burned at her eyes. He’d promised to answer all of Isaac’s questions, so there was no possibility he could remain with them any longer.

She tried to speak, but nothing would come from her lips. Instead, she gave a slight shake of her head.

“Joyce,” Roman said softly, “can you see after Lady Rosaline and Finn for a bit? Mrs. Temple is with Mrs. Wyatt, and Mr. Shelton would like to speak with Miss Shelton and me.”

To say he’d
like to speak
with them was to understate his wishes by a wide margin. Her brother must be livid by now. She could only pray that he had become more of a man than he’d been when she’d left for Hassop, and that he would not react in the same manner as he had when he discovered what Loring had done to Miranda many years ago. But Isaac had never been one to remain calm while waiting for answers. He sought them with his fists—or his dueling pistol.

“Of course,” Joyce murmured, even as she handed Finn a new toy to keep him distracted.

Bethanne summoned every ounce of strength and fortitude she had left, though admittedly it had all been waning for months now, and stood. Roman waited as she passed him into the corridor. His hand, strong and warm and comforting, pressed against the small of her back as he guided her to the parlor.