Chapter 13
“My dear, there is a woman here to see you,” Mrs. Hollis said, bustling into Roslind’s study with a cup of tea in her hand and her eyebrows raised with excitement. “The butler is showing her into the parlor now, but I do not recognize her. She seems quite fine.”
“You did not catch her name?” Rosalind asked, stepping quickly to her feet and laughing at her friend and companion. “I am sure she considered that rather odd.”
“I overheard her arrival while bringing you your willow bark,” Mrs. Hollis said, handing over the teacup. “There was no time to linger.”
“But enough time to eavesdrop, it appears,” Rosalind teased.
She sipped the tea quickly, tossing it back as though it were a hard Scottish whiskey and not a medicinal drink, then brushed her hair back from her face and shrugged.
“I am not in the best form for receiving guests, but I am sure a surprise visitor will expect nothing more.”
She smoothed her muslin dress, still wrinkled from a morning walk, and tucked a few loose strands into her long blonde braid before walking with Mrs. Hollis down the hall and into the parlor. She rounded the corner with a spritely step, stopping short at the sight of the visitor in the room.
“Mrs. Seraphina Vane, Miss,” the butler intoned, his introduction covering Rosalind’s obvious astonishment.
The woman before her was one of the most beautifully dressed women she had ever seen, clothed in yards of brilliant emerald cloth trimmed in gold beads.
Her hair, dark and silky, was pinned atop her head in an astonishingly fashionable style, with curls perfectly in place and a ribbon woven throughout; her eyes were pools of violet, and her skin was as creamy as alabaster.
She fixed her gaze on Rosalind as soon as she entered the room and smiled graciously before sinking into a shallow curtsy.
“Miss Thorne, I presume?” she preempted the butler. “What an absolute pleasure to make your acquaintance.” She hurried forwards like a schoolgirl and extended a gloved hand to Rosalind, who took it briefly before releasing it.
In truth, Rosalind had found herself, for once, utterly speechless. Looking at Seraphina’s magnetic glow, she could not help but think of Adrian. He had once been betrothed to this woman—this goddess of London society who seemed to make all rooms and all people orbit around her like a star.
It was hard for Rosalind to imagine the sedate neighbor she had come to know in the thrall of this woman, but perhaps in those days he had been a different sort of man. Perhaps, in her presence, he would become that sort of man again.
“I am newly arrived in the county,” she said, her voice like clear waterfalls, filling the room with music. “I have taken up residence in the Vane cottage—are you familiar with it?”
Rosalind nodded, gathering her dignity at last. “I am,” she said, turning to Mrs. Hollis. “And allow me to introduce you to Mrs. Hollis, my friend and companion.”
“A pleasure, I am sure,” Seraphine said, beaming at the older woman before turning her violet eyes back on Rosalind. “You are so kind to receive me, Miss Thorne. We are new neighbors, you see, and we ought to be acquainted.”
“Ought we?” Rosalind asked, smiling weakly in response. “Have we some shared acquaintances?”
“I think our status as lonely women in a country setting is enough to unite us, do you not think?” Seraphina retorted teasingly.
“I find the area charming enough, but I am really not the sort of woman who thrives in the solitude of a damp little hunting cottage. I will want to get out more, and you seem just the sort of friend I can get out with. Shall we be friends?”
Rosalind held back a dull panic. There was something about this magical woman that felt as though it was not entirely genuine.
She said all the right things and moved with such grace that not a gesture or an eyebrow was out of place…
and yet it was almost too perfect, like watching a dance or a performance instead of a real person.
“I hope you find your stay in the country more pleasant than you originally hoped,” she said at last, choosing her words carefully. “And do not hesitate to reach out if you need anything at all. The neighborhood is very friendly and open, I assure you.”
“Oh, yes, I have heard so much about my neighbors,” Seraphina purred, clasping her hands together. “And Thornefield, in particular, is the center of such interesting neighborly activity, is it not?”
The school. Rosalind’s heart froze, but she held her smile in place, and did not blink. Instead, she added lightly. “Do people say that? How odd—since my father’s passing, my brother and I have kept mostly to ourselves.”
If Seraphina had meant to reference Rosalind’s secret school, she did not show it.
Instead, she put a hand on her heart and said in grave penitence, “I am a widow myself, these last fifteen months. I understand grief, and all that accompanies it.” She gestured to her gown, which seemed to fill the room with beauty like a piece of art.
“I have only just left black behind, you see.”
“Of course,” Rosalind said, nodding quietly. “I am sorry for your loss.”
There was a long moment of hesitation, during which Rosalind knew Seraphina was expecting her to ring for tea.
It would have been the normal thing to do in London, but Rosalind did not move.
Instead, she smiled graciously, and stood her ground.
For now, until she had cleared the matter with Adrian, she was unwilling to offer more than civility and kindness.
Seraphina blinked first. “Well, then,” she said, a little crisply. “I suppose I ought to be on my way. I shall call again soon, dear.”
She curtsied, bestowed one more sparkling look on the room, and then sailed out. When she had gone, Rosalind turned slowly around to Mrs. Hollis, who had stood as still and silent as a statue throughout the exchange.
“Who was that?” the older woman asked softly.
