“You are not going to leave, are you?”
Guilt rose sharp and unwelcome as I drew her into my arms. She was too young to understand everything, but not too young to understand absence—or fear.
“I should have explained where I’d gone,” I said quietly. “I’m sorry I didn’t.”
She pulled back just enough to look at me. “Where did you go, Rosie?”
I couldn’t tell her the truth. She was too young, too innocent to understand. So I chose my words with care and shared only what she could carry.
“There are girls,” I said slowly, “who were taken away even though they did nothing wrong. No one listened when they went missing. No one went looking for them.”
Her brow furrowed. “Like when people do not look for lost kittens?”
“Yes,” I said, a faint smile touching my mouth. “Very much like that.”
“And you are looking for them.”
“I am.”
She considered this gravely. “Will they get hurt if you do not?”
I did not evade the question. “Yes. I think they might.”
“You are not doing this alone, are you?” Her lower lip trembled. “You might get hurt too.”
“No, not alone. Steele is helping me.”
Her face brightened as she breathed an easy sigh. “Good. He will protect you.”
On that point, I had no doubt. “Yes. He will.”
She hugged the rabbit tighter, then nodded with great solemnity. “Then you must go,” she said. “Because if you do not, they will be scared. Like I was.”
For a moment, I could not speak.
“But you must leave word, Rosie,” she added in a whisper. “So we do not worry. Laurel, Holly, Ivy—even Fox—thought something had happened to you. They thought you had been stolen.”
“I was not,” I said, holding her close. “And if I go away again, someone will always know where I am. And I will come back.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
That seemed to satisfy her. She wrapped her arms around my neck. “Good.”
The dinner gong sounded, lifting her mood instantly. As I came to my feet, she took my hand. “Cook made spring lamb with the green mint sauce. And she made extra gravy, because I asked. And there is jam roly-poly for pudding. With custard.”
“Your favorites,” I said, smiling down at her. Petunia loved to eat. So just about everything was her favorite. Except for turnips. It was a dark day in the household when Cook prepared turnip soup.
We descended the stairs to the dining room, where we were soon joined by my other sisters and Fox. With Cosmos absent and no one to frown upon us, the meal passed in rare cheer—and for a little while, at least, Rosehaven House felt like itself again.
Chapter
Twenty-Four
Loose Lips
Late afternoon after the trip to the mortuary, I sat in my study attempting to occupy myself with the duties of my estate. Papers lay spread across my desk in uneven stacks—financial accounts, correspondence from Thornburn Abbey, and a letter from the land agent my secretary had asked me to address. I read the message three times, enough to know the words by heart, yet not once had I truly absorbed them.
