Wicked (26 page)

“He what?” Veronica raged.

She’d been on pins and needles, waiting for her stepfather to return with the news that she and James would marry. She’d expected to be his bride in the next day or two.

“What did James say?” she asked.

“He’s gone to London.”

“He can’t have,” she wailed.

“He has,” her stepfather tersely stated. “He slithered away like the snake he’s always been.”

“Bring him back!”

“How would I?” Oscar bellowed. “How would I make James Talbot do anything? How would I make Stanley Oswald do anything?”

“You’re an adult, and you’re my father. You’re supposed to know how.”

“They have shamed and emasculated me. Both of them! Both of them have emasculated me.”

It was typical of Oscar to view the incident as to how it had affected
him
. But
she
was the one who’d been damaged. She’d been reminiscing about James so intently that she’d practically convinced herself that a seduction had actually occurred.

“Who cares about you?” she scoffed. “
I
am the ruined party. I told the housemaid this morning. The gossip will have spread around the village.”

“You little harlot. Why would you tell others?”

“I wanted people to hear about it. I thought it would help me to snag James.”

“Oh, you fool! You idiot!”

“If I don’t wed James, what will become of me?”

“My brother will find you a husband—but it won’t be James Talbot.”

“Stanley will find me a husband? No, no, absolutely not. I won’t have any man he’d pick for me.”

“You don’t think so? You think you could sit in this rectory—dishonored and disgraced—with the whole town snickering? You think you could refuse a husband who is provided to you?”

“I’ll have James or I’ll have no one.”

“Then you will have no one. And you’ll be living in a ditch—because you won’t be living here with me.”

He stormed up the stairs to his room.

“Are you happy, Miss Ralston?”

Rose glanced over her shoulder to see Veronica marching up. She grimaced, then hid her reaction.

She’d packed her bag and sneaked away from Summerfield, having left all the pretty dresses and baubles Mr. Oswald had provided. She was carrying just the pitiful pile of belongings she’d brought with her when she’d arrived.

She was on the lane, walking to the village and not exactly sure what she’d do once she was there. She’d stooped to thievery, having stolen a few pounds from Mr. Oswald’s desk. There had been a huge stack of money, but she’d only taken a bit, figuring he wouldn’t discover the petty larceny.

She supposed she should have been aghast at her behavior, but so far, there’d been nary a ripple in her conscience. He’d inflicted plenty of misery, and she viewed the money as a small down payment on what she felt she was due for the trouble she’d suffered since she’d come to Summerfield.

A mail coach traveled through, and she intended to purchase a fare and return to Miss Peabody’s school. She was praying Evangeline or Amelia would still be in residence. Attorney Thumberton had given them numerous tasks to complete as they shuttered the place and prepared it for the new owner.

If they were present, they could advise her as to how she should proceed. If they’d already gone, at least Rose would be back in a spot that was familiar. She’d lived in the area for twenty-one years and was desperately hoping to receive assistance from people in her past life—for it was glaringly evident she would receive no help from those in what should have been her new life.

“Hello, Miss Oswald.”

Veronica stomped up and waved a scolding finger at Rose.

“You’re the greediest, most selfish person I’ve ever met.”

Rose scowled. “I’m sorry. What?”

“You blustered in here to marry Stanley. You’ll get his entire fortune, so Oscar and I won’t get anything. But was that enough for you? No.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You had to take James too.”

“Mr. Talbot?” Rose was so disordered that she felt dizzy again. She couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t focus on why Veronica was complaining.

“He and I were to be husband and wife,” Veronica claimed. “Everyone knows it.”

“How grand for you.”

“You flirted with him constantly. You turned him against me.”

“You’re mad, and I’m busy.”

Rose tried to continue on, but Veronica blocked her path.

“He wouldn’t wed me because of you!” Veronica said. “You had him so besotted, he didn’t notice me anymore.”

“I have no idea why you’d think so. I’m barely acquainted with Mr. Talbot, and I have no influence or control over him.”

“Liar. Just so you know”—Veronica leaned in, sneering—“he showed me
everything
a boy and girl can do together.”

