Secrets of Sloane House (28 page)

“And how old is Ethan?”

“Eight.”

“And what does one do on the farm all day?”

“Any number of things. I often looked after my brothers. Gardened.”

“You enjoy gardening?”

She nodded. “I do. I suppose it’s because I don’t mind being outside for hours at a time. I like it.”

“What did you grow?”

“Everything. Beans. Corn. Potatoes.” She continued, her voice warming to the memories. She told him about the cucumbers and zucchinis. About the time a squirrel or raccoon ate one bite out of every single tomato growing on the vines.

She chuckled when she relayed one of her brother’s misadventures with a particularly hungry pig. Then she noticed that Mr. Armstrong’s breathing had slowed and become even. Her chatter had caused him to fall asleep.

Uncertain about what to do next, she sat quietly next to him for another hour, content to listen to him breathe—and to allow herself to remember her home and the farm and the times she’d had there.

And she allowed herself to accept that she might not ever discover
what happened to her sister. And that she was going to need to come to terms with the very real possibility that Miranda was dead.

Dead. It was such a stark, final word. But she needed that descriptor. She needed to accept it.

At last, she picked up the heavy tray and exited the room. Almost immediately, she saw Reid.

“Rosalind, I was just coming to check on you both. How did your visit with my father go?”

“Just fine. He fell asleep about an hour ago.”

As he had just noticed the tray in her hands, he reached for it. “This is too heavy for you. Please allow me—”

“Certainly not, Mr. Armstrong.” She stepped backward just enough to get it out of his reach. “I can carry this just fine.”

“Are you certain?”

“I carried trays like this for the Sloane family many a time, sir.”

He frowned. Stared at her a long moment, then took a step backward himself. “I see. Well, I won’t keep you then. Unless you’d like my help finding the kitchens?”

“I’ll find another staff member to help me.” She turned and started walking down the hallway toward the stairs, then gingerly began the long journey down. Her arms were shaking from the weight of the tray. But she kept her chin up and was bound and determined not to lose her composure . . . or the tray.

Just as she got to the marble entryway, Benjamin hurried to her side. “Need a hand?”

“If you could direct me to the kitchens, I would appreciate it. And, please, may we not argue this point? It is fairly heavy.”

“It’s this way.” With a new resolve, she followed the valet toward the kitchens, bracing herself to be unwelcomed into the private sanctuary of the servants’ rooms.

She was pleased, however, to have stood her ground with Reid. The Armstrongs needed to remember who they were and where they came from as well as her own station in life. Remembering the line that neither could cross was necessary.

For all of them.

Reid watched Rosalind walk down the stairs, then accept Benjamin’s guidance to the kitchens. To his chagrin, he felt a bit jealous. He, not his valet, was the one who knew her well. He should be the one helping her.

And that, he realized, was why he needed to remember his mother’s warning. Maybe her words did have merit. Obviously, Rosalind still was very aware of their stations, and perhaps he should remember that too. Maybe there really couldn’t be anything between him and Rosalind beyond giving her a helping hand.

Deciding that this encounter had been just the thing he needed to remember his place, he glanced at his pocket watch, saw that it wasn’t too late to pay a call, and decided to go call on Eloisa Carstairs. He’d enjoyed talking with her at that dinner party, and she was the perfect candidate for a wife.

He shouldn’t waste another moment in pursuing her.

As his driver drove the carriage to Eloisa’s house, Reid knew he would talk to her about the Sloanes and their maids as well. Perhaps she would know something about their household staff that he wasn’t aware of. After all, women were insightful like that. They were able to see many personality conflicts of which men were blissfully unaware.

He presented his calling card to Eloisa’s butler. He looked at the
card, gazed at Reid, and smiled politely. “Yes, sir. I’ll inform Miss Eloisa that you have called.”

Less than two minutes later, the butler guided him through a maze of rooms and out to a solarium. When Reid had visited before during a social call with his mother, they’d been directed to the formal receiving room. The solarium was far more private. It was also one of the prettiest rooms he’d ever been in. Bright and airy, the room boasted large picture windows and a pair of French doors that opened onto a stone patio.

And there, on the patio, stood Eloisa. Her back was to him. She was wearing a light blue frock that was undoubtedly an expensive work of art, with its many flounces, tucks, and pleats. The effect was charming. As if she sensed his presence, she turned and caught his eye. Smiled softly.

She was so beautiful that she almost literally took away his breath. Right then and there, Reid decided her gown was worth every penny.

The butler stood at attention. “Miss Eloisa is outside, sir. She asked that you join her out there?”

“Yes, that would be pleasant.” With a nod, he added, “I’ll let myself out. Thank you.”

“Yes, sir.” The butler nodded again, then left the solarium quietly, leaving Reid to stare at Eloisa a little bit longer before striding outside.

She held out both hands to him. “Reid, this is a surprise.”

“But a welcome one, I hope?” he asked as he squeezed both her hands gently.

“Very much so.” She smiled again, then bent down and picked up a pair of garden clippers. “I was just about to cut some flowers. My mother is hosting a dinner later this evening.”

“I’ll hold your basket for you.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.” She smiled again, then turned
back to the grouping of rosebushes, their appealing fragrance warring with their red and gold beauty. Eloisa fingered a gold-tipped blossom before deftly snipping off the stem and gently placing it in the basket Reid had retrieved from a nearby table.

As she turned to clip another stem, she said, “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Would you believe me if I said I merely wanted to see you?”

She snipped another stem. “I would be flattered. But I wouldn’t believe you.” She grinned as she clipped another stem, a blood-red rose this time. “You are not the kind of man to pay calls for no reason.”

