Page 2 of Roseanna (The Shackleford Legacies #3)

Two

Having made the journey to Blackmore many times, Roseanna knew it would take them the best part of a day. Being summer, her father had decided against an overnight stop, but it meant they wouldn’t arrive at Blackmore until late evening. To give them all an opportunity to stretch their legs and rest the horses, the Viscount had reserved a private room at an inn near to Honiton. And since Luke had been declaring he was about to faint from hunger, almost from the moment they left the Northwood Estate, they would also be partaking of a light lunch. ‘That’s if you make it that far,’ Francesca had commented darkly on the occasion of his last protest.

The weather was clement enough that they made good time and indeed were pulling into the hostelry by early afternoon. The inn was one they’d stayed at before, and they were swiftly shown into a cosy private room at the rear where a cold repast was ready and waiting. Their coach driver and two grooms stayed with the horses, but the Viscount was assured that both humans and equines would be well looked after.

Naturally, Luke wolfed down his lunch before disappearing outside to the courtyard where he’d seen a couple of lads his age playing Hopscotch. ‘Hopefully, he’ll run off a little of his energy,’ Hope sighed. ‘Otherwise, the next six hours are going to seem like a hundred.’

Fifteen minutes later, Roseanna could no longer suppress her need to use the privy, which was situated at the back of the inn. Since their maids had been sent on ahead, her father insisted all three ladies go together - while the inn was well used and respectable, as always, there was safety in numbers.

Leaving Gabriel to his brandy, the three ladies were shown to the small privy behind the stables. Clearly being the most desperate, Roseanna went first. As she shut the door, she heard Francesca laughingly joke that she’d looked as though she was engaged in a game of hoopla without the hoop.

Afterwards, whilst waiting for her mother and sister to take their turn, Rosie walked towards the sound of yelling coming from the stable courtyard. Standing at the edge, she spied four raggedy-arsed boys crouched over something. Wildly, she cast her eyes round for Luke, but for a few panicked seconds, couldn’t see him. Then, abruptly, she spotted him coming out of the stable door, dragging one of their grooms behind him. Her heart gave a thud as she realised he was crying. Thinking the boys might have hurt him, Roseanna picked up her skirts and ran towards them, shouting. Whatever they were doing, they were obviously up to no good. Startled, all four lads fell back, revealing a small bundle curled up unmoving on the cobbles. Seconds later, they scarpered.

Slowing, Roseanna approached the small object cautiously, wondering if it could possibly be a large rat, or even a fox cub. Clearly, whatever it was, it was alive. Looking over at the groom who she knew was about to warn her against doing anything foolish, Rosie shook her head, crouched down, and stared at the bundle. After a few seconds, it lifted its head and incredulously she realised it was a small puppy.

‘Where’s your mama, little one?’ she whispered, hesitantly holding out her hand for the small nose to snuffle.

‘They were going to drown it,’ sniffed Luke from behind her shoulder. ‘They said its mother was dead, and no one wanted it.’ Her heart contracting in pity, Rosie knelt without hesitation on the dirty cobbles and reached out towards the shivering body.

‘Careful, my lady,’ the groom warned, ‘it’s just a stray, and it could well give you a nasty nip.’ But as her fingers stroked the soft head, the dog’s small tail began wagging uncertainly and seconds later, it rolled over onto his back, revealing the fact that it was a little girl.

‘What on earth are you doing sitting in the dirt, Roseanna?’ Her mother’s tone was more concerned than angry. Quickly, Rosie scooped the little dog up and held the trembling body close to her chest. Then, climbing awkwardly to her feet, she turned to face her mother and sister.

‘It’s a dog,’ Luke supplied excitedly. ‘Those boys were going to kill it.’

‘Does it have an owner?’ Francesca stepped forward to gently stroke the pup’s incongruously sticking-out ears and was rewarded with a tentative lick.

‘Be careful,’ warned their mother. ‘The poor thing undoubtedly has fleas at the very least and quite possibly more maladies besides.’

‘It’s a stray, I think,’ Luke added. ‘Those boys said a poacher shot its mother. They were going to drown it. That’s why I went to fetch Sam.’ He nodded towards the groom.

‘It’s a girl,’ Roseanna clarified, ‘and we can’t leave her here.’

‘Well, what do you suppose we do with her?’

Hope knew full well what the answer would be. All three of her children had been brought up from the cradle on tales of derring-do by their grandfather’s foxhound Freddy, who finally died some years ago at the ripe old age of nineteen. And then, of course, there was the exciting story of how their grandfather came upon his next canine companion.

Less than half the size of Freddy, from the day Flossy hurtled into their lives, she shared everything with the foxhound, from his bowl to his basket. What she lacked in breeding, she made up for in sheer pluck. The little dog had been devastated when her furry hero had died, but the Reverend always told his grandchildren that Flossy carried a bit of Freddy around inside her. How else would a mongrel the size of a large rabbit have a nose equal to that of a foxhound?

Hope sighed, well aware that when they left, the carriage would be carrying an extra passenger.

Tristan laid his meagre bundle of belongings onto the narrow trestle bed and looked around the small bare room he was to share with the two other footmen. Although he was accustomed to sleeping in less than salubrious surroundings, he hadn’t had to share those surroundings with others since he’d been taken under Roan Carew’s wing. There was barely enough room for the three beds, each with a small bedside table and a wooden chest at the foot. He was well aware it could have been a lot worse. The Duke of Blackmore treated all who worked for him considerably better than others of his class, and many of the current servants were actually sons and daughters of those who’d been serving when Nicholas Sinclair inherited the title.

