The Rogue's Reluctant Rose (23 page)

Her heart filled with warmth and longing as her nephew squirmed in her arms.

“He looks so much like dear Charles, Harriet,” she told her sister-in-law, when Harriet had come up with her.

Harriet’s face lip up with love and pride as she picked up the babe before passing him to the young lady.

“Do you really think so?”

“Oh, yes. Papa had that same chin, also. Charles would be proud to see his son grown so big already.”

They shared a smile, and Harriet’s grateful eyes seemed younger without the weight of sorrow which Araminta had become accustomed to see there in the past months.

Now, as she sat with the babe, who had only just awakened, she found that she enjoyed the steady weight in her arms, the guileless smile when she produced a little stuffed rabbit toy out of the cot.

She thought about her nephew as he would be, a schoolboy and then a grown man, honourable and kind, taking his father’s place as Lord Fanshawe. She was surprised to find that when she thought of the future, she pictured her own children as well. Araminta had never thought of her future children before, having pushed the notion aside as a concern for another time.

But now she suddenly felt a longing to hold her own children, to play with them, read to them, and watch them grow up. She wondered what they would be like as adults. An image of tall, dark-haired sons came unbidden. Her heart twisted painfully as she realised that the children she was imagining had familiar steel grey eyes and strong, determined jaw. Her mind had strayed into dangerous waters. She forced herself to dismiss the thought.

She was grateful for the distraction of the carriage that she could see out of the nursery window, coming towards the house. It was too far for her to make out the crest, but she assumed that it was Sir Timothy, on his way down from London as promised. She was doubly sure when a maid came up to call her.

“Her ladyship asks you to come down, Miss, as soon as possible,” the young woman told her, curtsying and then taking the baby off her hands. “She is in the formal parlour.”

Hurrying into the parlour, Araminta wondered that Sir Timothy had come down so quickly, without first writing to announce his arrival.

She was very surprised when she opened the door to find none other than Mr Davies, the Fanshawe solicitor, seated in one of the armchairs. He held a cup of tea, and smiled at her, rising as she entered the room.

“Miss Barrington. How do you do?”

“I am well, thank you, Mr Davies.”

“I am glad to hear it.”

Araminta look a seat on the sofa and poured tea, more for the sake of having her hands busy to allay her worry, while Harriet watched the solicitor anxiously from the arm chair. For Mr Davies to come down unannounced, things had to be dire indeed. Araminta felt lightheaded as she wondered how long they would be given to move out of the house.

“Now, your ladyship, Miss Barrington, there’s no need to look so concerned.” announced the gentleman, taking a handkerchief out of his pocket and proceeding to polish his spectacles. “I assume by your expressions that you do not know my reason for this visit. Forgive me for sending no warning in advance, but I thought it best to come down as soon as I was able.”

The women listened to this speech in surprise, exchanging puzzled glances.

“Why, whatever do you mean, Mr Davies? What has happened?” asked Harriet in bewilderment.

“It is to do with the matter of the house of course, Lady Fanshawe. And the family debts, if you’ll forgive me for being so frank.”

“I think the time for discretion on this matter is long past, and we can name it for what it is,” said Harriet sadly.

“Indeed. Well, I have come down here to tell you, Lady Fanshawe, that your debts have all been paid.”

There was a moment of silence, while Araminta and Harriet tried to take in what they had just been told.

“I beg your pardon. Paid?”

“Yes, your ladyship. In full.” The solicitor had every appearance of enjoying their bewilderment, and he smiled at them, eyes twinkling.

“But, who would have paid our debt?”

“That I cannot say, Lady Fanshawe. Your benefactor wished to remain anonymous, and I cannot know his reasons.”

Araminta’s head shot up at hearing of this anonymous benefactor. She wondered who it was who’d shown them such kindness. She could not imagine how anyone had even come to know of the family’s indebtedness.

“Anonymous? Well, this is very puzzling.”

“I can well imagine that it would be,” said Mr Davies, with a curious look at Araminta, which she noticed but did not remark upon.

“Are there stipulations to this money being given us?”

“None at all, Lady Fanshawe.”

