Chapter Two #2
Osanne moved along a path away from Madding Hollow toward a distant structure ablaze with light. Surely this was not the quiet place of which she had spoken. Gliding with the grace of a dancer despite the rough road, she led the way to the stately manor house that shone like a beacon.
Using the moonlight and Osanne’s comforting presence as guides, Rafe stumbled to keep up with her as they steadily approached the lights. Behind them, villagers continued their revelry. Up ahead, small groups of people milled among a line of horse-drawn carriages.
Here, between the crowd of the village and the smaller crowd by the Great House, silence enshrouded their little world. He longed to linger here in this blissful place with her. It only lasted a moment before voices and laughter grew louder as they neared the house.
“You sure it’s quiet here?” he asked doubtfully.
She threw an amused glance his way. “’Tis the annual All Hallows’ Eve Masquerade, but guests gather in the great hall and adjoining rooms. We shall go to another place nearby. A quiet place.”
How quiet? He slowed his steps. Doubts nagged at him.
He had just met her. She seemed innocent enough, except for that one rather bold comment a moment ago, but what, really, did he know about Miss Osanne Jewell?
Nothing except for a vague sensation that she soothed him and had a delicious wit.
About everything else, she remained a perfect mystery.
Still, he followed her like an obedient puppy.
They passed the long row of empty coaches awaiting the revelers inside.
Drivers stood in clusters by an outdoor fire, chatting, laughing, smoking, and passing around bottles.
Some walked their horses to keep them warm.
A few of the men glanced at Rafe and Osanne as they passed, but no one moved to stop them.
Instead of going to the manor house’s main entrance, Osanne went around the side, passing a terrace with French doors open to an unoccupied room filled with musical instruments and furniture.
She headed to a structure perhaps fifty paces away from the main house. Made mostly of glass, the walls reflected the moonlight. Without wavering, she led the way to an entrance on the far side of the hothouse. “This is it.”
Rafe gestured to the glass house and quipped, “You do not fear that the gentry cove in yon manor will object to our trespassing?”
Osanne smiled at his use of cant. “They shall never suspect we are here. Or perhaps they will assume we are a pair of ghosts come to haunt them.” She raised her brows playfully.
The hothouse stood in near darkness, despite the moon’s pale radiance.
Isolated, shadowy, and uninhabited, it would be the perfect place for a private conversation...
or an assignation. Either way, it meant almost certain scandal.
Had he misjudged her? Was she really a woman of loose morals?
Did she sell her body for a bit of food or coin?
She might be a husband hunter, so desperate that she would lead him to a solitary place so a relative could “catch” them alone and demand marriage to save her from ruin.
He halted.
She paused, studying him. “I brought you here because it is warm and quiet inside, but if you are uncomfortable, we can go somewhere more public.”
He eyed the hothouse, then the main house, wrestling with his options.
She smiled. “I promise both your reputation and your virtue are safe with me.” She waited patiently.
Generally a good judge of character, he sensed no cunning about her. In fact, he had never felt so at ease with a lady. She soothed him, yet at the same time made him feel more awake than he had in years.
He held up a hand. “I do not wish to bring scandal upon you.”
“I am persuaded that no one will know we’re here,” she said in that smooth, melodious voice.
They had already behaved shockingly improper walking this far together at night. She lived in Madding Hollow, after all, and would bear the brunt of any scandal. Her speech, so cultured and formal, and her air of dignity placed her squarely in the realm of gentry.
However, her fine gown would have been in style fifty years in the past. No one of fashion would wear it today, unless it was a costume. Perhaps she had been planning to attend the masquerade. Then why had she been at the inn?
Who was she?
She might be a governess for those Larkin boys she’d mentioned and for whom she seemed to have responsibility. Being found alone with a man would leave her compromised, for which she would surely lose her position.
Osanne gestured in the direction of Madding Hollow. “Shall we return to the village square?” She took a step toward the village, all the while watching him.
The noise and motion of the villagers seemed so chaotic and crass, such a contrast to the calm stillness here. That permeating feeling of restfulness in her presence, mingled with a melancholy that not even laughter fully dispelled, made up his mind.
“No, let us stay here where it’s quiet.” Rafe stepped forward and lifted the latch. The door swung open easily.
He stepped back and gestured. “Milady.” He offered a bow appropriate for a drawing room.
She inclined her head and moved to the interior. Inside, sultry air perfumed with herbs, flowers, and orange blossoms greeted him like a friendly handshake. He drew a deep breath, momentarily transported to a summer morning promising hope and life, far away from the dying autumn world outside.
Osanne moved in ahead of him between fruit trees, vegetables, ferns, orchids and other plant life not normally thriving this time of year. Confident of her direction, she led him to a pair of chairs and a settee pulled up close to create a cozy conversation area.
He took a chair while she perched on the other opposite him. Almost close enough that they could touch if he reached out, she fixed her dark gaze on him.
“Warmer?” she asked.
“Very much so.”
“Now then, Rafe Beauchamp, tell me of your family.”
He could refuse her nothing. Encouraged by her rapt attention and carefully worded questions, he told of his parents and his brothers, his boyhood pranks at home and at school with his closest friend, Benjamin, and his tag-along little sister, Kitty, whom he and Benjamin had often called Kitty Bug or Peanut.
He related stories of learning to swim, ride, and dance.
He spoke of his commanding officer who had become a mentor and a father figure, and how under his tutelage, Rafe had moved quickly up the ranks.
All the while, she listened intently, with sympathy and understanding in a way no one else ever had. And as he spoke, that feeling of serenity within him grew. It emboldened him to speak from the heart about his service in the war.
“Had I known how heavy the weight of command would be, I never would have accepted. Sending all those men to their deaths....and Benjamin...” He shook his head.
She pressed her lips together in sympathy. “Oh, no. Not your childhood friend?”
“He was delighted to serve under me. But I...I couldn’t save him.” Rafe reminded himself to breathe despite an invisible boulder crushing his chest. “I found him moments before he died.”
Her expression twisted in sympathy. “I’m so deeply sorry.’
“If I could have gotten him to the surgeon sooner....” He shook his head. Swallowed.
“It may not have mattered,” she said in a hushed voice. “The surgeon might not have been able to save Benjamin, regardless.”
“I tell myself that, but it’s small comfort.”
Rafe transported back to a muddy battlefield filled with cries of the wounded and dying. Benjamin had clung to Rafe, barely strong enough to open his eyes and had said, ‘I knew you would come.’ As Rafe tried to lift him into his arms and carry him to the surgeons, Benjamin’s life had drained away.