Page 36 of Grasp the Thorn
“My father is…” How to explain her father? Before she could begin, Maggie and Sukie carried in trays with cups and milk and sugar, and some of cook’s little cakes. Aunt Lillibelle’s footman followed with the urn and the teapot on a tray, and the locked tea cabinet that had been one of Bear’s presents.
She directed the servants to put the makings down within her reach and dismissed them again. Aunt Lillibelle stayed silent until they left, leaning back on her pillows, her eyes shut.
“Rosie used to write to me about you, her little Rosa. She said you looked like me, and she was right. I suppose that cannot have been easy in this village. I am sorry if my foolish choices have caused you to suffer.”
“Lady Threxton never forgave you. Or me either.”
“Amanda Threxton? What hurt did she take? Her father jettisoned poor Rosie quickly enough, which was so unjust, for she had nothing to do with my running away! Thank goodness for Albert. You must not think I blame him for keeping me away. He did what he needed to protect my sister, and later you. I would not have come now, Mrs Gavenor, except you wrote to me. Also, I needed to leave Trenton and I wanted to see my home one more time.”
“Milk? Sugar? And please call me Rosa. You are my aunt, after all.”
“Just black, Rosa. Thank you. Would it be too much to call me Aunt Belle? Just while I am here?”
“Aunt Belle, then. But you cannot be planning to travel on in this weather.”
“I have no wish to…” Whatever Aunt Belle planned to say was interrupted as she bent double with a spasm of coughing.
Rosa jumped up to see if she could help, patting her aunt gently on the back. “But you are not well. You will stay here tonight. I will have a room made up.”
When Aunt Belle could speak again, she protested, “But your father… And the maid called you Mrs Gavenor. Your husband will not approve of your scandalous aunt, Rosa.”
Rosa refused to consider either of the men who had, in their different ways, left her to make her own decisions. “Father lives in dreams of the past, and my husband is away. Even if he were here, I am sure he would be the first to say I cannot send any sick woman out into weather like this, let alone my own mother’s sister. No. You must stay. At least until the weather is fine and you can continue your journey. Where are you going, Aunt Belle?”
Aunt Belle shrugged, dabbing at her mouth with a handkerchief that now bore flecks of blood, before she answered, “Here to the Wirral. I thought to find a small cottage, perhaps down by the shore. I do not have long to live, Rosa. I have been forbidden to die in my own home. I thought perhaps I could die in the homeland of my childhood.”
Father was well enough for dinner but became distressed when introduced to his sister-in-law. “Have I met you before?” he asked. “I knew a Belle once, but she went to London and died. She was much younger than you. A mere child, really. You missed her, didn’t you, Rosie? A foolish child, and spoilt, but you loved her.”
“She was a loving woman, your mother,” Belle murmured to Rosa, when Brownlee distracted Father by directing his attention to a dish of spiced mushrooms.
After dinner, Brownlee helped Father up to his bed chamber, and Rosa ordered tea served in the parlour. “Or would you prefer to go straight to bed yourself, Aunt Belle?”
“A cup of tea, and then bed. I grow tired easily, and Maud fusses.”
Maud was the maid Aunt Belle had brought with her, and a more unlikely maid for a courtesan, Rosa could not imagine. Maud was a good decade older than her mistress, buttoned to the neck and the cuff in dark, serviceable cotton with crisp white cuffs and collar, her gray hair tightly confined under a cap. She would not have seemed at all out of place as maid to the Rector’s wife, if the rector had a wife.
Aunt Belle did not much resemble Rosa’s imaginings, either. She had sent her coachman, two footmen, and another maid on to the inn, keeping only Maud beside her; five servants, a luxurious carriage, and a mountain of baggage. Her clothing was of the highest quality, as Rosa might have expected. The wages of sin, as Livia Penman would call them, were clearly high.
On the other hand, the garments were cut like those any older lady of the parish might wear, if she had good taste and a deep purse. And Aunt Belle did not wear paint, or if she did, it was not obvious, and her manners and language were as refined as Rosa’s own.
The eyes so like her own were examining Rosa as she brought Aunt Belle her tea.
“You are full of questions, Rosa. I shall answer anything I can.” She took a cautious sip of the hot liquid as Rosa returned to fetch her own tea, a dozen questions fighting for first place on her tongue.
The one that escaped was, “Will you teach me how to attract a man?”
Aunt Belle raised her eyebrows. “Now, that is not the question I expected. Your husband?”
“Yes. Hugh.”
“Bear Gavenor. I have read about him in the London papers. My dear, you shall tell me all about him and I will help you however I can.”
Aunt Belle had dark bruises under her eyes, and the hands holding the tea cup trembled. “Tomorrow,” Rosa suggested. “You are tired, and I must not keep you from your bed.”
“Poor Rosa, with two invalids on your hands. You look like me, my dear, but you have your mother’s kind heart. It is a wonderful gift, but can be a terrible burden if you take no care of your own needs. Have an early night yourself, and we shall talk tomorrow.”
CHAPTER 25
It wasn’t as simple as walking out that afternoon and heading for Cheshire. Even Lion agreed they should take a look at the terraces that the Earl of Denthorpe was selling, to see whether they could be made over into housing for the upwardly-mobile merchants that wanted what Bear had to sell. Denthorpe held title to estates in three locations, and Bear and Lion each had their own reasons for seeing all three as soon as they could. The earl’s agent agreed to meet them at the first property the following morning, then conduct them to each of the others.
