The Constant Heart (13 page)

'It is the morning.'

'Then I'll see you later, miss.'

As he turned to go, Rosina was awash with guilt. Dear, solid, dependable Walter. She called his name and he stopped, turned to look at her. 'Miss?'

She flung her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. 'Thank you, dear Walter.'

She closed her eyes. For a wonderful, intoxicating moment, she could smell spices, lemons and above all, Indian ink. She dropped her hands to her sides and took a step backwards. Of course she could smell Indian ink – it clung to Walter like a London particular. He spent half his life writing in dreary old ledgers and account books. If he cut himself, he probably bled black ink. The smell had fooled her tired brain into linking it with the man she had only met a few hours ago, and with whom she had fallen desperately in love.

'Goodnight, Walter.' She closed the door and locked it.

She went into the kitchen, and taking a spill from the jar on the mantelshelf she stuck it in the glowing embers of the fire, watching the tip turn red and then burst into flame. She lit a candle and tossed the spill into the fire. What a night it had been – her head spun with the sights, sounds and the memory of a man's arms holding her as they danced. She crept upstairs to her room and slipped off her dress, letting it fall to the ground in a heap of crumpled muslin. She stepped out of it and unlaced her stays, tossing them onto the chintz-covered chair on which her doll, Dorcas, sat with her frilled skirts spread out around her and her dark, painted eyes staring blindly into space. Taking off her undergarments, Rosina stood in the flickering candlelight, staring at her reflection in the cheval mirror that had once belonged to her mother. She ran her hands lightly over her breasts and down the smooth curve of her belly to her thighs. Suddenly her body, which had never been of much interest to her in the past, became a mysterious entity filled with strange sensations and longings for which she had no name. She closed her eyes and her head was filled with the image of a handsome man wearing a mask; she could recall every second of their brief time together. She parted her lips and she could taste his kiss. She opened her eyes and realised that she was blushing. Her whole body was tinged with pink at the wild thoughts running through her head.

Rosina snatched up her cotton lawn nightgown and slipped it over her head, covering her shameless nakedness. She climbed into bed and lay down, pulling the coverlet up to her chin. She closed her eyes, but she knew then that she would not sleep. She could still hear the strains of the orchestra playing a waltz, then a polka, a schottische and a quadrille. She was floating in his arms and they were the only two people on the crystal platform – if only she knew his name. The music played on and on, they were whirling round and round – he was repeating her name over and over again. He was shaking her by the shoulder – she opened her eyes and found herself staring up into Bertha's wrinkled face.

'Wake up, sleepyhead. Half the morning has gone already,' Bertha said, chuckling. 'My goodness, you must have had a good time at the Gostellows' last night. I never heard you come in.'

Rosina raised herself up on her elbow and yawned. 'Walter brought me home.'

'I should hope so. I wouldn't have let you go if he hadn't offered to bring you home safely.' Bertha grunted as she bent down to retrieve Rosina's discarded clothing. 'You should pick up your own things, miss. Not leave it to poor old Bertha. Me back's killing me this morning.'

Rosina swung her legs over the side of the bed. 'I'll do it. I was tired. I'm sorry, Bebe.'

'Well, lambkin, you don't get asked out to dinner at a rich man's house very often. I suppose I shouldn't grumble. Come downstairs and have your breakfast and you can tell me all about it. I want to know every detail.' Bertha waddled to the doorway. 'Your papa will be so pleased that young Gostellow is taking such an interest in you. I know it's looking ahead, but it would be a fine match.'

'Don't get your hopes up. I think Harry was more interested in Sukey than in me.'

'Then the man is a fool. But I think you're being too modest. Who would give that whey-faced girl a second glance when they could choose my girl, with her raven hair and violet-blue eyes?'

Rosina hurried to the washstand and poured cold water into the bowl. 'That's soft sawder and you know it, Bebe. Sukey is twice as pretty as me and as lively as a cricket. Gentlemen adore her and I wouldn't be at all surprised if Harry wasn't knocking on her door this very minute.'

'Well, that's odd, ain't it? Because young Mr Gostellow has been sitting in my kitchen for the past ten minutes waiting for you, missy.' Bertha gave a throaty chuckle. 'You hurry up and get dressed and come downstairs. He don't want to chat to an old woman like me.' She winked at Rosina as she left the room and the stairs creaked beneath her heavy tread.

'Bother, bother, bother!' Rosina dashed cold water on her face and rubbed it with a towel until her skin glowed with colour. She dressed hastily, her fingers fumbling with laces and buttons, and she prayed silently that Harry would not say anything to make Bertha suspicious. Having brushed her long hair, tugging at the tangles until it hung about her shoulders like a dark cape, she twisted it into a heavy knot at the nape of her neck and secured it in a snood. Smoothing back the stray tendrils that curled around her forehead, she took a quick look in the mirror, and, satisfied that at least she looked reasonably presentable, she went downstairs to the kitchen.

Harry leapt up from his seat by the range. 'Good morning, Miss Rosina. How splendid you look this morning.'

'She missed out on her beauty sleep because of you, young man,' Bertha said severely. 'It were good of your parents to entertain her and Miss Barnum, but don't make a habit of it. Late nights are bad for young girls.'

Rosina cast her eyes up to heaven. 'Thank you, Bebe. I'm sure Harry doesn't want to hear all that.'

