11. Rosalie
Chapter 11
Rosalie
H er mother was still napping when Rosalie slipped quietly out of the house. Her brothers had wanted to accompany her, but she’d been firm in turning them down. She didn’t think they would be an asset in the difficult conversation she needed to have.
But Vernon dashed out of the house and caught her at the gate. “You swear you aren’t going to confront Jace?” He watched her face closely as he waited for her answer.
“I have no intention of doing anything so foolhardy,” she said firmly, barely repressing a shiver.
She still hadn’t told the triplets about her earlier encounter with Jace, but she wasn’t desperate enough to seek out a second meeting. She hoped she never saw him again. Just remembering how she had once longed for his embrace made her feel queasy.
“Very well, then,” Vernon said reluctantly.
Rosalie managed a smile at his obvious concern. “You don’t need to act as if I’m heading out to face a pack of wolves alone. I’m only going into Thebarton to explore our options. Relax. I will be well, I promise.”
But as soon as she’d stepped onto the road, her smile fell away. It was true that her destination offered her no danger, but that didn’t make it pleasant. There was no time for her to be squeamish or to worry about her pride, however. If the question had to be asked, it was better to do so immediately. That way there would still be time to explore other options if…
She shook her head. No. She couldn’t think about failure. The Fosters had to be receptive to her request. If her family sold every item they still owned, down to her parents’ bed, they still couldn’t come up with the needed funds on their own.
Half an hour later, Rosalie stood in front of Blythe’s parents, struggling to keep her head high and any tears from falling. She would have dropped to her knees and wept if she thought it would do any good, but she could already read on their faces that it wouldn’t. And if that was the case, she preferred to hold on to the shreds of her dignity.
“I see.” She thrust her hands into the folds of her skirt so they wouldn’t see them trembling. “Thank you for your time. I’m sorry to have appeared unannounced with such a request.”
Madam Foster’s face immediately crumpled. She dabbed at her eyes with a lace handkerchief.
“No, no, my dear!” she exclaimed. “It’s us who are sorry.” She glanced at her husband. “The whole of Thebarton feels for your family in your tragic situation. And clearly your young brother was taken advantage of.”
“Foolhardy!” Foster barked out, earning a disapproving look from his wife.
“No, no,” he amended quickly, “I don’t mean the boy. He has his youth to excuse him. I mean whichever fool loaned him the money. A risky business.”
Rosalie bit her lip to prevent herself from replying sharply. She knew it would do no good. Far too many people thought as the Fosters did—as if the attention of the Legacy was a disease that might be catching for anyone who did business with her family. It was the reason her father had made so little headway, having to take on only low profit or high difficulty trades.
“I must request your discretion,” Rosalie said. “I wouldn’t wish others to know about Vernon’s misstep.”
“Of course, my dear,” Madam Foster said quickly. “We won’t breathe a word.”
“Naturally, naturally,” her husband murmured, clearly ready for the conversation to end.
Rosalie got herself out of the room with as much grace as she could muster, but she hadn’t made it to the front door when a breathy voice called for her to wait. She paused as Blythe dashed down the staircase toward her, clearly in a hurry.
She came to a stop in front of Rosalie.
“I’m sorry about my parents,” she said in a rush. “They’re just afraid.”
Rosalie nodded, not sure what to say.
“I was listening at the door,” Blythe continued shamelessly, “and I couldn’t do nothing. I know it won’t be enough, but—” She hesitated and thrust out a small leather pouch.
“You can have my allowance,” she finished in a rush. “I haven’t spent any of it this quarter.”
Rosalie stared at her, still silent, too caught off guard to think of a reply.
“The Legacy can’t mistake this for an investment, right?” Blythe asked anxiously. “It’s just a gift between friends. So you mustn’t pay it back.”
Rosalie was finally shaken from her stupor. “That’s very kind of you, Blythe,” she said, truly touched. “But I couldn’t possibly take your money. As you said, it’s not enough to cover the debt, so I’ll have to find another solution anyway. There’s no reason you should go without for months—or risk angering your parents—when it wouldn’t solve the problem.”
