Page 52 of His Betrothed
Spencer looked toward Wakesfieldin the distance. “I’m not sure if that was more foolishthan brave. Surely your mother was much more practical than mine.”
“Practical? Is that what one would wish for in a mother? My mother’s motivations are greed and ambition, and if you consider those ‘practical,’ then that word suits her.”
“Surely she and your father thought of your welfare when they negotiated with my family.”
Her eyesseemed a vast gray emptiness, forlorn with long-accepted knowledge. “No, that wasn’t a concern. Obedience was all that mattered, and I…didn’t obey.”
He remembered his own parents’ reaction to his many scandals. They hadn’t needed to become angry; their sad disappointment was worse than any lashing. He would probably have to commit murder before his mother would disown him.
“Someone’s watchingus,” Roselyn suddenly said in a low voice.
Spencer’s first reaction was an instinctive need to hide. Had Shaw sent another henchman? He calmed his racing heart and looked out across the meadow. Far in the distance, he saw someone herding a flock of sheep. He murmured, “Do you know this person?”
“’Tis Abigail with her family’s sheep.”
Roselyn surprised him by waving at the girl, who cheerfullywaved back.
“Is she coming our way?” he asked.
“No, she’s heading for the village.” Roselyn looked up at him. “I had to wave, or she’d know something was wrong.”
“Of course. But you seem worried.”
“She’ll wonder who in the village is using a cane.”
“Ah,” he said, nodding. “You think she might talk to someone—maybe even Charlotte—and then tell everyone in the village I’m something I’m not.”
She shrugged, and a moment later murmured, “I never wear my hair like this. What must she think?”
He considered Roselyn thoughtfully. The wind swept her wild hair off her face, and it fluttered about her shoulders. The severity of her normal expression was somehow softened, but a bleak sadness shadowed her eyes. Once he would not have cared; now he had to force himself to think of something else.
Why had he revealed so much of his childhood to her? He’d never before been tempted to tell a woman of his past. But there was something about her patience and calm nature that made her easy to confide in.
He wondered what she must think of him. She surely must be congratulating herself on escaping their marriage.
When Roselyn came back from services, Thornton seemed to retreat inside himself.He wasn’t rude, nor did he talk much. He just walked about the cottage, getting in her way, obsessive about using his cane. She sat before the hearth and tried to concentrate on reading her Bible, but he kept knocking into her chair.
Though she felt like challenging his behavior, she had a vivid memory of the gentle way he’d touched her, of the heat and intensity of his eyes. She felt confusedand overly warm and suddenly frightened. She had succeeded in burying the last of her volatile emotions when she’d buried her baby and husband—but now the wild, irresponsible Roselyn seemed to be rising up, taking over, and that frightened her more than the closeness of any man.
But she couldn’t bury her awareness of Thornton, of his large body moving back and forth across the room. She didn’tknow what she wanted more—the truth of his loyalties, or for him just to leave her alone. Unbidden, she remembered how his eyes had gazed upon the wildness of her hair that morning. The thought of endless silent evenings by herself was no longer comforting.
Supper with the Heywoods was just what Roselyn needed to lift her spirits and make her forget Thornton and all the problems he’dcaused.She loved feeling part of such a boisterous, happy family. She helped Charlotte and her mother with the last-minute food preparations, then sat between the women as if they were her sister and mother. When it seemed apparent that Charlotte wasn’t going to bring up the subject of Mr. Sanderson, Roselyn allowed herself to relax completely.
Yet as the evening went on, more and more she could actuallyfeel John watching her. Surely it was just her imagination—having Thornton in her home had made her too aware of a man’s eyes.
When Thornton watched her, she felt distracted, too aware of him as a man.
But John’s gaze was different. She felt nervous, exposed, wondering if he knew the secrets she now guarded. When he offered to walk her home she tried to refuse, but Francis insisted, and evenhe watched her with a thoughtful frown.
There was no moon in the dark sky as John walked at her side carrying a lantern. The wind whistled forlornly through the orchard, and she pulled her kerchief tighter about her shoulders. She told herself she was ridiculous to feel so uneasy.
After several quiet minutes, he cleared his throat. “My father was talking to Abigail after services.”
Roselyn’sstomach knotted with dread. “What did she have to say?”
“She said she saw you walking with a man she didn’t recognize, a man with a cane.” John hesitated, and in the meager light, he looked apologetic. “Charlotte said that she even met him. Normally there aren’t many strangers on the island, but this is a time of war. Please don’t blame me for being concerned—you live alone.”
She smiled at him,thankful she had spent some of her sleepless hours concocting a story to explain Thornton. “Thank you for your concern, John, but really, you mustn’t worry. He is just a soldier from the garrison in Shanklin. I’ve seen him by the cliffs before. We sometimes happen to walk in the same direction, and occasionally talk. He’s a very polite man.” She forced herself not to hold her breath.
