Chapter Twenty
David glanced over the notes Justina had provided to him as Mr. Burrows elaborated on why Colonel Brandon was the best written character in Sense and Sensibility.
He saw that he had addressed everything Justina had thought should be discussed and finally relaxed, seeing the first book discussion now came to an end this first Saturday of the new year.
“I could not agree more, Mr. Burrows,” Lady Cressley said. “The colonel was respectful. Kind. Generous. And oh, he had such a capacity for love. I was afraid Miss Marianne would not realize what she had in Colonel Brandon.”
“Thank goodness she finally did,” Mrs. Penny added.
“Miss Marianne realized infatuation and mature love are two very different things.” She smiled at her husband.
“And Elinor Dashwood, whom I believe is incredibly honorable, also found love when she wed Edward Ferrars.” She sighed.
“This was a wonderful book for us all to read and talk about, Mr. Rochester.”
“The characters seem so real to me,” Elinor said. “I know they are but creations of the author’s mind, but she brought them to life on the page. I have never been much of a reader until now, but this novel has changed my mind about what books can mean.”
Mrs. Johnson nodded. “I shed tears when the book ended, and everyone was so happy.”
He decided to bring things to a conclusion. “I am delighted that you all found Sense and Sensibility to be worth your time.”
“Well, I didn’t,” Mrs. Cress said. “I thought it was boring.”
The gossip had contributed little to their discussion. David suspected the woman had not even read the book. She had reluctantly joined his lending library, but if he checked the records, he doubted she would have signed out a single book, including today’s selection.
“You are a more practical person, Mrs. Cress,” he said. “It may take someone with a more whimsical view of life—and a more romantic heart—to fully appreciate the characters in this work.”
Mrs. Cress looked as if she had more to say, so he continued speaking. “Now, our next selection is quite different. Most of you have seen it posted. We will be reading and discussing Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe. It was written and published almost one hundred years ago.”
“What is it about, Mr. Rochester?” asked Mr. Penny. “Mrs. Penny is reading it now, and she won’t tell me a thing,” he complained good-naturedly.
David laughed. “I am certain Mrs. Penny does not want to ruin your reading experience. What I can tell you is that it is a story full of adventure. There are sea wrecks. Slavery. Cannibals. Mutineers. Robinson is challenged in many ways, finding God amidst his struggles. It is also a story of friendship. Readers can all find something in the book which they can enjoy.”
“Cannibals?” Mrs. Cress asked, clearly put out. “That goes too far, Mr. Rochester.”
She rose and quickly left the inn, not bothering to leave any coin for the food and drink she had ordered.
“I will cover her portion, Mr. Winkler,” he told the innkeeper, who had been gracious enough to let them meet at his inn.
“Not to worry, Mr. Rochester. Hopefully, she won’t be back,” Mr. Winkler said.
He rose. “Thank you again for reading not only Sense and Sensibility, but the many other books that you are borrowing from our lending library. And do not forget—the first Saturday in March will be the date for our next discussion.”
People began rising. Several came over to him and mentioned how much they had enjoyed the discussion.
“Thank Lady Justina when you next see her,” he told them. “It was she who developed the questions that led our discussion.”
“Do you think she will wed this time?” Miss Peachley asked. “Lady Justina goes to town, but she never participates in the Season.”
“That is for Lady Justina to decide, not us,” he said, his heart heavy as he did so.
Only he seemed to know of Justina’s plans to attend social affairs this upcoming Season. It was his fault. He had encouraged her, and she was the bird who had finally decided to spread her wings and leave the nest.
Leaving him behind.
Not that her remaining in Kidsgrove would have changed things between them.
He was still a humble shopkeeper, while she was the sister of a local earl.
Justina would find success with her painting.
Of that he was certain. Whether or not she succumbed to the charms of some eligible bachelor during her come-out, he could not say.
In the end, it would be good if she did choose to wed because she would leave Traywick Manor for her husband’s home.
He hoped the old adage “out of sight, out of mind” would prove true.
So far, it had not in this case.
He wondered, because of her painting, if she might stay for an extended period in town.
Or she might become betrothed and wed at the end of the Season.
Even if she did return to Traywick Manor, it would not be for many months, July or August at the earliest. David told himself to be happy for her that she was taking her fate into her own hands, but he could only wallow in his own misery.
