Chapter Eleven
Osanne hovered near Rafe in the Graingers’ cottage. A new refrain to her composition played in her mind, but this evening they had made paying a call upon Mrs. Grainger their first priority.
A few paces away sat a woman whom Mama used to visit. Now, sat a wrinkled and bent creature Osanne never would have recognized.
Osanne glanced at Rafe. He, too, had changed—subtly of course, but it had clearly been a year since she’d last seen him. Everyone around her aged. She remained the same. How could she bear watching Rafe grow old and die?
Of course, he might spare her the trouble and move on without her. Which was worse?
Mrs. Grainger’s voice brought Osanne back to the moment. “Yes, I remember that night well. Henry left the annual masquerade ball, and Osanne went in search of him.” She tugged her shawl more tightly around her.
Fanny, Mrs. Grainger’s great-granddaughter who served as her maid-of-all-work, hovered nearby.
She had informed them—well, Rafe, rather—that Mrs. Grainger was lucid at the moment.
The girl looked tired and harried. Her ragged clothing hung limply from her thin frame. Poor thing clearly worked too hard.
Rafe continued to gently question Mrs. Grainger. “Do you remember what happened to Henry that night? Was he found?”
A new soothing tone colored his usual rich voice. And his posture, which still carried his military bearing, had relaxed as if he no longer carried so much weight on his shoulders.
“Yes,” Mrs. Grainger said, “he came back very late that night.”
Osanne let out a squeak. Henry had not been hopelessly lost? A myriad of emotions cascaded over her and she unconsciously floated upward.
Henry lived! She had not failed him or her parents quite so badly as she had feared. If she were in possession of mortal eyes, they would be overflowing with tears. He was safe! At least, he had come home that night safely.
“Thank the powers that be!” She lowered herself back down to Rafe’s side.
Smiling, Rafe glanced at her before returning his attention to Mrs. Grainger. “And Osanne?”
Mrs. Grainger shook her head. “They found the poor dear’s body later. She had fallen to her death.”
“The family was devastated of a surety.”
Mrs. Grainger answered, “Oh, they were beside themselves with grief. Henry blamed himself. He and his mother were inconsolable. The following Spring, Mr. Jewell took them away. He had hoped that a change of scenery would help them. They never came back.”
Poor Henry. Osanne had lived with the guilt of not keeping watch over her brother all these years, fearing that something had happened to him.
Much worse, Henry had probably lived with the heart-wrenching guilt of knowing that if he had remained at the ball, his sister would not have died searching for him.
If only Osanne could assure him that she bore him no ill will.
Boys his age could hardly be expected to attend a ball and dance with wallflowers when his friends awaited him to engage in more enjoyable pursuits.
Rafe gave a meaningful look to Osanne as if asking if she wanted to know anything else.
Osanne asked, “Does she know if Henry still lives?”
After Rafe repeated the question, Mrs. Grainger said, “I wouldn’t know. No one ever heard from them again.”
After another inquiring look at Osanne, Rafe asked more general questions and made polite conversation. After a few more minutes, he stood and bowed. “Thank you very much for your time, Mrs. Grainger. I wish you a good evening.”
Mrs. Grainger nodded. “Thank you for calling, Mr. Beauchamp. Fanny, see them out.” She lapsed into a coughing fit. As Rafe and Osanne left the tiny parlor, Mrs. Grainger’s voice rasped again, “Mary, have you seen my spectacles? And where is Mr. Grainger?”
As she saw them to the door, Fanny winced. With an apologetic smile, she explained, “Sometimes she thinks her husband is still alive.”
Rafe slipped her a few coins. “You’re a devoted young girl, Fanny.”
“Mary! Lazy girl, where are you?” Mrs. Grainger’s voice rang out.
“Forgive me but I must go.” As Fanny darted inside, her voice carried out to them. “I’m here, ma’am, and here are your spectacles. Mr. Grainger will return shortly.”
Outside, Rafe gave Osanne a brilliant smile that crinkled the edges of his eyes and made a sweeping gesture down the path. “Come, I want to show you my new home.”
“Your new home?”
“Yes, I rented a cottage here a few months ago.”
“Here? In Madding Hallow?”
“It wasn’t easy. I finally found a cottage in desperate need of repairs that the owner refused to make. But with no other options, I took it. I hired Jake and a few other villagers to help me make the necessary repairs and improvements.”
“Jake Wilson? The village drunk?”
“He’s made an effort to stay sober, and has proved himself a decent handyman as well as a skilled blacksmith.”
“Perhaps he needed you as a friend to help him out of his despair.”
Rafe smiled. “Many people benefit from having a friend.”
“What made you decide to rent a cottage here?”
“I think it’s time I stop wandering. And I feel closer to you here.”
Closer to her. Oh, how she loved the man!
They reached a neat, snug cottage. Nearby, the babbling of a brook mingled with the song of insects.
Inside, Rafe led her into a parlor not much bigger than Mrs. Grainger’s. In one corner stood a mahogany-cased square pianoforte.
Rafe motioned at the instrument. “For you, if you wish. Then we don’t have to worry about sneaking into Ravenswood Manor and fear that we’ll be caught.”
