Page 63 of Almost a Bride
When she was done, the Heywood family maintained a sober silence as they all began to eat their now-cold food. Roselyn listened to the clink of glass goblets, the clatter of knives and 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.
“Then how 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—”
There was a knock on the door, and Francis motioned for silence as he went to open it.
Spencer stood in the doorway, leaning on his cane. Roselyn paled, which was infinitely better than blushing. What had he overheard?
“Good day, Lord Thornton,” she said.
“Good day, Lady Roselyn.”
For once, he kept that deep, unsettling voice under control. In fact, he sounded…amused.
Francis stepped aside. “Please come in, my lord. This is your home.”
Roselyn saw Spencer glance at her, but she met his gaze calmly, once again the mistress of her emotions. Her entire world might be falling apart, but she was not going to show how much it devastated her.
“Lord Thornton,” she began, coming to her feet. “Allow me to present the Heywood family.” As she made the introductions, she knew with certainty that none would question Spencer’s motives directly, for he was now their lord on whom their way of life depended.
Margaret pulled out the chair at the end of the table. “Come eat with us, my lord. Surely you have not yet broken your fast.”
“Thank you,” he said, settling slowly into the chair, his broken leg out to one side.
Roselyn found herself seated to his left, where she began to force porridge down her throat as if it were just another normal meal.
“Miss Charlotte,” Spencer began.
Roselyn watched the girl’s eyes widen as he put every bit of his bountiful charm into his dazzling smile.
“Yes, my lord?”
“Please forgive me for not properly introducing myself when we met a few days ago. My presence here has…complications.”
“Of course, my lord. You do not need to explain yourself to me.”
Around the table, an uncomfortable silence hovered as Margaret served Spencer, and they all resumed eating. Roselyn couldn’t stop herself from glancing at John, who kept his gaze on his plate. She sensed not only anger in him, but an incredible disappointment. How must her actions look to him, the man who wanted to marry her?
John suddenly set his knife and spoon down, and she held her breath as he raised his gaze to Spencer.
Spencer seemed as if he’d been waiting for such a move. He watched John with interest, but not outright amusement, for which she was grateful.
“My lord,” John said stiffly, “please allow me to prepare the master suite for you.”
Roselyn knew she wasn’t the only one holding her breath, as Spencer turned his narrowed gaze on her. She suddenly thought of how her cottage had been before he’d arrived—the endless silence. But wasn’t that what had drawn her there, the need to live alone, to create a new life for herself?
She thought of hearing no one breathe in the night, of not having his gaze follow her, of no longer waiting for him to touch her.
What kind of fool was she becoming? He would be leaving soon, and she knew better than to trust someone like him. There was only John to depend on.
“Did your father not tell you I wish no one to know I’m here?” Spencer said. “If I take up residence in the manor, everyone will know.”
“Then allow me to prepare one of the cottages—”