“Oh.” Blythe slowly withdrew the pouch, looking crestfallen. “I just…”
Rosalie watched her curiously. Did she feel guilty for taking the place that had once been Rosalie’s? Whatever the motivation it was a kind gesture.
“Thank you,” Rosalie said sincerely. “I truly appreciate the offer.”
Blythe perked up, smiling back. “I’m about to go for tea and cake at the Mortar and Pestle,” she said.
Rosalie waited, unsure why Blythe was sharing her schedule. It seemed an abrupt change of topic after her kind gesture. And even more puzzling was the mixture of pleasure, superiority, and underlying uncertainty in the look Blythe had fixed on Rosalie.
“If you’d like to come,” Blythe finished, clearly thrown off by Rosalie’s confusion.
“Oh.” Rosalie blinked. That explained Blythe’s expression.
Despite her compassion, she couldn’t help enjoying having Rosalie in a position of humility before her. Although Blythe had taken Rosalie’s social position with their peers, Rosalie herself had never acted with subservience toward her. She had refused to carve a new place in the group by fawning over Blythe. Instead, she had held her head high, acting as if she couldn’t feel the pain of being so easily discarded. It was that stubbornness and pride that had sparked Blythe’s animosity toward her.
Clearly those feelings remained, and yet Blythe had still offered Rosalie her whole allowance. Rosalie shook her head. She could acknowledge that she herself was both stubborn and prideful as well as brave and resilient. So it shouldn’t be astonishing to find that Blythe could act out of true compassion and kindness while still enjoying having Rosalie in a position of humble submission.
“Thank you for the invitation,” Rosalie said. “But I’m afraid I have other matters to occupy my afternoon.”
“Oh, of course.” Blythe looked genuinely disappointed, and Rosalie could imagine how much she would have enjoyed gliding into the Mortar and Pestle with Rosalie trailing meekly in her wake.
“Enjoy your afternoon,” Rosalie murmured and let herself out of the house.
Despite her talk of other plans, she still had to work out what those plans were. So she let her feet direct her as she walked through the town. She couldn’t go straight home and report her failure to her brothers. She had to think of a new plan first. Better yet if she could actually enact that new plan.
The Fosters were the richest family in Thebarton and the most likely to be able to afford a personal loan with a long repayment period. There were others who might be able to manage it, but Rosalie didn’t hold out much hope after her reception by the Fosters. She didn’t want to ask for assistance all over town if everyone would feel the same fear.
The townsfolk had been generous with small gifts—food from their gardens, game from the woods, outgrown clothes and shoes for the boys—but it was clear they thought of those in the same way Blythe did. A loan was another matter—it skirted too close to an investment.
Daphne would want to help, of course. But she didn’t have that kind of money herself. She might be able to convince her parents to give the loan—and Rosalie was almost desperate enough to let her try—except her parents were out of town and would be until after the payment deadline. So Rosalie was saved from imposing on her most loyal friend in order to rescue her brothers.
Rosalie groaned and rubbed her eyes. Her thoughts were going around in circles with no new solutions presenting themselves.
Desperation seized her. She thought she’d left her pride behind at the Fosters’ threshold, but she hadn’t fully let it go. She shouldn’t have rejected Blythe’s offer. The money might not be enough to cover the loan, but it was a start. Rosalie couldn’t afford to reject any help.
Turning her steps toward the Mortar and Pestle caused physical pain, but she forced herself to do it anyway. If she went to Blythe now—in front of all her old friends—Blythe would reinstate the offer. Even if she’d thought better of it already, she would be too pleased at seeing Rosalie humbled to refuse.
It was possible she was wronging Blythe in thinking that way. Blythe might be just as willing to accept Rosalie’s change of heart if she approached her alone. But this way was both safer and faster. It would ensure Rosalie didn’t go home to her brothers empty-handed.