The solicitor left soon after, once more congratulating the ladies on their good fortune. When his carriage could be heard moving swiftly up the drive, Araminta and Harriet returned to the parlour.

“I own that I am very astonished at this turn,” Harriet declared, taking a seat in her favourite dark green chair.

“As am I. It is all so very strange — for some person to give us money anonymously. Especially when none could even know about our plight. And why would they?”

“I couldn’t guess. But my dear! We will not lose the house, and now you need not marry unless you wish it.”

A silence hung between them for a moment as they contemplated this. Araminta’s eyes trailed over the familiar room as she thought. It was elegantly appointed, with pale blue wall paper and mahogany furniture. The room had seen little change since her mother’s days. Araminta imagined that by looking at her mother’s tasteful furnishings, she could know a little bit more of the woman whom she could remember so little of.

The house was safe, and she could marry whom she pleased. The happy thought was quickly ruined by a reminder that the only man she had even truly been in love with did not care a whit for her. They could never be married. It was clear that he did not think of her as a potential wife and she would never have him unless he truly loved her. She knew she could not hope to survive such a union.

Pushing aside the despair that threatened to overwhelm her the moment she lost control of the tight grasp she kept on her feelings, Araminta considered her future.

“I can scarcely believe it,” she whispered, half to herself and half to Harriet. “All this worry, and fear — and now it no longer touches us.”

“My dear…” said Harriet, her eyes widening. “Sir Timothy.”

Araminta thought about the handsome baronet. She no longer needed to marry him. She would kindly let him know that she would not, and he would then be free to find a woman who truly loved him.

“Yes, I must speak to Sir Timothy.” She felt guilty for the disappointment that the man would feel, when he had always been so kind to her.

“But, Araminta, that’s what you must not do. Certainly not in that tone of voice!”

Araminta’s confused eyes met Harriet’s sparkling blue ones. “Whatever do you mean, sister?”

“Sir Timothy. He is very wealthy, and it is clear to me that for some time now he’s intended to make you an offer. Why, he implied it most strongly in the letters he has written asking about your health.”

“Sir Timothy?” repeated Araminta, feeling quite shocked as the idea dawned on her.
Yes,
she thought,
yes, it might just be.
She had certainly never thought of the possibility.

“Yes, I’m certain of it,” nodded Harriet. “Just think, my dear. Mr Davies had looked at you very significantly, I thought, when he had spoken of our benefactor. Sir Timothy must somehow have found out about your situation, and being a gentleman, a
gentleman in love
, he quickly moved to give you aid. To do so in the noblest way possible, so that you never learnt of what he had done,” she sighed happily. “A man who would do anything so noble is a man who is certainly worth holding on to. He would make a very fine husband.”

Araminta stared at Harriet as the possibility raced through her mind. Could it have been Sir Timothy? Harriet’s words made a strange kind of sense. He had certainly given her many indications of his affections. And while he did not appear to be an outwardly passionate man, had she not learned in the last day — only too well — that passion did not a marriage make?

He was even the sort of man to pay her debts in secret, perhaps not wishing to pressure her with the knowledge. A true gentleman. Only, now that she had come to know his secret, she felt that she could not possibly refuse his offer. Harriet was right. To do so would be foolishness and madness.

He loved her, and she felt a certain degree of warmth for him, which she now knew mattered more than wild passion or sinfully delightful kisses or touches burning with longing. And Araminta knew that, as Lady Stanton, she need never worry about money again. He would take care of her, and her family and Fanshawe Hall.

“Yes, Harriet. You are very right. I had not thought of that. If he has done this, then he must surely make an offer for me, and if he does that, I shall accept.”

She wondered why, on having reasoned everything out so clearly and finally made what was sure to be the right decision, the sinking feeling of guilt only seemed to grow.

***

Sir Timothy Stanton arrived at Fanshawe Hall two days later, having written a letter informing them of his arrival. Araminta supposed that she ought to have been nervous, meeting with the man who would surely soon be her husband, but all she felt watching him descend from his landaulet was the same guilt which had become so familiar to her in the last two days. It clung to her like a shadow she could not shake, and robbed her of sleep and appetite.