He considered disputing that, but opted for telling the truth instead. “I came over for your help. And to discuss our future with you.”

He saw only her profile, but he could tell that she was visibly struggling to retain her composure. “I see.” With deliberate movements, she set down the clippers and reached for the basket.

When both were resting on the stone wall behind her, she stepped to the French doors. “Perhaps we should sit down.”

He did the honors with the doors, then followed her back into the solarium. After she was seated, he seated himself in a sturdy-looking wicker chair at her right. Though he did his best to appear composed, inside, he was calling himself ten types of a fool. What had he been thinking? Paying a call on an elegant woman like Eloisa and being such a stumbling cad.

“Eloisa, perhaps I misspoke. What I meant to say is that I think an, uh, alliance between the two of us would be beneficial to both of us.”

She neatly folded her hands. “A beneficial alliance? You intrigue me.” Yet the tone of her voice indicated she was feeling anything but intrigued.

“I hold you in high esteem.”

“We hardly know each other, Mr. Armstrong.”

“That can be remedied.”

“It could, if we both wanted that.”

“I do.” As soon as he heard his tone, he winced. He didn’t sound as enthused as he sounded resigned. “I mean, I would like to get to know you better.”

“Ah.” She stared at him a good, long time. Then a new light of amusement lit her pale blue eyes. “And your other reason to see me?”

He paused, mentally debating whether to divulge Rosalind’s secret or to keep it to himself a little longer. Rosalind desperately needed to know there was someone she could trust, and he was reluctant to break her faith in him.

However, he also knew time was of the essence, and that Eloisa Carstairs was the type of woman to help Rosalind’s search in any way she could.

Surely Rosalind would care more about that than anything else?

Taking a deep breath, he plunged ahead. “I’ve stumbled upon a housemaid down on her luck and I need your help.”

“Care to explain?”

“Her name is Rosalind. Rosalind Pettit, but now that I think about it, I’m not even sure if that is her real name,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t matter. What does matter is that she was a maid for the Sloane family, but she was only there to investigate the disappearance of her sister.”

“Investigate? Is she sleuthing?”

“She is. Well, she was. Her sister, Miranda, obtained a job at the Sloane mansion for two months and was sending money home. She disappeared, though. Without a trace.”

Eloisa leaned forward, her expression intent. Her attention obviously riveted. “What do you mean, without a trace?”

“One day, she simply wasn’t there.”

“What about her belongings?”

“Most of them were left behind.”

“Still, she probably ran off. Some maids do that . . .”

“Rosalind’s father came to Chicago and visited the house. The Sloanes were vague and disinterested, the police even less so.”

“Yes, if they thought the sister merely left.”

“However, Rosalind’s father believed everyone there knew more than they were letting on. So Rosalind volunteered to come to Chicago to try to find her sister.”

“Has she discovered anything?”

“No, though she did say that Douglass paid another maid to leave the house after he discovered she was with child.”

“He gave her money?”

“Yes.” Reid hoped she understood everything he wasn’t saying.

Eloisa stared at him in shock. “That is a very serious offense, Reid.”

“I agree. And I wouldn’t have given much credence to it, except I was with Douglass when he was with the other maid. I’ve been in the house and witnessed the way he treated Rosalind. I don’t know what happened to Rosalind’s sister, but I do think that more has been going on than anyone wants to admit.”

“I see.”

It struck him, then, that Eloisa was not shocked by the allegations against Veronica or Douglass. “Have you heard rumors?”

“I’ve heard rumors about Douglass,” she said quietly. She looked at the doorway. “I wouldn’t want this bandied about, but more than one girl has alluded that he behaved less than gentlemanly with her. They were afraid to be alone with him.”

“I’ve heard rumors as well.” He stared at her, noted the concern in her eyes. “Eloisa, I must also admit something else. Though I can
imagine Douglass, uh, behaving like a cad, I can’t imagine him accosting a maid.”

“I would have to agree.” Her eyes narrowed. “So that begs the real question, Reid.”

“And that is?”

“If Douglass Sloane merely pursues women and ruins their reputations, if Rosalind’s sister was one of them, what happened to her? Did she run away in shame? Or did someone else have a hand in her disappearance?”

“Only the good Lord knows.”

“I do believe that it’s time people discovered the truth too,” she said grimly.

CHAPTER 29

A
fter leaving Eloisa’s, Reid dismissed his driver and took the new elevated train to the entrance of the fair. He needed to get away, to think. Think about Eloisa, his duty toward his family, and his curious regard for Rosalind.

Something needed to change. He felt a new sense of urgency that he couldn’t seem to shake. He didn’t know if it was because of Rosalind, the new pressure he felt to marry well, or if it was a by-product of the disintegration of his relationship with Douglass.

After paying his entrance fee, he walked through the gates and mixed with the throng. The crowds had thinned considerably since the fair had first begun. And though there were still many fine ladies and gentlemen promenading, there seemed to be a greater number of men and women from the lower classes enjoying the sights. Their tailored suits and dresses were just a little bit shabbier, their grooming needing an extra bit of care.

As he looked at the white buildings, Reid realized the crowd had much in common with the buildings. Most of the people were looking like faint replicas of the shining statues positioned all around them.

He’d heard rumors that the buildings hadn’t been built for posterity. Instead, the architects and builders had built glorious façades, covering plain buildings encompassing priceless artifacts. To his way of thinking, it felt fitting.

That was the way of it, he decided. People were born bare and helpless, relying on others for everything from comfort and love to happiness and esteem. Little by little, each person became more independent. Relationships were formed, not on kinship, but on mutual interests.