Rose was positive Veronica was lying, but she couldn’t begin to tabulate all the ways Veronica’s words hurt her. She was crushed by James’s betrayal and departure, crushed by Mr. Drake’s refusal to aid her, crushed by Mr. Oswald’s demented belief that she was still willing to marry him.

Why was life so hard? Why were people so cruel?

Rose calmly responded, “How marvelous for you that Mr. Talbot has taken such a special interest.”

“He always liked me.
Me!
Not you.”

“I’m sure when he returns, the two of you will be blissfully happy.”

“I’m sure we will be too.”

“He’s proposed, has he?”

“He hasn’t, but he will. Stanley told my stepfather that he’ll make James marry me.”

The boast was an outright falsehood. Mr. Oswald had said so himself.

“Good for you,” Rose replied. “I’m certain you’ll end up with the future you truly deserve.”

Rose scooted by her, humored to catch Veronica’s confused expression as she tried to figure out if she’d been insulted. Rose smirked. One benefit of fleeing was that she’d never have to see the horrid child ever again.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Veronica seethed from behind her.

Rose should have ignored the question and kept on, but she was exhausted, beaten down by events, and not behaving rationally.

She whipped around and said, “You’ll be delighted to learn that I’m leaving Summerfield.”

“Are you?”

“Yes, so you needn’t fret. You and your stepfather can inherit all of Mr. Oswald’s assets.
You
can wed Mr. Talbot. As for myself, I don’t have to stay and watch any of it unfold.”

Rose was carrying her faded, worn satchel, and Veronica studied it with a great deal of scorn.

“Have you sneaked away? Or has Stanley realized how unlikeable you are? Did he kick you out?”

Rose shook her head, wondering how Miss Peabody could have arranged such a hideous fate for Rose. Clearly, her old friend and mentor couldn’t have ever visited Summerfield. Clearly, she hadn’t understood the snake pit into which Rose had been tossed.

At least Rose would tell herself that Miss Peabody hadn’t understood.

It would be too painful to imagine that Miss Peabody hadn’t actually liked Rose, that she’d suspected how awful it would be, but had orchestrated the intolerable conclusion anyway.

“Good day, Miss Oswald.” Rose used her most stern schoolteacher voice. “If I’m lucky—and I haven’t usually been—we won’t ever cross paths again.”

“I certainly hope not.”

“I certainly hope not too.”

“When my situation with James is settled,” Veronica said, “I’ll send you a wedding invitation. You can eat your heart out.”

“Yes,” Rose sarcastically jeered, “I will constantly regret that I couldn’t latch on to such a decent, moral specimen.”

Veronica gasped. “Are you insulting my fiancé?”

Rose whirled away and continued on, muttering, “The girl is mad as a hatter.”

Veronica called out several times, trying to get Rose to re-engage in their juvenile spat, but Rose pretended she couldn’t hear the summons.

* * * *

“She what?”

“I believe she’s left the property.”

Stanley glowered at the butler. “You believe she has? Or she has?”

“I spoke with her maid. It appears her belongings and satchel are missing, and no one’s seen her since breakfast.”

“Dammit,” Stanley mumbled.

“Also,” the butler added, “we just had a delivery from the village. She was observed walking on the road into town.”

“Bloody hell.”

He’d been eating and had ordered Rose down to join him so he could probe her health.

The prior afternoon, she’d been dizzy and nauseous. Had a babe caught already? She had to be increasing. Stanley could feel it in his bones, so he couldn’t let her escape.

He threw his napkin on the table and shot to his feet.

“Have the carriage brought round,” he grumbled. “Fetch my coat.”

The butler hurried off to issue commands, and Stanley went to his library. As he reached into his desk to pull out his purse, he instantly noticed that someone had riffled through his money. He always had a large amount in the drawer, but never worried about being robbed.

The servants were aware that the money was present and also aware that he kept close track of the quantity. They wouldn’t dare steal from him, so apparently, Miss Ralston had helped herself, and in light of what he knew about her character, he noted that she’d taken only a small sum.

He didn’t begrudge her the theft. Desperate people often did desperate things, and she was frantic.

