Page 4 of Papa's Captive
Chapter 2
“We have not seen Lord Caldwell for several days,” Lettie said, glancing up from her stitching to give Rosie a look which seemed filled with unspoken meaning, and possibly an accusation. “I had intended to assist in the making of your wedding gown, but now I wonder if it will be necessary.”
“Perhaps he grew weary of waiting for Rosie to set a wedding date,” Lily offered. “It injures a man’s pride to believe his intentions and affections are not returned in equal measure. A papa needs to believe his little girl is eager to be with him and will be an obedient and submissive bride. I have seen you with Lord Caldwell and you are much too proud and independent, if you ask me.”
Rosie, who had been stitching rather furtively upon a handkerchief which she had intended as a gift for Lord Caldwell—though she had fibbed when asked and said it was meant as a gift for Daisy—paused in her work and glanced from Lettie to Lily as she considered her response.
In the not so distant past, she would have taken the opportunity to pour out her fears and anxieties to Cammie or Cynny, even Daisy if she could have held still long enough. It was not as though she had failed to notice the cessation of Lord Caldwell’s visits or wondered if she was to blame. He had faithfully made the trip from London to Talcott House at least twice per week since their first meeting, on the day Cynny and Lord Grayson married. Out of the chaos of that morning, Lord Caldwell had appeared and over time had managed to claim her heart.
He had made his intentions clear from the outset, though she had pooh-poohed his assertions that it was fate which had sent her plunging through the ceiling to land at his feet in Miss Wickersham’s study. His insistence that they were meant to be together flattered and pleased her, though she had not said as much to him. Not directly. ‘Twas too daring to put her feelings into words.
She had, however, agreed to be his bride. Was her capitulation not sufficient proof of her affection for him?
Yet, she could not help but wonder if Lily’s words held a grain of truth. Perhaps she had not made her true feelings apparent enough to him and he had taken her hesitation to move forward with their plans to wed as a sign of disinterest on her part.
Typically, it would be the height of uncouth for a man to back out of an engagement once the agreement had been struck. But it wasn’t unheard of, as Rosie well knew herself. For a few painful moments, she was hurled into the past to one of the darkest days of her life.
Through tear filled eyes Rosie read the short letter over and over again, the bottom falling out of her world. No no no. It couldn’t be. And yet, the words were scrawled in her betrothed’s familiar handwriting.
Miss Andrews,
I am sure you can understand that, considering the circumstances, it is impossible for us to wed. I bear you no ill will and pray you have none for me either.
Best wishes,
Lord Hanworth
Best wishes? Her last thread of hope or happiness snapped with that curt dismissal. She wadded the paper in her hand and tossed it onto the fire.
A dark cloud loomed over her. Her life would never be the same. She had lost everything and her future had never felt more uncertain. To lose her father and her fiance all within the span of a few days was too much to bear. Overcome by emotion, she covered her face with her hands and sobbed.
With a sharp shake of her head, Rosie forced herself back to the present. To the sitting room with Lily and Lettie and the uncomfortable conversation hanging between them. Her heart sank as she reminded herself the rules of honoring a promise to marry only applied to the social elites of London. What recourse would there be against a man such as Lord Caldwell if he chose not to marry an orphaned girl with no family connections or social standing?
In fact, the idea that a gentleman such as Lord Caldwell, with his family name and prestige, would wish to marry the likes of her was unfathomable and she had been a fool to think him sincere. And that was not even including the horrible secret she dared not share.
But, she would never reveal her anxieties to Lettie and Lily. It was not as though the two girls were unfriendly or unkind and their comments about Lord Caldwell were not anything which had not passed through Rosie’s mind. Regardless of that, she had her pride.
“Well, Lily, no one is asking you. For your information, Lord Caldwell is an extremely important gentleman. Need I remind you he is the Earl of Bridgeport, a title which carries a great deal of responsibility. I have counted myself fortunate for the time he has been able to spare for me and would never expect him to set aside his duties in order to make the exceptionally long journey from London to Talcott House on a regular basis. Though I will note, he has made the trip more often than any callers have for either of you.”
Once the cutting remark left her lips, Rosie regretted it. It was not in her nature to be intentionally cruel. However, Lord Caldwell’s disappearance from her life had altered her behavior. She reminded herself that his poor behavior ought not to demean her own.
Lettie and Lily both gasped at the harshness of her words and tone. Lettie cast her eyes downward and appeared on the verge of an apology, but Lily spoke first. “Well, of all the proud and boastful things you have ever said—and let me assure you, there are many—that has got to be the worst.” She stood and took two menacing steps toward Rosie. “You had best hope Lord Caldwell renews his attentions to you and takes you off to his fancy house and important life soon because Lily and I have asked Miss Wickersham to move you from our bedchamber.”
Here, Rosie’s composure abandoned her. “Me? Leave? I was there first!” She stood and glared at Lily, catching a glimpse of Lettie as well as she attempted to hide behind Lily. Though Lettie said nothing, her countenance indicated agreement with Lily, which came as no surprise. Lettie was the embodiment of her namesake flower—a shrinking violet.
What Lettie lacked in boldness, Lily more than made up for and before she knew what had happened, Rosie found herself tussling with Lily across the carpet of the Talcott House sitting room. Stitchery long forgotten, the young ladies slapped and hair-pulled like a two headed-tumbleweed over Miss Wickersham’s great-grandmother’s best rug.
Never, through all the turmoil of her life, had Rosie ever engaged in a physical confrontation. After landing a particularly hard slap to Lily’s face, however, she began to wonder why she hadn’t. Though mortifyingly undignified, the physical aggression calmed a part of her which had felt unsettled for quite some time.
They continued to scratch, claw and roll until the two young women slammed into an unwavering post. The skirmish halted and Rosie took her attention off Lily and directed all her pent up ire and aggravation at the structure which impeded their progress. With fist raised, she took aim but before she could throw the punch, Lettie found her voice, shouted, “No,” and grabbed hold of Rosie’s forearm.
Diverted, Rosie focused her irritation at Lettie, yanking her arm downward and toppling Lettie to the floor as well.
“Stop. Stop at once. This is most distressing. I am shocked. Shocked, I say.”
Rosie’s heart faltered in her chest and she glanced around to discover the unwavering post which had halted their fight was, none other than, Miss Wickersham herself. A particularly angry Miss Wickersham, to be precise.