Rosalind watched the green skirts recede from view. “Lord Marwood’s former betrothed,” she said in a soft voice. “And what a woman she is.”
***
Rosalind found that she could hardly wait to attend Harry’s riding lesson that afternoon.
She waited until Harry was atop the mount and had completed the first twenty minutes of verbal instruction before she approached the paddock at Adrian’s side to speak with him about Seraphina’s visit.
Harry began walking the horse slowly around the corral to warm up.
Rosalind took a much more direct approach.
“My lord,” she said, raising her chin, “you might be interested to know that Mrs. Vane showed up in my parlor this morning, unannounced.”
Adrian’s hands tightened on the paddock, and his jaw worked in annoyance, but his eyes remained forward. “That is surprising.”
“My thoughts exactly.” She thought back to the imposing woman. “You did not mention that she was Aphrodite incarnate.”
Adrian looked at her with a small smile. “She was thought very handsome in London circles, yes.”
Rosalind found that she was not particularly interested in the London verdict on Seraphina’s beauty. What she really wanted to know, but could not bring herself to ask, was whether Adrian himself thought her handsome.
“I am curious,” she said instead, “why I was left to receive your former betrothed in my morning room without warning.”
“Did she give no reason for her visit?”
Rosalind cleared her throat. “She gave some, but if I were to hazard a guess I would say she has attempted to call on you, and been refused. Am I correct in that assumption?”
Adrian turned towards her, leaning an elbow on the paddock and tilting his head to one side as he examined her. “Insightful, Miss Thorne.”
“Your refusal to receive Mrs. Vane thrust her into my home,” she said, maintaining her composure with effort.“You know, better than anyone, how dangerous it would have been for my personal ventures if she had arrived at a more inauspicious time of the week and met some of my regular guests.”
Adrian’s smile receded, and he nodded slowly. “It did not cross my mind that she would attempt to get to me through your friendship.”
“Well, I assume it has crossed your mind now,” Rosalind said quietly. “Will you manage the matter, my lord, or should I expect to be hosting surprise visits from Mrs. Vane for the next fortnight?”
“It was pride to think that my past with Mrs. Vane could remain in the past,” Adrian said quietly. He dropped his eyes, no longer holding her gaze with his steady one. “I am grieved that my oversight put you and your school in jeopardy.”
Rosalind stared at him, stopped in her tracks by what appeared to be a genuine apology.
“I…” she hesitated, and then smiled weakly.
“I do not know what frustrates me more—your refusal to deal with Mrs. Vane yourself, or your complete humility in apologizing for the matter now. The former put me in a difficult situation, but the latter threatens to strip away my justified anger completely.”
He looked back up at her, and returned her smile. “I do not wish to deny a lady her fury,” he said. “Please let me know how I can cause offense in the future.”
He looked down at her, some unknown war raging in his dark eyes. She looked back at him quietly, waiting for him to speak what he was striving so hard to hold back.
“Watch this, Rosalind!” Harry cried, shattering the moment.
She turned quickly, and the viscount’s gaze followed her own. They watched quietly as Harry urged his mount into a trot and posted carefully up and down in the saddle as he made his way around the paddock.
Rosalind and Adrian stood side by side, not touching, their eyes turned towards the horse and the boy, as though nothing had passed between them. She lingered only a few moments longer, and then rejoined Mrs. Hollis for the remainder of the lesson.
When it was time to return home, she and Harry rode in the phaeton alongside Mrs. Hollis and the driver. As they came to the main road, she asked the driver to go east a few miles past Vane cottage. He agreed, and when she settled back into her seat she saw Mrs. Hollis appraising her carefully.
“Why the cottage?” the older woman asked.
“I am curious about my surprise visitor yesterday,” Rosalind said simply. “I have not been by Vane cottage in years—there had been no need.”
Harry said nothing, his eyes off in the distance, likely remembering his recent lesson as a smile danced on his lips. The gig drove slowly past the cottage, and Rosalind peered through the hedge at the stately stone house tucked at the end of the lane.
“Stop for a moment,” she called out to the driver.
He did so, and she looked at the house more closely. It was well-manicured, as she remembered, with wide windows both upstairs and downstairs and a fine portico. As she scanned the stone walls covered with ivy, she glanced past one of the upstairs windows and felt her heart hammer to a stop.
There was a figure in the window—unmistakably a woman of Seraphina’s height and build—looking directly out at her. She was holding aside the curtain, frozen in place, watching the group in the phaeton.
Behind Seraphina was the silhouette of a man. He could not have been a servant—he was standing too close for propriety if that was the case—and he looked out over Seraphina’s shoulder as though he, too, was watching Rosalind.
“Ride on,” she said, raising a hand weakly in greeting as the driver pulled ahead and out of sight behind the hedge.
It was a foolish thing, to wave with her heart hammering in her throat, but Rosalind was unsure what else to do. She had been caught peeping on her neighbor, and the best she could hope was to assure Seraphina that it was simply a friendly drive-by, nothing more.
As the carriage rattled homeward, though, Rosalind could not shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong with Vane Cottage. More precisely, something was wrong with the two figures in the window, staring out at her as though they knew something she did not.