“Iam not good at charity,” said Rosanna, and before he could speak the words bursting on his lips, she raised a hand and continued. “I truly am not, Mr. Malcolm. I have already made a half-dozen deliveries before I finally surrendered and visited Boxwood Manor as an excuse to avoid the rest. I step into their houses, and I haven’t the foggiest notion what to say or do.”
Drawing in a deep breath, she sighed. “I cannot explain it. I am not the slightest bit uncomfortable at parties or balls or any other social function, but whenever it is anything important like caring for the sick or visiting the poor, I get flustered. There’s always so much to think about, and I cannot seem to get my thoughts in order—especially when children are running about. And then there’s always a baby crying somewhere, adding to the cacophony and rattling my nerves.”
Rosanna’s shoulders fell as she considered just how wretchedly pathetic that sounded. Mama’s nerves were delicate things forever needing to be managed, and Rosanna had hoped to avoid the same fate. Yet here they were.
“It’s understandable,” said Mr. Malcolm, forcing Rosanna to straighten and stare at him. His brows rose, and with a shrug, he added, “I have a sister who is the same. It’s not that she’s incapable of managing, but worry and noise overwhelm her. Given a moment of quiet, she rights herself again, which isn’t a shameful thing. I believe she’s simply very sensitive to her surroundings, and that she is tenderhearted—not weak.”
Biting down on her lips, Rosanna tried to comprehend his words. She understood each just fine, but their meaning was so foreign that she couldn’t grasp it. Even Prudence, who loved her more than anyone else, had never seemed to understand that aspect of her personality, yet Mr. Malcolm not only comprehended but embraced it. Praised it.
Goodness, her ribs felt liable to snap under the pressure filling her chest.
Focusing on the path before them, Rosanna pointed him toward the appropriate cottage. Her thoughts remained fixed on Mr. Malcolm’s kind words, but they kept drifting towards the reality she knew, battling one with the other for control of her heart.
Mr. Malcolm guided the gig to a stop. Tossing the reins and a coin to a boy playing nearby, he freed his hands and hopped down before coming around to her side and helping her down. She reached into her reticule to fetch a penny to replace the one Mr. Malcolm had just given the lad to watch over Bess, but he waved it away.
Rosanna frowned but accepted his generosity and fetched a basket from beneath the seat, all while preparing herself for the forthcoming interlude.
Turning her thoughts back to the few times she’d accompanied Prudence on such visits, Rosanna considered what her sister had done. But Prudence seemed more at ease amongst the common folk than she ever did in the fine homes and parties of her peers. Rosanna would never call her sister a chatty sort, but Prudence was proficient at setting the women they served at ease. Unlike Rosanna, who made a muck of it when she attempted to converse.
What did one say to a farm laborer’s wife? It wasn’t as though the woman would enjoy society gossip or discussing the latest fashions. Good gracious, when Rosanna thought of the sorts of subjects she might broach, it did not speak highly of her. Fashion plates and gossip? Was that all she could speak of?
Shaking off that thought, she focused on the few times she’d accompanied Prudence and the sorts of things her sister said, forging it into something she might use herself.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Wilkins. The ladies of Greater Edgerton are aware of how difficult this summer has been on your family, and we wish to offer a bit of assistance to help you and your little ones through these trying times.”
That seemed proper, though far too stilted. What if Mrs. Wilkins was offended at the charity like Mrs. Manning had been? With Mr. Malcolm leading the way, Rosanna walked to the front door, piecing together what she might say and shouldn’t say.
For goodness’ sake! Rosanna Leigh was no wilting flower. She faced down Greater Edgerton’s backbiting society without flinching, yet she quivered and quaked whilst giving charity baskets to those in need? It was ridiculous. But no matter how she tried to convince herself of that fact, Rosanna still fumbled with her words.
“Breathe, Miss Leigh,” murmured Mr. Malcolm as he rapped on the door. “You aren’t alone in this, and you are more than capable of managing. You shall do brilliantly.”
Rosanna’s gaze darted to him, her brows pinching together. How could he speak with such certainty? But Mr. Malcolm only met that with an impish wink as he nodded towards the opening door.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Wilkins!” Rosanna’s words came out in a burst, and she hid away a cringe and moderated her tone.
The woman on the other side of the door looked no older than Rosanna. Her clothes were worn but clean, her hair was caught up in a dingy mobcap, and there was a babe perched on her hip.
“Might I help you?” she asked.
“I have a basket for you.” Rosanna blinked at herself. Where had her speech gone? “To help your family. I’d heard that things were difficult at present and wanted to offer up some assistance. Not just myself, but several ladies in Greater Edgerton—”
Something clattered behind Mrs. Wilkins, and she spun to find two little boys rolling about, knocking into the sparse bits of furniture that filled the tiny space.
“Stop that this very instant, you ragamuffins! Can’t you see I’m talking? Behave yourselves,” said Mrs. Wilkins, though it had little effect on the scrapping lads. “Please, come in.”
Mrs. Wilkins’ expression brightened, and she stepped back, ushering them into the tiny room. The roof was tall enough for them to stand, but only just, and the top of Rosanna’s bonnet caught on the rafters. Moving around their hostess, Rosanna bumped a pot hanging from the wall, and she turned to catch it before it clattered to the ground.
“I apologize,” she said, righting it once more.
“Think nothing of it,” said Mrs. Wilkins, bouncing the babe on her hip. Another clatter from the corner of the room found the two boys wrestling, and their mother’s tone sharpened in a flash, a frown slicing across her face as she barked again, “Boys!”
The two lads released each other with a sheepish frown, but their instant contrition was far from earnest, as they kept sliding each other narrowed looks as though plotting the next tumble.
“Would you like to see some magic?” asked Mr. Malcolm, drawing the lads’ attention, and they scurried to the fellow’s side with howls of delight. Reaching forward, he pulled a farthing from the elder’s ear, eliciting a gasp from both boys as they clamored to see more.
“Boys!” But Mrs. Wilkins’ frustration ebbed as Mr. Malcolm winked, nodding for the two women to continue their conversation as he subdued the children. Their mother sighed, giving her youngest a wary look as though calculating how long before that wee one would enter into the fray. “I apologize, miss. I fear it’s a bit of a whirlwind here. What is it that you’ve come about?”
“A basket,” she said, holding it up once more. “With how dry this summer has been, we know that many of the farmers are struggling, and some of the ladies in Greater Edgerton came together to provide some assistance to those in need.”
