Page 54 of The Enigmatic Governess of Buford Manor
What had she heard? Was it only the wind?
Despite the time she had spent in Rosecliff, there were nights where she woke, unsure of where she was, alarmed and scared. On those eves, it took several minutes for her to gather her bearings and recall that she was not at her home in Dartford. Sometimes, she would clutch the blankets to her chest and imagine that it was.
Had a dream woken her? A memory? As the remnants of sleep dissipated, Rose could sense that something was amiss as if someone stood in the room with her. Yet as she gazed into the shadowy darkness, illuminated only by the dwindling light of the hearth, she saw no one in her midst.
Earlier in the night, snow had begun to fall in the late eve, fluffy flakes glistening against a full moon. Rose knew she needed rest but she could not take her eyes from the gloriousness of the weather. It never snowed in such a way in Dartford and there was a sweet romance about it, one which filled her with awe and wonderment.
She sat at the window side, entranced for such a long while, she felt her eyes grow heavy and her breathing slow. It seemed she had only slipped between the warmth of the heavy blankets, almost in a sleepwalk when she was roused from her slumber.
Is it morning already?
Alas, it was not, and the moon still loomed high in the sky as Rose made her way back to the seat, she had only just left to peer out into the darkness.
She gasped when she saw the man below, his presence at the hour startling her. There was little reason for anyone to be outside when the temperature demanded the little warmth the walls of the manor provided. She could not imagine who would prefer the chill of the outdoors on a night such as that. It took her seconds to understand who such an oddity would be.
Of course, it is him. Who else would act so sneakily?
Rose knew she should not gawk, yet she could not pull her eyes from Captain Balfour as he stood alone, puffing on a pipe as if waiting to be met in clandestine fashion.
Her quarters faced the woods beyond and inexplicably, Rose felt she waited on some unholy beast to emerge from their depth to greet the man of her nightmares.
Return to your bed, Rose,a small voice chirped in her ear.Nothing good will come of Captain Balfour catching you spying upon him.
Reluctantly, she pulled herself from the panes and turned to look at the fire dying in her hearth. As she reached for a log to rekindle the flame, she heard the unmistakable sound of a voice below.
I was correct! He was meeting with someone! But who?
She hurried back to peer into the night once more but as she looked down, she could not make out the face of the second man. Rose could not even be certain that the figure was a male as she gazed at the duo, their heads close together as if confiding deep secrets.
The hour was late, the circumstances uncouth. Rose could not resist the sentiment of suspicion rising in her gut.
Your own wariness of Captain Balfour has tainted your perception of what is right,she chided herself.The man has done nothing untoward. He is a guest at Rosecliff and you have no cause to stand here questioning his actions.
Why could she not shake the sensation of concern mounting inside her if his presence was not nearly as innocuous as it appeared?
Slowly, she pivoted again, her night dress sweeping at the cold floor and she padded toward the poster bed on the tips of her toes as if the men below could hear her.
Or woman below.
Rose slipped back into the still-warm sheets, pulling the blankets high to block out any thoughts which threatened to consume her.
You have had enough excitement for many lifetimes. Captain Balfour’s arrival has only aroused deep woe inside you which you believed you had put to rest. You needn’t pursue the feelings.
Yet she asked herself if her own shame was not to blame for her scrutiny of Captain Balfour. She could not deny that her affections toward Lord Buford were growing. It was as if fate had presented Captain Balfour as a test to her devotion to Philip.
I will always love Philip,she assured herself.No man will ever change how I feel about him. What I said to Bridget is fact; I will never marry another.
She asked herself who had ever discussed the idea of remarriage and in the dim light of her apartment, Rose felt blood rush to her fair cheeks.
Off to bed with you!She chided herself, but Rose knew that sleep was not to come again that night.
* * *
The men had departed when Rose and the children arrived in the dining hall, Duchess Buford was alone with her tea as they sat to join her. Rose looked about in confusion for the Boyles, but they were nowhere in sight, although places had been set for their arrival. Before Rose could ask about their whereabouts, Duchess Buford spoke.
“I daresay,” the duchess sighed. “I will be grateful when this gathering has dispersed. We are but two days in and I find myself exhausted with entertaining already.”
Rose eyed her with surprise as she perched gingerly on the edge of her chair. It was unlike the older woman to offer such intimate sentiments, especially in the presence of Harry and Betsey. She found herself unsure of how to respond. Betsey saved her from thinking of an answer.
