Page 17 of Snowbound Regency Christmas
I should be here so she can return to her home permanently, Rosie thought. She looked down at her hands, one so recently in Andrew’s firm grip because the ground was fictionally uneven.I do not know where I should be.
Since no one was moving the conversational ball, she picked up the sorry thing, telling her father of Vicar Ewing’s fate, which only turned Papa more reflective than usual. It seemed that the vulture of bad news was flapping all around the table.
‘I should have warned you about that,’ Papa murmured. ‘I heard more in the public house yesterday to explain that wretched turn of events.’ He leaned forward, his elbow just missing the potatoes. ‘Sir William is deep in debt. His younger brother is in trade and is now richer than Croesus, whoever that chap is. It seems that Reverend Milton Keeting, Sir William’s son, cannot keep his grubby hands off parish funds. To avoid a scandal—according to the stalwarts in the pub—Milton is taking over St. Timothy’s. In exchange for this atrocity coming our way, his uncle will pay off Sir William’s debts and smooth things over for Milton.’
‘So I heard,’ Andrew declared. ‘I’m exhausted by all this local intrigue.’
‘It gets better. Milton and his wife are already at Keeting Manor.’
‘Yes,’ Rosie said. She stirred around uneaten potatoes and gravy. ‘Vicar Ewing said they were coming over to the vicarage to measure for new curtains.’
‘She must have recovered then,’ Papa told them.
‘From what?’ Andrew asked.
‘The exhaustion of strong hysterics! Apparently she and Milton were trapped in a post-chaise in that mess of ice and snow that stalled you. I have it from Dotty, who heard it from the housekeeper at Keeting Manor, that someone tried to foist a poor sailor off on them in their post-chaise, because he needed help.’
‘It was our mail coach,’ Andrew said. ‘I was that poor sailor.’
Rosie saw the sadness in his eyes. ‘Rough ground,’ she whispered to him, wanting to take his hand. Papa looked at them both, a question in his eyes. ‘Papa, she told our coachman that she feared they would be murdered.’
Papa laughed, but it was mirthless. ‘Dotty heard it from the housekeeper that she is only now recovering from, er, emotional distress.’
‘I remember Milton,’ Rosie said. ‘He was a slimy lad who made fun of us because we could not afford a private tutor. It appears he has not improved.’
‘That, dear child, is how the world works,’ Papa replied. He glanced at Andrew. ‘Has this been your experience, too, Master Hadfield?’
‘Aye and more’s the pity. Why is it that the worst people seem to suffer no consequences?’
To Rosie’s dismay, the conversation turned Andrew quiet. After dinner, he begged off from playing whist. ‘It’s been a long day,’ he said. ‘I don’t know what will happen tomorrow when I go to the workhouse in Ashburton.’
‘I am coming, too,’ Rosie told him.
‘Should you?’
‘Yes,’ she said, sad he should think he must bear the weight of their sorry world. Maybe that was the price of leadership. ‘Yes,’ she said firmly.
He smiled at that, and she took heart. ‘We’ll take the gig to Ashburton. I will handle the reins. Something tells me that a lifelong sailor probably doesn’t know one end of a horse from the other.’
‘Correct. It’s been too many years since I sat on my father’s old nag and sawed at the reins,’ Andrew said. ‘You will be my coachman, and I promise not to murder you.’
The droll way he said it made her laugh. She touched his arm. ‘What you must think of us?’ she asked, as she followed him to the foot of the stairs.
‘You can’t imagine, dear lady.’
Why ‘dear lady’ should keep her awake half the night, Rosie didn’t understand. To make her positively grumpy, the bed was cold. She thrashed about, thinking of Papa wanting her to return home, and Aunt Dorothea yearning to retire to Chandler Street, after all her years of loving service to her brother and nieces. There was Vicar Ewing, turned out of his parish where people needed him. What would happen to his parish school?
She tried not to think about Master Hadfield, except that was what finally sent her into slumber, dreaming how nice it would be to cuddle with him on a cold night. That dream had entertained her off and on all year, if she were honest with herself. This was the first time the cuddling man had a name and face.Rough ground, she told herself.
He woke after midnight, talking out loud, then pleading. She hurried to him, sitting by his bed, holding his hand until he returned to sleep, comforted. She couldn’t help herself.Who will do this when you return to the perils of battle and the sea? Will anyone care as much as I?
Morning brought Papa’s pronouncement that they were taking his son-in-law’s larger gig to Ashburton, because he was coming, too. He obviously expected no argument, but he was prepared with one and presented it, anyway. ‘See here, Master Hadfield, with your nautical command and my local clout, we can find this woman and extract her from a workhouse. I have an idea.’
‘Which is…’ Rosie prompted.
‘I’m thinking about it, daughter. Some sort of genteel employment?’
‘I’ll never argue the matter,’ Andrew said. ‘My area of expertise does not extend to horses, as your daughter pointed out, and what do I know of shire life?’
