An Unlikely Suitor (41 page)

She pulled him to the side, safe from the edge. “I care for you, Hugh, but we’ve only just met and—”

“Are you saying you don’t wish to marry me, matey?” Hugh moved to the outer edge of the path. “Then I have only one choice! Death upon the rocks below!”

She pulled him back from the edge, relieved he was teasing, but needing him to be serious.

“What’s with that face?” he asked.

She shrugged, unable to explain.

“Come now, Sofia. I might have exaggerated our relationship to make a point with my sister, but the essence of what I said is true. I do care for you deeply, and I have thought about what it would be like to be married to you.”

“You have?”

“Haven’t you?”

She couldn’t deny it.

He took her hand. “Then, come on. Let’s enjoy our day with the knowledge that the future owns many exciting options.”

Together they walked, and with each step, Sofia’s heart opened further to each and every possibility.

“Love rules without rules. Love rules without
 . . .”

Rowena walked to the stables with Sofia’s words accompanying each step, adding to her confusion.

For after watching Hugh and Sofia run off joyfully together, Rowena’s thoughts, feelings, instincts, and logic collided into a morning mush where nothing was distinct or held a flavor of its own.

Hugh and Sofia? It was ridiculous. Hugh was her family’s heir. Sofia was an immature girl who had no idea what love was about or what it entailed or—

Rowena pulled up short. Did
she
know what love was about or what it entailed? She was six years older than Sofia, yet she’d never had a man look at her like her brother looked at Sofia. She’d never had a man call her his soul mate, nor say she’d changed him, or even tell her he loved—

“I love you, Rowena.”

Morrie. He’d said it. He’d meant it.

But did she love—?

“ ’Morning, Ro.” She looked up and saw Morrie standing in the entrance to the stables. And suddenly she knew that more than anything in the world, she wanted to hear that greeting from him every morning for the rest of her life.

“You’re flushed,” he said as she reached him.

She ignored his statement and gave attention to his ankle. “How is it?”

“I say I’ll be fine even as I fear by saying it, I’ll cause you to come less often.” He slid a finger down her cheek. “If I would’ve known falling out of the haymow would gain me more of your company, I would’ve jumped long ago.”

She risked a glance and saw his smile. She nodded toward his room. “Did you take your laudanum this morning?”

“A smaller dose. I am done lying in bed. I need to work. With the ball tonight the carriage needs to be made ready.”

She’d forgotten about the ball. The thought of Morrie driving her to a ball where she would be with Edward was disconcerting.

They began to stroll through the stables and stopped before her horse, Bessie. “There, girl,” Morrie said. “Do you miss your mistress?”

“I miss
her
. I miss—”

“Edward’s going to be at the ball, I assume.”

“Of course,” Rowena said.

“Then tell him you won’t marry him. Tonight. Be done with it.”

Rowena was taken aback. “I can’t just—”

“Why not?” Morrie touched the tips of her fingers, being wary of the stableboys doing their work close by. “You know you want to be with me. When I was hurt you cared for me; you worried after me.”

“Of course I did, but—”

“You love me.”

She slid past him, unable and unwilling to discuss it here. When he didn’t follow, she looked back and nodded toward the exit. Once outside she took refuge under a huge oak tree. Only then did she face him. “This morning I found out something about Hugh that cements my decision to marry Edward.”

“What does Hugh have to do with—?”

“Hugh loves Sofia, Lucy’s sister. They’re intent on marrying.”

Morrie laughed. “Hugh wouldn’t know love if it was a rock to trip over.”

“I used to think the same thing, but the two of them . . .” She shook her head. “Oh, what do I know? But the point is, with Hugh going against the norm by marrying a poor girl, it will be up to me to keep the family’s reputation intact. And up to Edward to take the reins of our fathers’ business.”

“So it’s all on you.”

She nodded. “With Hugh going against the status quo . . . If I were to also do so, it would be a catastrophe.”

His eyes blazed into hers. “Catastrophe, Ro? The world will spin off its axis? Society will collapse into total anarchy?”

She got his point, but . . . “My family will collapse. My father’s business will—”

“So Hugh and Edward are the best of the best when it comes to running an elevator business?”

Actually Hugh hated his job, and from what little she’d heard from Edward about the matter, he was more dutiful than enthused.

“Everyone will just be so . . . so . . . disappointed.”

He laughed at her inept choice of words. “My, my, we wouldn’t want to disappoint people, would we?”

“I’ve disappointed them enough.” She looked down at her leg.

He moved her chin upward with a strong finger. “Enough of that nonsense. You hurt yourself saving your brother’s skin. And now you want to do it again? Hugh is reckless and chooses to do what Hugh wants to do, and you think you have to save him?”

“Someone has to.”

“No they don’t! Hugh is not a child to be saved, and you are not a child who must follow her parents’ wishes at all cost.”

“But we’re to honor our father and mother.”

