Page 25 of Grasp the Thorn
The other gowns arrived on Thursday, the same day as the enormous bed, which needed to be carried upstairs in pieces and assembled in the best bedchamber.
On Friday, the village dressmaker arrived to do the final fitting on the gowns sent from Liverpool, but Rosa would be crossing the Mersey again next week for the gown Bear had insisted on having made for her wedding. A gown of real silk, and Bear looked astonished when she suggested she didn’t need it. Also, her second trip to Liverpool in just over a week, when before she had been there thrice in her lifetime. No, four. If the rector’s story was true, Father and Mama had brought her from Liverpool as a tiny baby.
On Sunday, Rosa looked across the aisle at the squire’s box, to meet the angry eyes of Lady Threxton. She took a deep breath and nodded a greeting. The old woman sniffed and turned her head away.
The rector read the banns for the second time, and Rosa relaxed, fractionally, when they passed without comment. She was safe for the rest of the service but would then have to face those of the congregation who had an opinion about her coming marriage. She was not as nervous as she had been last week. After all, nothing bad had happened then, when the news was fresh. Besides she had her new gown, and Bear, that mountain of strength and protection, was at her side.
However, Bear was carried off as soon as they left the church porch, surrounded by men who found his betrothal to the notorious Miss Neatham far less important than his call for workers to rebuild Thorne Hall.
This week, the crowd of well-wishers grew larger, and contained a number of former detractors, all people who stood to benefit if Bear chose to give them or their relatives a job or favour them with his custom.
Once again, the Pelmans and the squire’s family did not look her way, as if they could imagine her out of existence, and they did not linger.
Those around her had dispersed before Bear finished with his petitioners. She thought of joining him, but a chorus of raucous laughter hinted that the all-male group might find her presence constraining. Instead, she crossed the road beyond the churchyard gate to the shade of a tree, where Jeffreys waited with the chaise and horses.
He greeted her with a nod, hurrying to the side of the chaise to let down the steps. “Did you want to take a seat to wait for Mr Gavenor, Miss Neatham?”
Not really, when who knew how long he would be? She had sat long enough on the hard seat of the Thorne Hill box pew. “I think I will just take a stroll, Jeffreys,” Rosa said. “I’ll walk in the direction of the bridge, just as far as the edge of the village. If Mr Gavenor is ready before I return, you can take me up on the way.”
“Certainly, Miss Neatham.” He retreated to the horses’ heads and leaned back against the bar to which they were tethered.
Walking in the sun was possibly foolish, but the warmth was so lovely after the storms, the light cotton dress was cool, and the new hat shaded her face. She strolled, keeping to the side of the road, returning smiles as she passed the few people still about. Most of the villagers would be having their main meal before sallying forth on visits or settling to tasks that could be done on a Sunday without offending the neighbours.
Rosa had continued the habits of Thorne Hall, Lord Hurley having adopted the modern custom of dinner in the evening. The cook would have a light snack ready for her and Bear when they arrived back at Rose Cottage. The novelty of eating food she had not prepared had not worn off, and once they were private after the meal, she was fairly certain that Bear would kiss her again, as he had several times this week. The thought put a slight skip in her step.
“Pleased with yourself, are you not?” the bitter voice stopped her. Lady Threxton emerged from the shadow of the gateway into the Pelmans’ back garden. “I always knew you would come to no good. An apple does not fall far from the tree.”
Before she had time to think, Rosa asked the question that had burned in her mind all week, “Why do you hate me? I have never done anything to you. I know my aunt…”
She took a step back as Lady Threxton advanced on her, her face contorted with rage.
“You, your mother, your aunt. You all took what was mine. What she did killed my father, did they tell you that?”
Such virulence over so many years! Rosa made one more effort. “She left in disgrace and died. Is that not enough? They’re all dead now, all the people involved. Except you and my father. Can we not let it rest?”
“Is that what they told you? That Lillibelle died?” Lady Threxton laughed, a cruel distortion of what should have been a joyful sound. “She lives, and has her hooks deeply into the Marquess of Raithby.” She cackled another mirthless sound. “That is the kind of woman she is. One who tempts a married man from his vows and makes orphans of his children. The whole world knows it. Belle Clifford, she calls herself, but I saw her myself, at the Opera with her paramour. Wherever he goes, he has a place for her nearby, even on his chief estate, with the scandal columns reporting what they get up to and his wife forced to ignore what happens right under her nose.”
She narrowed her eyes as she came right up to Rosa, waving her finger so close that Rosa had to back away to keep her nose from being struck.
“You, your aunt, your mother. You are all from the same bad seed. All whores.” She drew back, her eyes suddenly confused. “Lillibelle? You’ve come back?”
Rosa had seen the same disorientation when her father began slipping away from reality. Her anger and fear receded, replaced by compassion. Her poor cousin had spent so long in the past, she was now trapped by it. Rosa hoped she had some happy memories to wander among, as Father did.
Lady Threxton whispered at her, a rage-filled hiss, “I know what you did with Pelman. You were sneaking out to see him behind my back. Just like Aunt Mary, running off with that man and getting herself killed. Two daughters for Papa to raise, and no marriage license. He should have put you both in a workhouse. He already had a daughter!”
The sound of approaching hooves and harness coincided with the younger Lady Threxton hurrying from the Pelman’s garden and reaching her mother-in-law’s side just as Bear pulled the carriage up beside Rosa.
“What have you said to her?” the squire’s wife demanded.
“What has she said to my betrothed?” Bear corrected, dropping to land at her side and catching her elbow just in time to stop her from sagging.
She leaned into his strength, and found the fortitude to say, “She has me confused with my aunt. Best take her out of the hot sun, Lady Threxton.”
“You need to sit down, Miss Neatham.” Bear’s eyes showed worry. “You are as white as a sheet, my dear.”
She allowed Bear to help her up into the chaise, and to fuss over putting up her new parasol to shade her, while Jeffreys returned to the groom’s perch at the rear.
What did the old witch say?
