Chapter 14 #3
She read it through and knew she should tear it up. She couldn’t, but she also couldn’t leave it here for him like a blatant calling card. She folded and sealed it, and addressed it to Lord Brand Malloren. What address had he given her in the desperate night? Malloren House. There’d been more.
Marlborough Square! She wrote that, then “London,” then slipped the folly into her pocket. She’d find a way to send it, a way he’d never trace.
Now she wrote the letter she’d planned.
Lord Brand Malloren is to be found in a wooden barn not far out of Thirsk, off a rough track between the Ripon Road and a place that starts with New—.
Resisting the temptation to add unnecessary words, she folded it, wondering how to direct it.
Though it presented dangers, she addressed it bluntly to the Marquess of Rothgar.
If her plan worked, it would take time for him to receive it.
Time enough for her to be away from here.
For once this note was sent, they must leave.
Though she longed to hover and see Brand brought to safety, that was too great a risk.
A risk to herself and Diana, but also to the important plan behind all this.
Now for the next move. She rose from the desk to pick up one of the newspapers, then sat in an armchair close to the older ladies, pretending to read.
As she hoped, the man left first and no one else came in.
Rosamunde gathered her courage and went over to the two women, who were just finishing their tea.
“Excuse me.”
They both looked up. “Yes?” said the one on the right.
“Can we help you?” asked the one on the left.
Rosamunde sat, heart pounding with nervousness, trying to feel like the hard-faced woman she appeared. “You are just breaking your journey here?”
Two heads nodded.
“Yes, indeed, mistress.”
“On our way home.”
“Glad to be back.”
They shared responses like old familiars. Sisters for sure, perhaps even twins. They were so ordinary and cheerful that Rosamunde longed to be ordinary with them, to be real. The paint, in truth, was just another mask.
“Do you go far?” she asked as if making idle talk.
“Far enough, mistress.”
“Up into Arkengarthdale.”
“We must be on our way soon.”
“Or ‘twill be dark before we’re home.”
Far enough, indeed. And somewhat remote. All the better for her plan. “You travel without escort?”
A chuckle. “Who’d bother an old pair like us?”
“Though we carry our pistols just in case.”
“By coach?” Rosamunde asked.
“There’s few roads up where we live. We ride.”
The one on the left stuck out a leg, showing she wore tall riding boots under her skirts. “Astride, of course.”
“Of course.” Rosamunde was beginning to be fascinated and wished she could get to know these characters better. She had to achieve her purpose, however, and then get away from here.
“I, too, am leaving shortly,” she said. “But I need to leave a message for a gentleman here. Without him knowing who it comes from.” She was blushing under the paint at the implications, but was sure that on the surface she seemed all hardened wickedness.
Two sets of blue eyes widened.
“Goodness gracious.”
“You haven’t been foolish, have you?”
“It’s plain to see you’re married, dear.”
She’d never thought to remove her wedding ring! She quickly elaborated on her story. “The very opposite,” she said, trying for a tragic look. “I have come to my senses. But, dear ladies, I must leave him word.”
“Very right.”
“Very noble.”
“To be sensible, I mean.”
“So sad.”
“Quite romantic!”
“We were to meet here and run off together,” Rosamunde continued, “but no one yet suspects. He has only just arrived, which has given me the chance to see that it can never be.” She sank her head on her hand. “My poor husband. My poor dear children.”
“Oh, the little innocents.”
“Ah, you poor thing.”
Rosamunde faced them, ashamed of the lies she was spewing to these kindhearted ladies.
And yet, beneath it all, lay too much truth for comfort.
“For the sake of my reputation, for my husband and children”—she put the folded paper on the table—“no one in the inn must know who has left this note for him.”
The lady on the left picked up the note and read the direction. “A marquess!”
“Alas, I was blinded by high rank.”
“And other things, I’m sure.”
“We caught a sight of your man, dear.”
“A fine figure.”
“But handsome is as handsome does, sister.”
“True. He shouldn’t be coaxing good women away from their homes.”
“What can we do to help, dear?”
Rosamunde wondered wildly what the marquess might do about this slander on his reputation. Thank heaven, he’d never know who was responsible.
“I wondered … It is an imposition, but I hoped you might feel able to give the note to someone on the edge of town, with instructions that it be delivered here after a small delay. I fear he might pursue me, you see, and I might weaken.”
“Wise to get clear.”
“We’ll do as you ask.”
Now came the hardest part. She’d have to ask them to lie.
“If anyone asks later, can you not tell them anything about my appearance? I am somewhat disguised….”
The woman on the left patted her hand. “Of course, dear. Don’t worry about it.”
“And don’t lose strength.”
“Go home to your husband and children.”
“Your precious treasures.”
“Neither my sister nor I ever married.”
“Must be hard at times to be married.”
“Men are, aren’t they? Hard.”
“Say difficult, Mary.”
“Oh, yes. Difficult, Annie.”
Though the sisters seemed unembarrassed, Rosamunde wanted to giggle at this.
“But sin can never lead to happiness in the long run,” Mary said firmly.
This was so true, Rosamunde lost any desire to laugh. “Alas, I know it. Thank you for your help.”
She felt tempted to hug the dear, compassionate women, but contented herself with a squeeze of one woman’s hand. “Thank you again. It …”—her voice broke of its own—“it means so much.”
With that she fled before she honestly wept.
Behind, the two sisters shared an intrigued look.
“Quite the little drama, Annie.”
“Or tragedy.”
“Hard to tell.”
“He’s the sort to ruin women.”
“Dark. Handsome.”
“More than that.”
“True.”
“Quite young, I think. Her. Beneath that paint.”
“Oh yes. Hands always tell.”
“And unhappy.”
“Love. Not worth it.”
Annie drained her tea. “I wouldn’t have minded though.”
Mary nodded. “Me neither. Me neither.”
With that, they finished their tea. Miss Mary took up the note and Miss Annie paid the bill, and the eccentric Gillsett sisters picked up their riding crops and tricorns before clomping off to call for their horses.