“I heard it was nine,” said Mrs. Hamstall.
Though Mrs. Seward frowned at having her tale stolen away from her, she quickly leapt into the fray and added, “Eight, nine, what does it matter when one is talking about such great sums attached to an unmarried man?”
“A Mr. Tate, or so I’ve heard,” said Mrs. Davis. “Just up from London.”
“Nine thousand a year,” said Mama with such a heavy sigh that Rosanna wondered if she ought not to fetch the lady’s smelling salts. “Can you imagine? Now that is a prize to be won.”
And with that, the mothers in the room all glanced at their daughters, though with varying degrees of hope and despair, and the young ladies did their best to remain firm beneath the scrutiny. But all Rosanna could hear was Mama’s voice in her head. The words shone in her eyes, beaming with such eagerness that Rosanna knew there would be no calming the torrent that was to come once the ladies were gone.
Mr. Tate’s fortune dwarfed Mr. Courtney’s. No doubt Mama was now thanking the heavens that her daughter had rejected Mr. Courtney when he’d paid his addresses last year. She was already planning the wedding, gathering Rosanna’s trousseau, and choosing the bridal trip destination. With their time split between London and Greater Edgerton of course. How could Mama parade around her victory if Rosanna never returned home?
“And I have heard rumor he is going to host a ball once he is settled,” said Miss Seward, fairly clapping as she squealed with delight.
“It has been too long since Boxwood Manor has hosted a ball or party of any sort,” said Mrs. Hamstall. “Apparently, he is good friends with Mr. Sidney Bracegirdle, who is lately married and returned to town as well. His wife is organizing it.”
Mrs. Seward frowned. “That is unfortunate. I’ve heard the young lady is a tradesman’s daughter. She’s unlikely to know the first thing about planning such a function.”
Mrs. Davis’s brows rose. “You speak as though the Bracegirdles are some lofty family, but they are mere millowners. That’s hardly a step above a tradesman.”
“Dear, there are millowners and there are genteel families who own mills,” replied Mrs. Seward with a tone that conveyed her low estimation of Mrs. Davis’s statement. “The Bracegirdles may earn their living from a business rather than property, but they have hardly a hand in the running of it. They travel in high circles, else Mr. Bracegirdle wouldn’t be such a close friend to such a lofty gentleman as Mr. Tate.”
And with that, the ladies launched into a discussion of every on-dit they’d uncovered about the mysterious Mr. Tate. Beyond knowing he was unmarried, young, and wealthy, there was little to say on the subject, but that did not keep the ladies from picking over every bit.
With each word, Rosanna felt that old and far too familiar weight settle onto her shoulders as the memory of her parents’ machinations surrounding Mr. Courtney came to mind. Her heartbeat picked up its pace as she wondered if they would go to greater lengths to force the match this time around, now that they knew their daughter would not accept a gentleman’s hand in marriage simply because he was wealthy.
Rosanna Leigh was no object to be purchased. She held firm to that thought, gathering close the lessons the last year had taught her—all those hard-won changes she’d made in her life. Rosanna of the past had cared more about herself than her sister’s feelings, focusing more on gossip and frivolity than strengthening her character, but the Rosanna of now was not a frivolous creature destined to be an ornament but someone of substance.
“For all that you think you know the story of the Downings’ retrench, there is more,” said Mrs. Hamstall with a broad smile that warned anyone with sense that the tidbit was not a happy one. “It wasn’t merely a set of bad investments or a turn of ill fortune. It seems their son and heir adores the gaming tables and has beggared them. He used his expected inheritance as collateral against his wagers, and if they do not want to see the estate ripped to shreds the moment Mr. Downing passes, they’re forced to retrench and pay off as much of his debts as they can. No doubt they’ll be putting an entail in place as soon as they can.”
