Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 82367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82367 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
“Her brother is with her every day. I ask him all the time if there is anything I need to be concerned about with that boy and our daughter.”
“Your daughter. Keep that in mind.”
“It’s been over twenty years, Harriet. Will you let it go?”
“That you fucked another woman and had a child with her? And not just anyone but a scullery maid? Not a chance.” A chair scraped over the floor. “It’s bad enough I have to pass her off as my own but she’s not even remotely attractive like the others. She’s fat and not the smartest. But given her mother, that shouldn’t shock me.”
“The point being, Harriet, is that our son says they barely speak to each another. A few greetings and she sits on a bench watching and reading.”
Her legs didn’t want to hold her and she bit her lower lip in a valiant effort to control her tears. Taking the remaining two steps in quick succession, she hastened to her bedroom and stumbled inside.
Rosamunde crawled onto her bed, not focusing on the cold in the room that permeated to her bones, but on the devastation from the news. Face in her pillow, she screamed her anger out and allowed the tears to fall.
She wasn’t sure how long she raged to the quiet of her room, but eventually a knock came on the door.
“What?” She bit off.
“Beggin’ your pardon, miss. There is a Miss St. Martin to see you.”
“I’ll be right there.”
“Very good, miss.”
Two additional sharp screams into the pillow and she pushed off the bed. Pausing by the mirror to ensure she’d gotten rid of the evidence of her tears, she searched for her nicer cloak and put it over her shoulders.
On the first floor, she found Keely St. Martin waiting by the door, and shame swarmed her once again. Had they left her standing here? Couldn’t even see her to the sitting room?
Keely gave a smile that faltered moments later. Then it reappeared, but Rosamunde knew it wasn’t her true one. In her periphery, she spied her father and his wife watching. She would never refer to that woman as her mother again.
“Rosamunde. I know I’m early but I was so excited to go shopping with you.” Keely reached out a hand and pulled her close. “And I’m so happy to know you are staying over tonight. That way we can start our second day early.”
Turned to the door, Rosamunde couldn’t find any words. She hadn’t been expecting to see the other woman again.
Keely glanced over her shoulder. “We’ll see you tomorrow, Lord and Lady Barberaton.”
Lost in a bit of a fog, she didn’t struggle as Keely led her down the steps and into the waiting carriage. Keely took her hand and squeezed it, bringing her gaze up.
“Talk, or would you like to simply beat something?”
Rosamunde’s jaw tingled with the struggle to keep new waves of tears at bay. “Beat something.”
Keely opened the door and said something to the driver before she popped back inside. Rosamunde thought she would try to get her to open up, but Keely merely sat beside her and slid her arm through hers. That was it. They didn’t take up the ride with conversation, simply silence.
They reached the Heartstone town home and Rosamunde realized she’d not been back here since she’d made that proposition to Bryn.
“Let’s go inside.”
After being assisted to the ground, she walked with Keely inside the warm home.
“Hi, Keely,” the marchioness said as she walked from the sitting room into the hall. “Oh, lovely to see you again, Miss Fletcher.”
“Mama, Rosamunde is staying the night. Where’s Bryn?”
“His room last I knew and wonderful, I’ll let the cook know to expect one more.” She vanished with a smile.
“I don’t want to put you out.”
Keely waved her off. “Weeks, please get Rosamunde settled in the sitting room. I have to go find Bryn.” A brief squeeze on her arm. “Be back soon.”
She went up the stairs with the ease of someone who didn’t tend to trip on a smooth surface.
“This way, Miss Fletcher.”
Weeks gestured to the room and she trailed him. He held out his hand. “May I take your cloak?”
“Yes, of course.” She shrugged out of it and handed it over along with her gloves.
He walked away and she closed her eyes for a moment before she opened them and walked to the window. Unlike at her place, even by the large window that showed how hard the snow fell, she could feel heat without covering herself with a blanket.
If she’d had the attire she would have loved to spend more time in the cold. But her stuff was worn and thin. Not the best for her to go traipsing out and about. Resting her head against the wall, she stared out at the winter storm set on covering London in snow.