Osanne stared at the beautiful gift and consciously kept herself from shooting upward and out of the ceiling. Surprise, delight, awe all combined in some deep part of her soul. “I don’t know what to say.”
Rafe grinned. “Try it out. I had it tuned. I hope you like it.”
“It’s the most magnificent gift anyone has ever given me. Words are beyond me.” Osanne sat at the instrument and ran her fingers over the keys. The tones rang out, rich and warm. “I wish I could say something grander than thank you—that seems inadequate.”
“Your expression is thanks enough. And hearing you make music.” He lifted his brows in invitation.
Osanne obliged him. After playing through the next few lines that came to her on her never-ending piece, she added the section that came to her almost the moment Rafe appeared that night.
After committing it to memory, she played every song she could remember.
She could have played all night. But she’d rather spend time with Rafe.
She turned to him, probably beaming like a giddy child. “Thank you, again. This is a wonderful gift.”
He shrugged. “I planted daffodils in the garden; I heard you like them. I suppose you’ll never see them, but I’ll think of you when they come up next spring—not that I need reminders.”
The man’s thoughtfulness seemed limitless.
She led him to an overstuffed sofa that he would find more comfortable than the bench. The flickering firelight played in the planes of his handsome face. “Tell me what you’ve been doing, besides renting a cottage in Madding Hallow and helping Jake find a purpose.”
“I’ve become friends with the Browns, so much so that Mr. Brown asked me to call him Peter. He has been taking me to visit the sick and recruited me, as well as Jake, to help some of the poor with basic repairs to their homes—rebuilding roofs and fences—that sort of thing.”
“Besides your quest, has that given you a purpose, as well?”
“It has. You know, I thought my travels and visits would help me feel more useful, but helping my neighbors and making friends has fulfilled me in ways that nothing else has.”
She smiled. “You do seem more at peace.”
“I think I might live here year-round. I like it here. And I’ll always be near when you come.”
She studied her hands. Was she being selfish to want him to be there? “Rafe, I cannot ask you to always be here for me. Once a year is hardly adequate for a relationship.”
“You aren’t asking me. I want to be here. Once a year with you has bought me more happiness than I thought I’d ever find.”
How she had longed to hear that from another person! But sooner or later, he might grow to regret it. He deserved a life with a living person.
“What about Miss Kitty Potter? I thought perhaps you and she...?”
He went still. Ah. She had hit upon something.
Slowly, he admitted, “It is getting easier to see her as her own person, and not merely as a painful reminder of Ben—or his annoying little sister.”
“Perhaps it is because you are healing, and not as tormented about her brother’s death.”
“Perhaps.” He paused, then stubbornly set his jaw. “I do not have a tendre for her, and I have taken pains to make her aware of that.”
She could not ignore her selfish relief that no one had possession of his heart.
Still, she uttered words she knew she ought.
“I suspect she hopes you’ll have a change of heart.
You are likely the finest, most honorable gentleman of her acquaintance and she would be foolish to settle for anyone else. ”
His slow smile took on a smugness she found adorable. “Why, thank you, Miss Osanne. I do believe that is the highest compliment I have ever heard. But you forgot my dashing good looks and charm.”
She laughed. “I have not forgotten either of them, I assure you.”
She played a few trilling chords on the keyboard but could not banish the memory of his hesitation regarding Kitty. Surely his defensive protestations hid a conflicted heart.
He cocked his head to one side. “How is it that you can move through solid objects, but yet press keys to play music?”
Frowning thoughtfully, she pressed and held down a key to let the note reverberate. Slowly, she passed her hand through the upper part of the piano, lid, music rest, and finally, Rafe’s shoulder.
“Why is there a difference?” she mused in bewilderment.
Concentrating on moving it, she reached and closed the lid to the keyboard. Then, using that same intention of shifting it, she picked up Rafe’s hand.
He gasped, then held his breath. She set his hand on his leg.
He whispered, “I felt your hand.”
She leaned in. “What did it feel like?”
“A hand.” He huffed a disbelieving laugh. “I could feel your skin. It was cool and very smooth, but it felt solid.”
He reached for her cheek, but his hand passed through her. His smile faded. “I can’t touch you.” He held up a hand. “Touch me again.”
She pressed her hand to his and gave it a little push.
His smile returned. “I felt that.”
He curled his hand around her fingers, and she concentrated on pushing back. Palm to palm, their fingers curled forward and intertwined. She leaned in and pressed her cheek to his, focusing on moving his face a fraction of an inch. It worked!
His breath shivered and he whispered, “Osanne.” He lifted his arm to place it around her.
Again, she focused on pushing back against his touch. His arm rested about her shoulders. He brought the other up to encircle her.
“Do you feel me?” he whispered.
“I feel pressure.” A hysterical giggle worked its way out of her. “I feel, Rafe. I feel.”
He stared in speechless wonder. They sat unmoving, cheek-to-cheek, arms wrapped around each other. In Rafe’s arms, Osanne almost felt alive.
If only they could make it last beyond the next sunrise.