Page 66 of His Betrothed
Chapter 18
The next morning, Roselyn dressed and left the cottage as silently as she could, so as not to awaken Spencer.
As the sun rose, she gathered together the breads and cakes the Heywoods had ordered into two large baskets, and set off across the estate to the manor.
She’d spent much of the night wondering what Francis must be thinking of her. Was he disappointed—or angry? Now shewould have to face him and his family, and her stomach churned with tension.
When she reached the doorway to the kitchens, she stopped cold, her head aching with worry and fear. Would they hate her now, think her a fallen woman to be living with a man?
She’d done nothing wrong except exchange a kiss.
But in her heart, she’d begun to long for morethan just a kiss from Spencer Thornton.
Butsuch worrying was only delaying the inevitable. She opened up the door—
And found them all sitting at the table solemnly watching her.
Roselyn stood frozen in the doorway, feeling her face drain of color, until Margaret Heywood rose from the table with a warm smile.
Roselyn felt the sting of grateful tears as Margaret took the baskets from her arms and said, “Come, dear, sit with us and tellus everything.”
Charlotte made room on her bench for Roselyn, giving her an encouraging smile. Roselyn could have hugged her. When she glanced at Francis, she saw that although he wore a serious expression, his eyes were kind.
Thomas scratched his head. “So what is the new owner like?”
“Thomas!” Francis said sharply, glancing at Roselyn.
She sighed and looked at her plate, which Margaret filledwith porridge and bread.
“Lady Roselyn,” Francis said in a solemn voice, “forgive me for not telling you the truth about Wakesfield’s ownership. When you first arrived, your husband and child were ill and I just didn’t feel—”
“Francis, no!” she interrupted, taking hold of his hand. Her last hope that Spencer’s claim to the estate was a lie faded into ashes. “Do notapologize for trying to sparemy feelings. I should apologize to you for the lies I’ve been forced to tell.”
Margaret put an arm around her shoulder. “If you’d told us you’d found a sick man, we could have helped you, dear.”
“I couldn’t,” she whispered, finally glancing at John to face the disappointment that saddened his eyes. “I didn’t know who he was at first, and thought he might be a Spanish sailor. How could I putyou in such danger?”
“There is more you’re not telling us,” Francis said.
She hesitated, then whispered, “Yes,” begging him with her eyes to understand. “I promise you’ll know everything the moment I can tell you.”
“Is it about the war?”
She nodded.
“Then tell us what you can. I’d like to know how you found him, how you saved his life.”
She recounted the events of the last fortnight hesitantly,thinking through what she could tell them and what had to be hidden. She painted a picture of two people trapped together by circumstance, distant and polite, with nothing in common and nothing to say to each other.
When she was done, the Heywood family maintained a sober silence as they all began to eat their now-cold food. Roselyn listened to theclink of glass goblets, the clatter of knivesand spoons, the lack of conversation. Her own stomach was so twisted that even Margaret’s cooking did not tempt her to eat.
John suddenly rose to his feet, as if he could no longer pretend to eat. “I suppose Thornton plans to court you again.”
His bitter voice was as painful to her as a blow to the stomach.
“I do not know his plans,” she said in a steady voice. At leastthatwas true.
“Thenhow can we leave you alone with him?” he demanded, bracing his hands on the table and leaning toward her. “Is this just merely a cruel whim on his part, some kind of punishment—”