Miss Davis stiffened, and though Rosanna didn’t know the whole of her tale, she knew the news of Mr. Downing’s downfall was not a gleeful thing to the poor dear. She longed to give the young lady an embrace, but as that would draw attention to her distress, Rosanna contented herself with ignoring the gossip flying fast and loose around the room. She thought about giving Miss Davis a sympathetic look, but as she studied the young lady’s brittle smile, Rosanna felt it was best not to attempt it.
Sometimes anonymity was the only comfort in heartache, and Rosanna would not rob Miss Davis of her poise.
Leaning forward, Mrs. Hamstall lowered her voice, though not a single syllable was lost on anyone in the room. “I hear tell that he spent a few weeks locked in Marshalsea until they were able to gather enough funds to pay his debts.”
The ladies gasped, delighted with this morsel presented for their consumption. Miss Davis held onto her composure admirably, and the others were far too fixated on the gossip to notice, but Rosanna saw the pain in her gaze, and her own heart ached for the young lady.
“Did you know that Mr. Anglesey is engaged?” asked Rosanna, tossing out a harmless morsel. Though far less scandalous, it was entirely unknown and unexpected. Especially when she added, “To a young lady of some means from London. They say she is an heiress.”
And that did the trick, turning their attention away from uncomfortable subjects as they hypothesized about the bride-to-be, the wedding, and where the couple would settle.
Left to her thoughts, Rosanna’s mind drifted towards Mama and Papa and the coming battle that would surface when her path crossed with Mr. Tate’s. Shaking free of that, she turned her attention to better things.
There were charity baskets to deliver the day after tomorrow. Sifting through the names, Rosanna planned out her route when a notion wriggled its way into her thoughts. Perhaps she ought to give Mr. Malcolm a basket. He did not need charity, but he deserved some reward for his assistance today—however unsuccessful it was. And they had some extra cake. Surely he would appreciate a sweet.
Rosanna nodded to herself. There was no reason she couldn’t stop by Boxwood Manor’s stables between deliveries.
Chapter 5
Aproperly cut jacket was imperative. Not in the same way one required food or water, but there was more to life than merely surviving, and fine clothes were at the top of the list. However, one couldn’t properly enjoy a good book on a quiet afternoon dressed like a London dandy, for that attire was specifically designed to feature a narrow waist and a straight back, and one could not lounge in an armchair whilst trussed up.
Which was why Malcolm’s jacket was carefully laid across the sofa arm on the other side of the library, and his waistcoat was unbuttoned. His trousers had enough bend to them to allow him to kick his feet up on an ottoman, but no matter how he slouched into the armchair, his eyes refused to read. Or rather, his eyes did as good a job as ever of deciphering the letters printed across the page—his mind was the culprit. Though he had been quite enjoying Mr. Southey’sThe Life of Nelson, Malcolm’s thoughts kept dredging up the image of a fetching blonde standing in a wood, which was hardly appropriate when reading of the Battle of Trafalgar.
Despite Sidney’s dire warnings about Miss Rosanna Leigh, Malcolm couldn’t scrub her from his mind. She was extraordinarily beautiful, with the sort of features that inspired painters and poets. Golden hair that curled at her neck and temple, fairly begging a gentleman to explore that swath of skin. And even smeared in mud, her complexion was like porcelain, all milky white with a hint of roses in the cheeks. The pale green of her eyes was quite becoming, and they shone with such genuine heart and soul that Malcolm couldn’t quite countenance Sidney’s assertions about the lady.
Of course, that was the problem, wasn’t it? In a flash, his thoughts filled with other such beauties, each beguiling in their own way and each entirely false. Granted, Malcolm had enjoyed a few tender moments with many of them, but they were like Venus flytraps, luring in their prey before snapping shut around the poor blighter.
Thankfully, Malcolm was not so easily caught. A shudder ran down his spine as he considered how narrow some of his escapes were. But his frown twitched into a smile as he considered Miss Leigh catching him. Not that he knew her enough to make any such decision at present, but her conversation had been so guileless. Genuine.
