Lord Dunwitty had done her a kindness, telling her that. Itdidmatter to her that Max had abandoned his scheme. When the heartbreak had passed, and the ache of his betrayal had faded, it might provide her with some small comfort.
But it wasn’t enough. How could she ever trust him again?
She didn’t know. She didn’t know anything anymore, and it wouldn’t do the least bit of good to sit here and worry over it. It would only spin her thoughts into increasingly frantic circles, like a dog chasing its tail.
It would, alas, all still be waiting for her in the morning. “I want to go to bed, Abby.”
“Yes, I think that’s a good idea. Billy, will you run ahead to light the lamps?”
“Aye.”
Billy went off to do Abby’s bidding. She and Rose followed after him, but the stairs that had seemed manageable enough a few weeks earlier took ages to climb tonight. Her feet dragged with every step. By the time they’d made it halfway up the staircase, Billy was waiting for them at the top, and the hallways above were illuminated with a soft glow.
“Miss Rose’s bedchamber as well, Billy, if you would,” Abby called up to him.
He dashed off down the corridor. From below there was the sound of the bedchamber door opening, then Billy’s exclamation of surprise. “Zounds, would ye look at this!” He poked his head out the door and shouted down the stairs, “Ye won’t believe it, Miss Rose!”
Oh yes, she would. At this point, she’d believe anything, and she already suspected what she would find on the other side of her bedchamber door.
But when she crossed the threshold, she couldn’t prevent a gasp of surprise.
All of Hammond Court now shone like a new penny, but this was different.
Special care had been taken in this room.
The ballooning ceiling, the floods of water awash with bits of wood and flakes of plaster had vanished. The cracked beams that had led to the collapse must have been repaired, as well, because the ceiling above her head was now as smooth as a bowl of cream. If there’d been any other damage from the water, there was no sign of it now. Not a hint of damp, or even so much as a water stain.
The ceiling had been painted a soft, warm white, and—
“Oh! What a lovely color!” Abby breathed. “Like springtime.”
The rest of the room was now a lovely, grassy green color. A new rug in pretty shades of cream, green, and gold had replaced the old one, which had been destroyed in the flood, and underneath the thick pile, the floorboards gleamed.
Her chair was in its usual place in front of the window, but it had been carefully repaired, and now it boasted a thick cushion embroidered with wildflowers. New draperies had been hung as well, heavy silk ones that would do wonders to keep the chilly drafts at bay.
Rose turned in a circle, her throat growing ever tighter as she took it all in. A pretty porcelain vase stood on the mantel, along with a pair of silver candlesticks, and a new coverlet was spread over the bed.
“My goodness.” Abby’s voice was hushed, but after a quick glance at Rose, she said no more. Not about the bedchamber, or the Duke of Grantham. Instead, she bustled over to the bed and pulled back the coverlet. “Off to bed with you now, pet.”
Rose did as she was told, too confused and heartsick to protest.
“Go on home now, Billy,” Abby added, nodding at the bedchamber door. “You were a good lad, to fetch us tonight. I’ll come and see you and your grandmother tomorrow, and thank you properly.”
Billy had drawn closer to the mantel and was peering at the silver candlesticks with interest, but now he nodded and turned to the door. “Aye, Miss Abby.”
Abby closed the bedchamber door behind him, then returned to Rose, and began working on the buttons on the back of the silk gown. Soon enough, she was tugging it over Rose’s head, and tucking her underneath the covers in just her shift. “Now, don’t you worry about a thing, pet. I’ll see to it the duchess gets her ballgown back, as good as new.”
“Abby?” Rose reached out and seized Abby’s hand. “I—I think you were right, about leaving Hammond Court. I should have listened to you. I’m ready to go, now. It’s best if we go soon, I think.” She swallowed the lump in her throat, but it nearly choked her. “As soon as we can.”
“If that’s what you want, dearest. We can talk about it tomorrow.” Abby brushed her hair back from her face, then leaned down and dropped a kiss on Rose’s forehead. “Go on to sleep, now.”
Then, with a murmuredgood night, she was gone.
Rose lay still, blinking up at the freshly painted ceiling. She would have welcomed the peaceful oblivion of sleep, but no matter how tightly she squeezed her eyes closed, it wouldn’t come.
Max’s face swam behind her closed eyes. His expression, when she’d told him she didn’t want anything from him anymore, the devastation in his eyes—it was all she could see as if it had been burned into her eyelids.
Finally, she could stand it no longer. She tossed the coverlet aside, rose from her bed, and crept toward the window. It was snowing lightly, the downy flakes falling from a starless sky, and for an instant, she thought of another snowfall, of featherlight snowflakes gleaming in the gray morning light, and a puddle of icy water in the corner of her bedchamber.