The main flaw in Stanley’s plan to sire an heir was that he hadn’t foreseen Miss Ralston falling in love with James, hadn’t foreseen the havoc James’s departure would wreak on the poor woman’s emotional state. Stanley had to tamp out the fires he’d started, first and foremost by guaranteeing that she couldn’t flee with Stanley’s son in her belly.

The precious cargo was
his
. He’d bought and paid for it.

He walked outside as the coach was rolling into the drive. He climbed in without waiting for the footmen to lower the step.

Miss Ralston might be desperate, but Stanley was desperate too. Desperate to keep her at Summerfield. Desperate to have what he’d coveted for decades. A child. Hopefully a boy with James’s blood in its veins. No, Miss Ralston was a fool if she thought he’d allow her to make off with such a valuable prize.

It didn’t take long to find her. She was nearing the outskirts of the village, and as his vehicle approached, she didn’t realize it was Stanley. She moved to the side of the road, but the driver maneuvered the team to cut off her path.

Frowning furiously, she peered over as Stanley opened the door and hopped down.

“Hello, Miss Ralston.”

She was calm and poised, not providing a hint of evidence that she was running away. She nodded her greeting. “Mr. Oswald.”

“I expected you to join me for my noon meal.”

“Sorry,” she said, offering no explanation for her absence.

“It’s a beautiful day for a stroll, but I have to insist you come back to the manor with me.”

“No, thank you.”

“I insist!” he stated more vehemently.

“I’m leaving, Mr. Oswald.”

“To what destination, Miss Ralston?”

“I can’t see how it’s any of your affair.”

He scowled. “Not my affair? You are my fiancée. I can hardly have you traipsing across the countryside. If something happened, I’d never forgive myself.” A footman was behind him, lowering the step, and Stanley gestured to the coach. “Please get in.”

“No.”

“I understand that you’re upset, and I’ve always found that it’s not wise to make decisions when you’re distraught. It leads to bad choices.”

“Yes, well, they’ll be my
own
bad choices.”

“Let’s go home. You can rest, then we’ll discuss a better solution that doesn’t involve you walking down the road with your suitcase in your hand.”

She sighed, looking tired and heartbroken and very, very pretty. Oh, how he wished he was younger and could have her as his bride in truth.

“I really need to return to my friends,” she said. “For some time now, I’ve felt that it was a mistake for me to come.”

“Nonsense. You’re safe here, and I’m so happy to have you. You can’t leave.”

“I have to.”

As lord and master of Summerfield, he was never contradicted, never denied, and he hated to be countermanded. He most especially hated it when a
woman
countermanded him. It couldn’t be tolerated.

She was overwhelmed by events, but he was in a worse condition. Though he couldn’t admit it to anyone, he was reeling from James’s departure too. He’d thought he could finally let the boy go, had even provided the funds with a bank draft, but the notion of James’s traveling to India was too much to bear.

Stanley had fretted all night, ultimately realizing that he couldn’t permit James to move so far away. He’d sent a message to his bank, delivered by a rider on a fast horse, to cancel the draft, to tell James—when he tried to cash it—that the document wouldn’t be honored.

James would be furious, but he wouldn’t have the means to leave England. Not until Stanley could figure out a different conclusion.

Stanley was an old man, and he didn’t feel well—as if things in his body weren’t working as they should. He’s always been stern and unbending, had always been sure that his way was the only way, that those who’d sinned deserved their fates, but he was starting to rue and regret.

Now, he wasn’t certain about his opinions. His first wife, Edwina, had argued against his severe views, but he’d refused to listen and had been determined to prove her wrong. But she’d been dead for decades, so what was the point of any of it?

James couldn’t go to India! Stanley wouldn’t let him, and as to Miss Ralston, who was probably carrying James’s child,
she
couldn’t go, either. The silly girl, assuming she had a say in the matter.

He leaned in and whispered, “If you don’t come with me, I will accuse you of theft and have you arrested.”

Her blanched with consternation. “Theft of what?”

“You took money from my desk, Miss Ralston. Shall I have you searched?”

“I didn’t take any money,” she claimed.

“I keep track of exactly how much is in the drawer. Why am I positive it is the same amount we will find in your bag?” He gestured to the coach again. “Don’t force me to bring the law down on you. Just come home—as I’ve asked.”