“Let me help clear the dishes,” he told Mr. Winkler, over the innkeeper’s protests.
Once the tables were free of dishes and chairs had been pushed in, he thanked the man, saying, “This was the perfect place to meet. I hope we can do so again come the beginning of March.”
“You are always welcome any time, Mr. Rochester. I myself enjoyed listening to today’s discussion, and I had not even read the book. As a member of your lending library, I feel I will go back and do so now.”
He chuckled. “I am not certain if it will be easier to obtain a copy of it, now that we have read it, or more difficult because it seemed so popular with everyone. Remember, I do have a waiting list for certain books. I can place you on the one for Sense and Sensibility if you would like me to do so.”
He left the inn and headed for home, having already locked up his shop before the book discussion began. When he reached his cottage, one of the duke’s grooms lingered outside it. David noticed two horses tied to the rail in front.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
“I was sent to summon you to Norwood, Mr. Rochester.”
“Is His Grace well?” he asked, worried something might have happened to the duke.
“He is, Mr. Rochester. But you are to come with me at once. I have brought a horse for you so that we may make haste.”
He would ask what this was about, but a lowly groom would not have been informed of the reason David’s presence was required. Most likely, Henry merely pined for David’s company and thought to bring him to sup at Norwood this evening.
Mounting a horse, he accompanied the groom, riding to the Norwood stables, where he left the horse behind and ventured to the house. The butler greeted him.
“You have a visitor, Mr. Rochester. He is waiting for you in the parlor.”
“Do you know who it might be?” he asked, uncertain why anyone would come to see him, much less call at Norwood in search of him.
“A Mr. Finley. He has been here for the past hour. He went first to your shop in Kidsgrove and finding it closed, he came here.”
“Thank you.”
David went to the parlor, a room rarely used since it had been the domain of the deceased duchess.
He wondered why Finley, the Sheridale steward, had come to see him, hoping that nothing was wrong with Edwards or Mrs. Edwards.
He had written to the couple upon the opening of his store but had not corresponded with them since.
Opening the door, he entered. Finley had not changed much since he had last seen the steward before he left for his military training.
“Mr. Finley, I am surprised to see you.”
The steward came to his feet. “Mr. Rochester, you are needed at Sheridale.”
“Now?” he questioned.
Claude had told him in no uncertain terms that he would not be welcomed into his former home. His brother’s behavior at White’s had only reaffirmed that stance.
“Can you provide more information to me? Lord Sheridan made it clear to me that I was not to set foot at Sheridale. I cannot go against his explicit instructions.”
With a pained expression, Mr. Finley said, “Lord Sheridale is gravely ill, Mr. Rochester. Both Dr. Simmons and Mr. Edwards agreed that you should be sent for. I came to collect you in Lord Sheridan’s carriage. I gather speed is of the essence.”
Shock reverberated through him. “I see,” he managed to say.
“I will alert the coachman that we are ready to depart.”
“Give me a few minutes. I need to speak with His Grace and Lord Marbury before we leave.”
They left the parlor, and David asked a footman, “Where might I find His Grace and Lord Marbury?”
“They are in the drawing room, Mr. Rochester.”
He made his way upstairs, finding the pair at a game of chess, both frowning in deep concentration. Elinor read in a chair nearby. She was the one who spotted him first.
“David, what a pleasant surprise. Come and have a seat. I do hope you are going to stay for dinner this evening.”
“No, that will not be possible.” He looked to the pair of men. “Do you know Mr. Finley was waiting here for me?”
“We did,” the duke said. “He was tightlipped at first, but a ducal stare will crumble any man’s resolve. Finley told us your brother is very ill, and he was asked to bring you to Sheridale.”
“Yes, he is waiting in the carriage now.”
“Do you wish for me to go with you?” Henry asked. “I am happy to do so.”
“No. I do not know how long I will be gone.” That caused him to wonder what he would do with his shop. “I will need to return by Monday morning in order to open my shop so customers might obtain their needed goods.”
“Duty to your family first, David,” the duke emphasized. “Not that Sheridan has been much of a brother to you. See things through there. Send word if you need us for anything.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
He left the house, climbing into the carriage, which immediately left.
“Can you give me any specifics about my brother’s illness?” he asked Finley.