Having made the decision, she increased her pace, giving proper attention to her surroundings for the first time. While her mind had been busy, her feet had led her deep into the town. She had some way to go to make it back to the central square, let alone the Mortar and Pestle. She increased her speed even further, impatient to get the coming ordeal over with. But she’d only made it a block before she noticed footsteps behind her.
Glancing back, she saw two unfamiliar men walking several lengths behind her. She sped up, and they did the same, maintaining the same distance.
Rosalie told herself it was a coincidence, but her racing heart was unconvinced. She tried harder. Thebarton was a large town, and she didn’t know the face of everyone who lived there. It was the afternoon, and bright sun was shining down on her. Why would someone even be following her anyway?
Still, she hurried even faster, stopping just short of a run. The men behind her increased their pace again.
Rosalie looked around desperately for help, but she had wandered into a quiet part of town far from the stores and workshops where people gathered during working hours. She debated breaking into a full run. Would such an obvious action provoke the men into seizing her?
The terror from two days ago swept over her. Blind panic crept in as the memories of her abduction stole her remaining rationality. She had to get away before it happened again.
She broke into a run but only made it two steps before she ran headlong into a man stepping out from a narrow side street. He seized her arm, and before she could scream or even process what was happening, he dragged her into the alley.
Her new assailant pushed her against the brick wall of one of the buildings. Keeping his grip on her upper arm, he pressed his other hand over her mouth. Rosalie’s breath heaved, and her eyes widened as she stared into a familiar face. Jace.
She had been terrified almost out of her wits a moment ago, but seeing Jace steadied her. She was still trapped and alone, but the rising fury burned off the unreasoning fog. She was still afraid, but she was also angry, and her ability to think had returned.
She reached up and pried his hand off her mouth.
“What are you doing?” she spat at him. “Are you seriously trying to abduct me in the middle of Thebarton?”
Jace smiled, the expression filling her with disgust. “Abduct you? No, of course not! I let you walk away, remember?”
Rosalie remained silent, fuming. She remembered it all too well.
Jace let go of her arm, but he leaned his left hand against the wall beside her, creating a makeshift barrier between her and the main street beyond. “I just want to talk,” he said plaintively.
Rosalie could have pushed him away and run, but she hadn’t forgotten the men behind her. They must have been Jace’s men, and they were probably still lurking on the main street. Now that she was no longer ruled by unthinking fear, she didn’t want to act hastily.
Jace wanted something, but she didn’t think it was to harm her—not immediately anyway. Her pride wanted to turn her back on him and stalk away, but her family’s situation was desperate enough that she needed to hear what he had to say. If she was going to find a way out, she needed as much information as possible.
“Spit it out, then,” she said coldly.
“I’m hurt.” Jace pretended to look wounded. “You always liked talking to me in the past.” He gave a self-satisfied smile that made Rosalie want to kick some sense into her past self. Or perhaps just kick him.
“Talk now or I’m leaving,” she growled.
Jace smirked but dropped the playacting.
“I just wanted to make sure you got my message,” he said.
Rosalie’s glare turned even icier. “Next time, if you have something to say to me, say it yourself. Don’t send a message through my brothers. They’re only children.”
Jace chuckled. “I don’t think they’d agree with that assessment. Don’t you remember being thirteen?” His face twisted. “They’ve always been remarkably annoying youths, though.” He looked back at her, and his face hardened. “Don’t imagine I’ll go easy on them because of their age. In three days I either receive that money, or…” He reached out and took a lock of her wavy hair, winding it around his finger. “Or a rose. I’m sure that charming suitor of yours will be more than happy to oblige your brother for a single rose.”
Rosalie stiffened, shoving against his chest so forcefully that he lost his balance and staggered back. She shook out her skirts, brushing herself off and giving him a disdainful look.
“You’ll have what is owed you, don’t worry about that.”
She stalked away, as she had wanted to do earlier, careful not to look behind her. Jace’s low laugh floated after her.
“Oh, I’m sure I will. I always get what is owed me.”