Once Araminta had convinced her that her illness had not returned, Harriet assumed that her young sister-in-law was merely nervous. Over breakfast that day, she tried to comfort Araminta, with little success, as the girl pushed her eggs around her plate with no signs of appetite.

Araminta could not help but notice that, apart from riders sent out to look for her the day of her flight from Dillwood Park, who had been assured of her safe arrival, no word had come from the Dillwood manor. This had made perfectly clear the way things stood between them.

Sir Timothy noticed the flush that prettily coloured Araminta’s porcelain cheeks when he greeted her. His eyes lingered on her lovely face, and he was struck by her midnight blue eyes and dark hair, which had been fashionably curled just before his arrival. His reception by Lady Fanshawe had been very warm, and over tea he was plied with many sandwiches and pastries.

Araminta spoke very little, though her eyes often darted to his face and then away. Sir Timothy took this to be an unexpected bout of shyness stemming from her suspicion of the true reason for his visit.

Now that Miss Barrington had recovered from her illness and Lady Fanshawe had changed her mourning black to grey, he felt it a suitable time to address the young lady and make his intentions clear. He had been surprised at the slight shabbiness that had come over the stately Fanshawe Hall, but supposed it all to be the result of the sad losses recently suffered by the family.

When he had asked Miss Barrington to walk with him in the garden, she gladly accepted, with a soft smile.

It was a pleasant day for a walk and, as they strolled through the tasteful gardens first laid out generations ago, with Kitty walking some way behind, Sir Timothy felt that the time was upon him.

“I trust, Miss Barrington, that you are well recovered?” he asked her politely as they wandered past a bed of roses, towards which Araminta’s traitorous eyes could not help straying.
My rose,
a velvet voice whispered tenderly in her ear. Furiously she pushed it away.

“Yes…Yes, I am well now, thank you. Harriet told me that you were kind enough to write and enquire after me.”

“That was nothing, my dear. Only the sort of care a gentleman shows a lady whom he much admires.”

He watched in admiration as a deep flush once more spread across her cheeks, putting him in mind of the rich bloom of the roses around them.

“Sir Timothy — ”

“Oh, no, my dear, it’s only the truth. You know, I hope, that I have long admired you. I think you are both kind and beautiful, and as such I feel that our characters are very well suited indeed.”

They had stopped walking and Araminta stared up into Sir Timothy’s green eyes. He was very handsome, she realised, regretfully. Sir Timothy took her hands, which he was sure trembled slightly in his. The young lady had gone suddenly pale.

“Miss Barrington, I wish to make you an offer of marriage. I cannot imagine a woman more suitable or more admirable than yourself. My Aunt Huston is completely in agreement with me, and has given her blessing for such a union.”

Araminta felt her voice momentarily abandon her, all the doubts that she had pushed away tried to come crowding back in, and her breath caught at the sight of the roses. Their petals fluttered in the slight breeze behind him.
No!
the word formed without her permission, threatening to speak itself aloud. She forced herself to look away from the plants. She was sure that from that day forward, she would always loathe roses.

Her eyes met Sir Timothy’s again. She was resolute. She knew what she had to do. “Yes. Yes, I would be happy to accept your offer.”

She wondered why speaking those words made her heart give a painful shudder.

***

They returned to the house and Sir Timothy spoke to Harriet, asking her permission for the marriage, which was very happily given. As the servants loaded Araminta’s things onto the carriage for her return to her aunt’s house in London, Harriet snatched a moment of private conversation with her sister-in-law.

Squeezing Araminta’s hands, Harriet smiled at her. “My dear sister, I am so happy for you. He is of the best character and family. You have made an excellent match — Charles would have been very happy to see you so well settled.” She hugged Araminta unexpectedly.

“Thank you, Harriet. I hope that you are right.” Araminta could not help the note of doubt that had slipped into her voice.

Harriet did not miss Araminta’s apparent hesitation. “Hope? But, my dear, what is the matter? Are you unhappy?” Her eyes carefully looked over Araminta’s face. “Oh, Araminta, please tell me you do not love someone else.”