“Is it honorable to marry a man you don’t love? For business? They are not honoring you by even suggesting such a thing.” He looked around for witnesses, then took her hands and pulled her close. “Honor me and let me honor you by agreeing to be my wife.”

Looking into his eyes she knew that she wanted to say yes and have his arms wrap fully around her and never let her go.

A stableboy called out from the barn, “Haverty! Yer needed.”

He pulled away. “I’ll fight for you, Ro. Fight for me.”

Without his presence she felt alone and weak. She was not a fighter.

What was she going to do?

But then she remembered her prayers said upon the veranda. She was not alone. She’d asked God to show her the way. Was she brave enough to accept the answer?

She hurried back to the safety of the house.

Mrs. Garmin whirled, causing the red satin skirt of her gypsy costume to billow. She finished with a dramatic pose. “Ta-da!”

The other ladies applauded. “You look very striking,” Mrs. Langdon said. “Very . . . bohemian.”

Mrs. Garmin nodded as if she liked the term, but Rowena had no idea what it meant, and felt no inclination to reveal her ignorance.

Mrs. Scarpelli was marking her mother’s Elizabethan dress with a pin. “Do you like your costume, Mrs. Langdon?”

“Very much,” she said, adjusting the stiff lace ruff around her neck. “But how did they ever wear such things? It’s frightfully uncomfortable.”

Rowena laughed. “I would guess history will look back on us and wonder the same thing about our corsets and bustles.” As for her gown, she loved the ease and light weight of her butter-silk empire-waist dress. The fabric was spotted with flowers embroidered in gold metallic thread, and the headdress was a concoction of ivory ostrich feathers rising up, and a piece of gathered red lace fabric falling to her shoulders. She unfurled her fan with a flourish. “I say let’s go to the Vanderbilts’ right this minute. I don’t want to take this off.”

“Edward is going to faint at the very sight of you,” Mrs. Garmin said.

Rowena shrugged.

“Don’t you want him to faint?”

Her mother answered for her. “Of course she does.” To her daughter she added, “Isn’t Edward coming as a Regency gentleman?”

Rowena faltered. “I never asked him to.” She remembered thinking how he would look marvelous as Mr. Darcy, but she’d never pursued it.

Mrs. Garmin put her hands on her hips and asked the question Rowena was asking herself. “Whyever not? It would have been the perfect occasion to come as a matched pair.”

Her mother shook her head. “Rowena, really. You need to think of such things.”

“I’m sorry, Mother.” And she was. Yet what was at the core of her
faux pas
? Could it be she hadn’t distinctly made the request because she and Edward weren’t a matched pair? They shouldn’t be matched at all?

When Rowena felt the heat of all eyes, she handily hid behind her fan.

Sofia burst into the workroom, on an urgent errand to fetch some extra hooks and eyes. The others were in the house, helping Rowena and Mrs. Langdon dress for the ball. At the moment, it was all about them.

Although the focus was a bit annoying, it was also a relief. On an ordinary day there would have been multiple opportunities when she could have told Lucy the truth about her Dante. But today, they’d not had a minute alone. Added to the issue was Lucy’s attitude. Sofia had never seen her sister so happy.

Lucy was forever the serious one. Her demeanor and countenance were more often sober and somber than cheerful and glad. And this afternoon she’d even seen Lucy be joyful. How could she rip that away from her?

How could she not?

For even if Sofia didn’t tell her the truth, the truth would come out, and then not only would Lucy be hurt, but Rowena. And the families would surely get involved and there would be scandal and
 . . .

Nothing good would come of waiting.
Le bugie hanno le gambe corte.
Lies have short legs. This lie, this deception, though unwitting, would indeed be tripped up. But who would fall? Rowena? Edward? Or Lucy? Who would be held accountable?

Knowing the way the rich had of deflecting blame, Sofia feared Lucy would be seen as the guilty one, the seductress who lured Edward away from his intended. And Rowena would be seen as the poor crippled girl who couldn’t hold the attention of a man. Edward would come off as less guilty, for men were often allowed to be men with little more consequence than a shrug. “Boys will be boys” was an annoying saying that too often negated the need for accountability.

Girls will be girls.

Sofia will be Sofia.

She gathered the supplies and headed back to the house, trying to avoid thinking about it.

She was unsuccessful.

How many times had she heard her mother or Lucy—or even those outside the family—discount her actions with a shake of the head and a “Sofia will be Sofia.” She’d never taken offense before; in fact, she’d found it a means to escape responsibility, allowing her to do whatever she wanted to do.

Images appeared, of reading in a hidden corner when there was work to be done, of pretending she couldn’t do something, knowing that someone else would do it. And worst of all, memories of tattling or telling secrets
knowing
it would be hurtful, and not caring.

But I’ve changed.

This afternoon, the old Sofia would have blurted out,
“Dante’s real name is Edward,”
reveling in the shocked looks on Lucy’s and Rowena’s faces, not really caring that her words would be hurtful, nor that they would cause life-changing repercussions.