Surrender the Night (35 page)

Mr. Drummond shrugged. “I had to think of some way to keep you here.”

“To keep him here?” Noah’s face scrunched. “Are you daft, Reverend?”

“Perhaps.” Mr. Drummond smiled and patted the pockets of his waistcoat as if searching for something. “He’s good for Rose.”

Alex turned his back to the mantel and crossed his arms over his chest. “In truth, I was having difficulty leaving anyway.” Would he sound foolish if he shared his feelings for Rose with Noah?

Noah’s blue eyes turned to ice. “I would think you’d be anxious to return to your ship and continue terrorizing innocent farmers.”

Alex flinched beneath the blow. “If you must know, I have no desire to do either.”

“Why not stay, become an American?” Noah asked. “Then Snyder’s threats would be empty.”

Alex hung his head. Oh how he wanted to. With everything in him. But he couldn’t. Hadn’t he already made enough mistakes by following the leading of his heart? “I can’t.”

Noah snorted.

Mr. Drummond quit his unsuccessful search and stood. His gaze shifted between Alex and Noah, finally landing on Noah. “Mr. Reed only wishes to help Rose.”

Moving to the fireplace, Noah eyed Alex. A wood-encased clock perched upon the mantel marked Alex’s future with an eerie
tick-tock, tick-tock
. “You love her?”

Alex said nothing.

“Yet you’ll leave her.” Noah’s voice spiked with disdain. “For what? Title, fortune? Ah, don’t want to step down off your British pedestal, become a common American, eh?”

Alex met his gaze. “That’s not the reason.”

Mr. Drummond stepped toward Noah. “Will you help us, Mr. Brenin?”

“What else can you do now but leave?” Noah said. “Haven’t you done enough damage?”

Alex shook his head. “I can’t. Not until I make things right. Not until I fix it so Rose will not be forced to marry that insolent ninny on my account.”

“I don’t see how you can prevent it.” Noah huffed.

Alex lengthened his stance, feeling his resolve strengthen.” He leaned toward Noah. “I have a plan, but I need your help.”

Noah lifted one brow. “A plan?”

“Yes. To break into Snyder’s home and steal back my sword.”

CHAPTER 20

R
ose pried open her swollen eyelids to see nothing but the scratchy underside of her quilt. Sunlight filtering through the fabric twisted the threads into chaotic patterns. She traced them with her eyes until dizziness overtook her. From the top, the quilt’s multicolored strands formed a beautiful pattern. But underneath they appeared disorderly and without purpose—just like her life. Birds outside her window chirped a traitorous, joyful melody. How could any creature be happy when Rose was steeped in such overwhelming sorrow?

Alex was gone.

Forever.

Why hadn’t the world stopped spinning? Why did the sun keep rising? Something besides her broken heart should mark the passage of such an honorable man.

Her chamber door squeaked open. “Rose, dear.” Aunt Muira’s tone sounded heavy, muffled. Smells of fresh biscuits and coffee from downstairs penetrated Rose’s quilt and caused her stomach to rumble. She pressed a hand to her belly—as traitorous as the birds and the sun.

“Rose, dear.” Her aunt repeated as she sat on one side of the mattress. “I know you’re under there.”

“I don’t feel well.” Rose squeaked out, her nose curling at her own sour breath.

The quilt slipped from her face, and Rose squeezed her eyes against the bright light.

She felt her aunt’s hand on her face, her neck. “You’ve been in bed for two days now, dear.” She sighed. “You have no fever, and I can find nothing at all wrong with you.”

Rose opened her eyes and blinked at the fuzzy image until her aunt’s comely visage came into focus.
Nothing wrong with her?
If only her aunt knew. Rose had the worst kind of sickness. One that would never heal.

Aunt Muira brushed tangled curls from Rose’s face. “Tell me what is bothering you, dear.” A ray of sunlight caught one of her pearl earrings and set it aglow.

Rose swallowed. Her mouth felt as though it were stuffed with hay. “May I sleep a bit more, Aunt Muira? I’m so tired.”

Her aunt’s lips tightened into a thin line, and she sprang from the bed. “Absolutely not. I insist you join us for breakfast. You didn’t eat all day yesterday.” She swung around and the folds of her lilac gown swirled in the air making a swooshing sound. Gathering undergarments from Rose’s dresser and a gown of lavender muslin from her armoire, she laid them across the foot of the bed. “Some food and fresh air will do you good.” She planted her hands on her hips. “Perhaps then you will tell me what ails you.” She gave Rose a sweet but determined smile before she swept from the room and closed the door behind her.

With a groan, Rose sat and punched her mattress, sending a spray of dust sparkling in the sunlight. Dizziness threatened to send her back onto her pillow. She drew a deep breath and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She had no choice. Sooner or later she had to get up and face life, no matter how empty her future seemed. Today was as good as any.

Minutes later, she entered the kitchen to find Amelia, her aunt, and Cora sitting around a table laden with platters of biscuits, fresh jam, eggs, and blocks of yellow cheese. A plethora of fragrant smells—butter, sweet cream, spice, and coffee—sent Rose’s stomach lurching. Sounding like one of Rose’s chickens, Amelia babbled excitedly about
the ball in three days at the Fountain Inn. Apparently, Mr. Braxton had finally asked Uncle Forbes if he could escort Amelia.

“There you are, dear.” Aunt Muira said.

