Page 43 of Grasp the Thorn
“Yes.” Rosa looked down at the pale, thin hand she held, mottled in blue bruises that appeared without warning, so that both nurses took great care when washing or moving their patient. “Thank you. Thank you for bearing me, and for giving me to your sister.”
Aunt Belle looked over to the corner of the room again, lifting her head from the pillows, her voice rising a little with excitement, “Is it time, Raithby?”
The answer must have been ‘no,’ for she dropped back with a sigh. “I will sleep a little, Rosa. Never doubt that you are loved.”
In the morning, Brownlee reported that Father had slept well, which meant Brownlee was available for any service he could perform for Mrs Gavenor. Rosa sent him into the village with a note for the vicar. The man was a fool, but he was ordained to give comfort to the dying. An hour later, Brownlee returned with a blunt refusal. Vicar Snaith would not come to the house.
If only Bear were home. With Father comfortable again, and Aunt Belle sleeping, and both patients watched over by their faithful servants, Rosa took the opportunity to escape to the garden. In her favourite spot, on the seat that overlooked the hens’ coop, she re-examined her life in the light of what she now knew.
Lord Hurley was her great uncle. Did he know? She was sure he did, which explained why he was always so kind to her though he could be a harsh man. Crude, too, according to some of the maids, but never to her. Mama was her aunt, and her aunt was her mother. No. Aunt Belle was right; Mama had been mother to her since she was a small baby, and she had not known Aunt Belle at all until these last weeks.
She utterly rejected the idea that Matthew Hurley, Aunt Belle’s despoiler, was her father. He had not wanted her, and she did not want him.
How would Bear react when he learned she was base born? She would have to tell him. True love could not be based on lies, Aunt Belle said. I am greedy. I married Bear for security, and now I want his love. She would risk her whole future by telling the truth, but what kind of a future would she have, deeply in love with a husband who did not love her back?
She would tell him, and he would be kind, but he would send her away. Bear wanted an heir from his wife, and her blood was tainted for two generations. Aunt Belle said he wouldn’t care if he loved her, but he didn’t, did he? She was just his convenient wife.
A large tear slid down her cheek and splashed onto her hands, followed by another, and then so many she stopped counting.
“There, there.” The voice, and the hand that fell heavily on her shoulder, startled her out of her weeping. She shrank back and looked up into Pelman’s face, twisted into a parody of sympathy.
“He has abandoned you, hasn’t he?” the loathsome toad gloated. “Forget him, Rosabel. I am still here. I know you want me, and—”
Rosa pushed him, startling him into taking two steps back. Rosa bolted toward the house, but he caught her before she could get by him, grabbed her wrists, and wrapped his arms around her so her hands were trapped behind her back and her body was pressed against his. He bent to kiss her, but she struggled, turning her head from side to side and tucking in her chin so he could not reach her mouth.
She shouted for help, and he spun her around, clutching her body to his with one arm while clapping his other hand across her mouth.
“Let’s see what your London whore of a mother has been teaching you,” he hissed in her ear as he dragged her farther down the garden, toward the gate that let onto Thorne Hall’s park. “Be a good girl, and you might even enjoy it.”
CHAPTER 29
A score of miles from Kettlesworth, the carriage full of furnishings and other gifts for Rosa bogged down in mire for perhaps the fifteenth time on the trip from London. Bear and Jeffreys had a well-practiced routine for getting it out, but the broken spoke they found caused a further delay while Bear completed a temporary repair. It would, he hoped, hold until they reached the village blacksmith. If a better repair took longer, he would borrow a horse and ride the few minutes to home. Home, and Rosa.
The wheelwright declared an hour for the task of fixing the wheel well enough for Bear to get his load home. Then the wheel would need to come back for proper repairs, which would take several days. Bear left Jeffreys to bring the carriage home and went to borrow a horse from the inn.
The younger Lady Threxton and her crony, Livia Pelman, waylaid him as he led the horse from the inn yard.
“You have to do something about your wife, Gavenor,” Lady Threxton announced with no preamble. “It is a disgrace the way she has been carrying on while you were away.”
Stupid jealous crow. Bear attempted to pass her, but the two women moved to block him. “You will excuse me, Lady Threxton. I am in something of a hurry.”
“She has her mother staying with her,” Miss Pelman said, her eyes avid. “Disgusting, I call it. Flaunting the woman in the face of the village after all she has done.”
Oh no. Not Belle Clifford. Rosa, what were you thinking? Bear did his best to pour oil on gossip’s turbulent waters. “Her mother is dead.”
Too late. The chorus of harpies continued, first one of the pair, then the other, certain of their ground.
“Not the woman who claimed her. Her real mother. The London harlot. We don’t allow that kind of thing in this village.”
“The vicar has told her that the woman must go, but she will not listen to him.”
“Yes, and your wife has not been to services for three weeks. That just tells you.”
“What about that Liverpool man who works for you? Very friendly with your wife, he is.” Stupid cow. You could not have picked a more unlikely person. Caleb Redding is devoted to the wife who waits for him in Liverpool.
“That is enough,” Bear roared, so that they both shrunk back, and he shouldered his way between them, heedless of manners. “You will not abuse my wife in my hearing.” Petulant, nasty women. Even if Rosa had been foolish enough to take in her sick mother—and she would. He’d never met a woman more heedless of her reputation. Even so, he refused to believe she had a disloyal bone in her body. Not his Rosa.
He pressed the horse into a gallop. He’d soon see what was going on.
