I must apologize for my abrupt and secretive departure, but I felt it necessary for my own sake. A true good-bye would have been far too much to handle, and I fear I would never have gone through with it had we spoken.
I have decided to travel to London to provide care for Mr. Cheval’s sister. I find that I cannot deny someone in need of my help, and if I do not take this request, I can never trust myself to do something of the slightest inconvenience to me in the future. I know I had planned to speak with Mother about the matter, but what you said is true—I am the last person who can persuade her. I know this request would not stand a chance.
I hope you understand my reasons and I will write to you immediately upon my arrival.
Rosie
“Mother,” I said, handing her the letter with shaking fingers, “it’s her hand—but this isn’t her. This isn’t Rose.”
She drew in a sharp breath, her eyes scanning the document. “Heavens.” The word escaped her lips unnoticed. Leaning against the wallpaper, she looked trapped by a congested tangle of flowers and vines growing around her. Gradually, though, the lines on her forehead smoothed, and her distress changed to her usual, if more strained, self-command. “Your sister has put us in a difficult situation.”
“Mother, Rose would not write such a letter! This was written under duress—someone forced her to do it!”
“Stop it,” she snapped, belying her composure. She drummed her fingers against her neck, where I could see the slightest tick of her heartbeat. “This is serious. Stay calm, and I will speak with your father to decide what must be done.” She ordered the maids to clean up the mess and hurried out, folding the letter over and over.
I stared around the room blankly. I had told Rose that she was the only one who could persuade Mother—quite the opposite of what she’d written. And the names! Never had we used Evie or Rosie as nicknames or even as jokes. Rose would never have written a good-bye letter like that.
My hand flew to my mouth as I struggled not to heave.
“Do not trust him—protect Rose.”
I failed her. Somehow I dreamed of the danger last night but remained asleep like a useless lump. It was entirely my fault.
Our maid Lucy cleared her throat by the door. “Miss Wyndham, your mother asked me to help dress you for church.”
My guilt shifted very quickly to anger. Rose was kidnapped, and they wanted to go to church? Mechanically, I marched to my room and dressed, not knowing where Lucy put my nightgown or how she laced me into my corset with shaking fingers. My mind thought of nothing but Rose. Mother would not listen until I found some kind of evidence, and with two men showing entirely too much interest in my sister last night, I had my suspicions about which of them might be able to provide it. And he would be attending church with his uncle.
“For the time being, we will tell anyone who asks that Rosamund is visiting my sister in London,” my mother informed me as the carriage took us into town for church.
Father nodded along in approval. “We will have to wait for her next letter. Then we’ll send someone to retrieve her.”
I refrained from saying anything and seethed silently, raging at both Mr. Cheval and Mr. Braddock. The carriage groaned to a stop outside the church, and as the small crowd of our neighbors meandered inside, I saw a solitary dark head lingering in the shadows. Of course he was in the shadows.
“Oh look, Mother, there’s Mr. Braddock. I would so like to speak to him again!” I said as I climbed out.
Mother looked at me suspiciously. “I thought you didn’t like him.”
“Oh no, I simply didn’t wish to give myself away!” Was a modest look down doing it up too brown? Yes, probably.
“Is it really the time for this, Evelyn?”
“It can’t hurt to just speak to him, could it?”
My parents were too tired to argue any further and led the way to the church. I pretended to find the sky deeply fascinating until they were safely inside. When the last person shut the door, I marched directly toward Mr. Braddock, and the expression on his face turned stormy when he realized my target.
“Miss Wyndham, are you also angling for a seat in the back?” Dark green eyes judged mine for a brief moment before he bowed slightly.
Without preamble or forethought, the words spilled out. “What is your relationship to the giant?”
He stared at me as though I had grown a few extra heads, and in reviewing the phrasing, perhaps he had reason. “What are you speaking of?” he replied carefully. “What’s happened?”
Straightening my back, I pierced him with a cold glare.
“Last evening at the ball—you obviously knew that giant French man, Mr. Cheval. What is the nature of your relationship with him?”
He glared back hard before answering. “I gather you are referring to the man I asked to leave, yes?”