Harry took her hand and raised it to his lips. 'On the contrary, I agree entirely with Miss Spinks. Your welfare should always come first with me.'

'There, what did I say?' Bertha lifted the singing kettle from the hob. 'Wasn't I right, Rosie?'

Rosina felt the blood rush to her cheeks as Harry gave her a quizzical look. 'Is this a social call, Harry? Or did you have business with Walter?'

'A bit of both, but mainly I wanted to speak to you, Rosie.'

'Not until she's had her breakfast, young sir.' Bertha poured boiling water into the teapot.

'I'm not hungry,' Rosina said hastily. There was something in Harry's expression that sent chills running down her spine. His lips were stretched in an urbane smile but there was a disturbing light in his eyes and she sensed trouble. She needed to get him away from Bertha before he said anything out of turn. 'I was going to call on Sukey this morning. Would you like to walk with me, Harry?'

'Delighted.'

'What about your breakfast?' Bertha demanded, barring her way. 'And you ain't going nowhere without a bonnet and gloves. You was raised proper, Rosie, and don't you forget it. Your mama was a real lady and she'd be turning in her grave to see you go out hatless and without gloves.'

Rosina snatched her bonnet and mittens from the dresser and put them on. 'There! Are you happy now, Bebe?'

Bertha stuck out her bottom lip. 'I still say you ought to have something inside you before you go out gallivanting.'

'I will eat later. I promise you.'

Harry opened the door. 'Don't worry, Miss Spinks. I'll take good care of her.'

As she walked past the office door, Rosina could see Walter in his customary seat behind the large oak desk. He looked up and smiled. She waved to him but she did not stop. Outside on the cobblestones, she turned to Harry. 'Well? What is so urgent that it couldn't wait?'

Harry held his bowler hat in his hands, his knuckles whitening. 'I wanted your reassurance that what happened last night would not be repeated.'

'I beg your pardon?'

'And so you should, Rosina. The way you behaved with that – that charlatan was beyond belief.'

'How dare you!'

'I do dare, my dear girl. I dare because I care about you. And I believe I have your father's blessing in paying court to you, Rosina. Do you understand what I'm saying?'

'If speaking to me like a stupid child is your idea of paying court, then I'm sorry for you, Harry.'

He caught her by the hand. 'Don't be angry with me, Rosie. I know I'm not putting this very well, but I – love you. And I want you to be my wife.'

She stared at him in disbelief. Suddenly it seemed as though he was speaking in a foreign tongue. Nothing made sense. 'We hardly know each other. You can't possibly want to marry me. And I'm sorry, but I don't love you.'

'That doesn't matter in the slightest. You will come to love me when we are married. I want you, Rosie. I could look higher for a bride, but I want you.'

'You're saying that I'm beneath you socially, but you'll marry me anyway?'

He squeezed her hand. 'My dear, I wouldn't have put it like that. But you've bewitched me. I can't get you out of my thoughts, and last night, when that oaf was making up to you – I could have killed him. He was just playing with you, Rosie. He was amusing himself at your expense.'

'I don't believe you.'

'You will never see him again. I'm asking you – no, I'm begging you to consider my proposal. I know it's sudden, but you need not answer me immediately. You need time to think it over, I realise that.'

'But Harry . . .'

He leaned towards her so that his face was close to hers. 'I'd advise you to think carefully before you refuse me, my dear. Your papa relies on me to put trade his way. He's made bad decisions lately and lost a lot of business. If I were his son-in-law I could save him from himself. But if I were to go against him – you wouldn't want to bring about his downfall, now would you?'

Rosina took a step backwards, staring at Harry in disbelief. The man who was glowering at her was so unlike the good-natured, easy-going person she had always thought him to be. 'Are you threatening me?'

The anger died from his eyes and he smiled sheepishly. 'No, not at all. I'm just pointing out that I could be instrumental in restoring your father's flagging fortunes.'

'You're making it all up. My papa works hard and his business might have hit a bad patch, but it will soon recover. You're just exaggerating the case to scare me into accepting your proposal.'

'Would I be so base?' Harry laid his hand across his heart with a comical twist of his lips. 'Come now, Rosie. Surely you don't believe such a thing of me?'

'I don't know. You've got me all confused, Harry. I wish you'd say no more on the subject. I can't marry you, and that is that.'

'You need time to consider my offer. I under-stand, my dear. And perhaps I should have proposed to you in a more romantic manner. I would have done so last night had that clown dressed as a pirate not intruded on our party.'

Rosina shook her head vehemently. 'No, Harry. The man who was masquerading as a pirate has nothing to do with my decision, and I won't change my mind. I'm sorry.'

'I'm disappointed, of course, but I won't give in so easily.' He offered her his arm. 'Will you allow me to escort you to Miss Barnum's house? I need to see the captain on a business matter.'

'All right, as long as you promise not to mention marriage ever again.'

In the Barnums' morning parlour, Sukey sat on the edge of her chair and clapped her hands. 'Oh, Harry. That would be delightful, wouldn't it, Rosie?'

Rosina shot him a reproachful glance. He might have warned her of his intention to ask them both to tea at Gostellow House. If she refused it would look churlish and Sukey was so eager to accept that her heart went out to her, and she could only echo her friend's reply. 'Yes. Delightful.'