Amelia’s eyebrows slanted together. “You look horrible, Rose.”

Rose slid into the wooden seat beside her aunt as Cora poured her a cup of coffee.

“You shouldn’t be sayin’ such things, Miss Amelia. Your mistress’s been ill.” Cora set the tin pot down in the center of the table and moved to the open fireplace.

“She’s not ill, Cora. Rose’s just upset about …”

Rose’s glare halted her maid in midsentence. Not only did she not want Cora and her aunt to know what had happened, she didn’t want to hear
his
name out loud. Not yet.

“Thank you, Amelia, for caring for my animals while I was indisposed.” Rose attempted to change the topic of conversation.

It didn’t work.

“Upset about what?” Aunt Muira took a delicate bite of toast smothered in strawberry jam.

Taking the silver tongs, Rose plopped a cube of sugar into her coffee. Then another.

Aunt Muira’s hand stopped her from plucking yet another one from the china bowl. “Careful, dear. Those are all we have until the war ends.”

Setting down the tongs, Rose stirred her coffee and took a sip, hoping the savory liquid wouldn’t rebel in her stomach. The rich flavor that reminded Rose of cocoa eased down her throat and helped settle her nerves. But it needed more sugar.

Cora returned from the fireplace and placed two pieces of toast before Rose.

“Thank you, Cora, but I fear I’m unable to eat anything.”

“Of course you are, dear.” Aunt Muira leaned over and spread butter and jam over Rose’s toast before shoving the plate closer to her. “Now, do tell us what has you so distraught. I’ve never seen you keep to your bed for two days. Not since …”

Her voice trailed off, but Rose knew what she intended to say. Not since Rose had turned up on their doorstep starving and beaten five years ago.

Cora circled the table and laid one hand on her hip. “If you ask me, I’d say it has somethin’ to do with Mr. Reed leavin’.”

His name shot like an arrow through the room and pierced straight into Rose’s heart.

“Wherever did he run off to, Rose?” Aunt Muira dabbed her napkin over her lips. “Forbes won’t say a word except that Mr. Reed has gone back to join the war.”

Amelia shared a quizzical glance with Rose.

Rose took another sip of coffee and warmed her hands around the cup. But her vision blurred with tears.

Cora tugged at her red scarf. Amelia set down the piece of cheese she’d been nibbling on. Aunt Muira’s gaze flitted from Cora, to Amelia, to Rose. She placed a hand on Rose’s back. “Oh dear, tell me your affections did not lean toward Mr. Reed.”

The china cup cradled in Rose’s trembling hands clattered on the saucer.

“Oh my.” Aunt Muira laid a hand on her heart. “How could I have missed it? You poor dear. And now he’s gone.”

“I knows just how you feel, child.” Cora sank into a chair and shook her head. “I felt like my heart would never recover after my Samuel left.”

Amelia gave the cook a tender look. “Why did you allow him to leave?”

“I didn’t
let
‘im go. He took off hisself.”

“He left because you scolded him to death.” Amelia offered.

“Now, now, Amelia, that isn’t kind.” Aunt Muira said.

“No, she’s right.” Cora sighed. “I didn’t mean to. Just mad at the world, I guess.” She fingered a folded white napkin. “If I had to do it all over again, I’d never let him go. I sees now it was my unforgiveness that drove him away.”

Aunt Muira stretched her hand across the table to the cook. Cora gripped it briefly then released it as if she was uncomfortable with the display of affection from her mistress.

Amelia frowned. “But you weren’t unforgiving of anything Samuel had done. How can that drive anyone away?”

Cora tossed down the napkin and stood. “Bitterness made me too afraid to love—to risk losin’ that love.” She gazed out the window.
“An’ now he’s gone.”

Unforgiveness and fear, yet again. Two topics that kept flashing across Rose’s path like garish actors across a stage. Pushing out her chair, she stood, skirted the table and kissed Cora on her cheek. Cora’s big brown eyes met Rose’s, and she saw the brokenness in their depths.

“Must every woman in this house fall in love with our servants?” Aunt Muira’s exasperated voice scattered the gloomy spirit that had descended upon the kitchen.

“Not me!” Amelia waved her hand through the air, sending her raven curls bouncing. “I intend to marry a man of fortune.”

“Speaking of eligible men, Rose.” Aunt Muira sipped her tea and set the cup down with a clank. She gave Rose one of those motherly smiles that said she knew what was best for Rose even if Rose did not. “I’ve invited Mr. Snyder to supper tonight. Perhaps he can pull you out of your dour mood and make you forget all about Mr. Reed.”

A nauseous brew of disgust and agony churned in Rose’s stomach, threatening to erupt with fury on the odious snake of a man sitting across from her. Maybe then he would leave and stop smiling at her with that salacious grin of victory. Dinner had been unbearable, but now sitting in the stuffy parlor with him might prove to be her undoing. At least she was not alone. Amelia sat next to her on the settee, sipping her tea, while Rose’s aunt and uncle sat side by side on the sofa. Mr. Snyder occupied the high-backed chair and pretended to listen to her uncle’s discourse on the war.

“I hear word of British ship movements along the coast of the upper Chesapeake,” her uncle was saying.

Mr. Snyder set his cup on the table and adjusted his silk cravat. “No doubt more idle threats intending to frighten us into submission.” Candlelight reflected devilish flames in Mr. Snyder’s eyes.