Sighing, Tristan began to strip off his shirt and breeches. He’d been ordered by the head butler to report straight back to the kitchen as soon as he’d changed into his livery. He’d spent the best part of the day being grilled by the Duke and his valet, Malcolm, but as tired as he was, he suspected his duties were far from over.

‘Henrietta and Lilyanna are both here already, according to Mrs Tenner.’ Francesca hadn’t bothered to knock as she burst into Roseanna’s room the next morning. Then she spied the small bundle of fur in her sister’s lap. ‘I thought Boscastle told you to take her to the stables?’

‘I was going to,’ Roseanna defended, ‘but after I’d fed her, she fell asleep, and I didn’t want to wake her.’

‘Well, you can’t sit here all day,’ Frankie declared. ‘You’ve already missed breakfast.’ She looked down at the sleeping pup before wrinkling her nose. ‘She needs a bath. The bedchamber smells like a sty. What are you going to call her?’

‘I think she looks like a Trixie,’ Rosie answered, lifting the sleepy dog up to kiss the top of her head. ‘Do you think Father will let me keep her?’

Frankie chuckled. ‘I think he’s already resigned himself to an additional family member. Papa is well versed in which battles to choose.’ She plonked herself down on the end of the bed. ‘It might be a good idea for you to speak with Uncle Anthony when he and George get here. I’m sure he’ll have lots of good advice. I’m certain Nelson was a stray.’

Rosie nodded and climbed to her feet. ‘Tell Henri and Lily I’ll join you as soon as I’ve seen to Trixie’s bath.’

The two girls headed downstairs, parting ways in the large square entrance hall. Usually tranquil and quiet, Blackmore already echoed with the sound of laughter, giving a good indication that at least a few members of their extended family had already arrived. Francesca nodded and headed towards the small drawing room with its French doors opening out onto the Duchess’s private garden.

Clutching the pup to her, Roseanna hurried in the opposite direction, intending to take a little-known family shortcut out to the stables. However, as she turned into the shadowy corridor, she crashed into something solid directly in her path. With a gasped, ‘whoomph,’ she rebounded and stumbled backwards. For an agonising couple of seconds, she managed to stay upright, until her foot abruptly tangled in her skirts, and she ended up in an ignominious heap on the floor. Fortunately, she managed to hold on to Trixie, who was now sitting in her lap regarding her new mistress in quizzical astonishment - if a doggy expression could ever be described as such.

‘Do you always run along dark corridors without watching where you’re going?’

The voice was deep and very masculine. It was also quite scathing.

Roseanna’s initial mortification gave way to indignation as she stared upwards. Unfortunately, the man’s face was lost in the shadows, but his posture was anything but contrite.

‘Do you always remain staring at a lady sitting on the floor without so much as an offer of help?’

Her words seemed to jolt the gentleman into action. Muttering something under his breath, he stepped forward and held out his hand. For a second, she did nothing. Then, with a small, annoyed cough, she tucked Trixie under one arm and grasped his proffered hand, allowing him to pull her up from the floor. Once standing, she was able to see his face for the first time. Initially, her eyes were drawn to his riot of black curly hair. That was until her gaze moved down to his eyes. Pure silver, they seemed to stare into her very soul, though his expression indicated he didn’t find whatever he saw there to be of particular note. Full lips and an olive-skinned complexion completed the picture. In truth, he was devastatingly handsome. Or would have been without his sneering expression.

Belatedly, she noticed he was also wearing a footman’s uniform.

Since her limited interaction with footmen in general hadn’t, up to now, included either scornful expressions or contemptuous remarks, her surprise was genuine. Lowering her gaze and stepping backwards, she inclined her head the merest amount and murmured her thanks before attempting to step around him.

Unfortunately, at the very same moment, he sidestepped in the same direction. Startled, her eyes flew back up to his face, only to see his expression had changed from one of disdain to discomfort as he belatedly appeared to recognise his previous rudeness. It didn’t sit well on his face at all, and incongruously Roseanna fought a sudden urge to laugh.

He gave a self-conscious cough, muttering, ‘Forgive me, my lady. My remarks were both ill-mannered and boorish…’ Pausing slightly, he bowed from the waist and added, ‘I do hope you haven’t sustained an injury.’

Roseanna regarded him in silence for a second, wondering if she should simply sweep past him without deigning to answer. Unfortunately, not only did the width of the passageway preclude any potential sweeping, she didn’t think she could carry off a haughty exit if her life depended on it. And since it wasn’t in her nature to be discourteous either, she finally offered a polite, ‘Think nothing of it,’ and gave a hesitant smile. Unaccountably, he drew in a sharp breath, and abruptly she wondered if she was being too forward.

Face flaming, Roseanna clutched Trixie closer. This was precisely the reason she so hated having to converse with strangers, no matter their standing. She found navigating the morass of social propriety not only tedious but, for the most part, completely baffling.

Desperate now to escape, she mumbled a hurried, ‘If you’ll excuse me,’ and waited, staring determinedly at his broad chest. To her relief, he turned aside to let her pass. Had she been aware of his continued scrutiny right up until she turned the corner, she might have been a little more troubled.