Page 4 of The Spinster’s Secret Stake (Ladies of Opportunity #2)
FOUR
Roxina’s bedchamber
2 May 1819—a few minutes past midnight
A ragged cry tore from Roxina, wrenching her wide awake. She lurched upright, heart pounding in her throat. Clutching the bedcovers with fisted hands, she tried to determine what woke her.
Tentacles of fear gripped her in an unyielding embrace, and her breath came in short, panicked pants. The bedchamber’s darkness closed around her, pregnant and oppressive, as if the night conspired to smother her.
A sliver of muted light peeked through a gap in the drawn draperies, barely illuminating the room’s edges. Shadows stretched and twisted along the walls, their inky black forms shifting and undulating. The walnut bedposts stood like silent sentinels, their dark wood gleaming faintly in the dim light.
The crisp scent of damp earth and budding spring foliage seeped in through the window she had left open, given the previous day’s unseasonable warmth. A faint trace of smoke from a distant chimney mixed with the night air, reminding her that somewhere beyond these walls, life continued, undisturbed by whatever had roused Roxina from sleep.
What time was it?
After midnight, she would guess, but not near dawn yet.
She cocked her head, listening.
The village lay in slumber, only the occasional bark of a distant dog disturbing the peaceful spring night. Beyond, silence pressed against the cottage walls, thick and impenetrable. As if the world held its breath, the usual sounds of rural life had vanished: the rustling of nocturnal creatures, the lonely hoot of an owl, the whisper of a breeze through the trees.
She shivered, but not from cold.
Wrinkling her forehead, Roxina pressed her lips together as unease without a determinable cause sent a chill juddering up her spine. Eyes wide, she lay back against the pillows and pulled the bedding to her chin.
After reading a few chapters of Confessional of the Black Penitents , she blew out the lamp and quickly fell asleep. Had the description of Father Schedoni’s ghastly smile and mysterious demeanor in the book contributed to this pervasive dread?
No, the novel did not cause this disquiet.
Nevertheless, an unmistakable sense of unease gripped Roxina .
Something is wrong .
She recognized the truth in her soul.
Dash—the name she had given the stray dog—softly whined from his bed in the corner before padding across the wooden floor, his nails clicking with each gentle step until he rested his shaggy head on the mattress, as if he sensed her foreboding.
His presence grounded her—soothed and comforted her.
Dash had been little more than a walking tangle of matted fur when she first saw him. Yet, despite his obvious hardships, his soulful brown eyes gleamed with intelligence, and he had met her gaze without fear, only cautious hope.
After the Ladies of Opportunity meeting, Roxina coaxed him inside with a leftover meat pie, expecting him to dart away at any moment. But he hadn’t. Instead, he trusted her and followed her into the kitchen, his head low, tail tentative but wagging.
From that moment, he had been hers.
His coat blended dark browns with deeper russet hues, and his thick, slightly wavy fur framed his ears and the ruff of his neck. Now bathed and brushed, and beginning to put on weight, he bore the appearance of a dog who belonged to someone—a faithful companion rather than a forgotten stray.
“It is all right.” Brushing her hand down his still scruffy but clean coat, Roxina reassured the anxious dog. She spoke the words as much for herself as for the dog.
He nuzzled her arm, something he had done to show his affection and appreciation since she had coaxed him into the cottage a few days ago. Not only had he become good company, but Dash’s presence also gave her a sense of security she had not realized she needed.
He had been someone’s pet, for she had no trouble bathing him, and he eagerly joined her on her daily walks, staying close to her heels. Neither a puppy nor elderly, he was in his prime. She didn’t know his age but guessed he was five or six years old.
She would likely never know his history, but his future was with her.
With a last pat, she told him, “Go lie down, Dash. We have church in the morning.”
At once, he returned to the pile of blankets that formed his bed. After a bit of snuffling and turning in circles, he collapsed onto the pile with a hearty sigh.
Turning onto her side, Roxina stared into the darkness.
Unlike when she had lived in London, she rarely lay awake at night since moving to Blackheath. The worries that had kept her from sleeping there no longer existed. Yet tonight… Tonight, something gnawed at her, an invisible thread of apprehension weaving itself into her thoughts and refusing to subside.
She shifted her attention toward the casement window.
Beyond the draperies and glass, the village lay shrouded in darkness, its winding lanes and quaint cottages asleep beneath a moonless night. All seemed peaceful, but she knew how quickly such harmony could shatter.
She had seen it before. Lives unraveled by secrets, trust broken by betrayal.
And Shelby…
Her heart ached at the thought of him, a sensation so unexpected that a quiet breath escaped through her lips. He had been a part of her life for so long—Usually a thorn in her side or a pebble in her shoe but always a presence she could not ignore.
If Roxina ever saw him again, she would be kinder, gentler, more understanding.
Her ruminations returned to what had disturbed her peaceful slumber.
Though her heart had returned to a normal cadence, tension still tightened her belly.
Again, the thought nagged at her— something is wrong .
Closing her eyes, she murmured a quick prayer, the familiar words bringing a measure of comfort.
Lord, watch over my friends, keep them safe from harm. Let no ill befall them, and if danger lurks unseen, grant them the strength to overcome it.
She hesitated, her thoughts turning to Mitchel and Shelby.
And, Lord, I ask for Your protection over Mitchel and Shelby as well. Though Mitchel has strayed from the path of righteousness, I do not wish him harm. Open his heart to see the error of his ways before it is too late. And for Shelby… keep him safe, Lord. Wherever he is, whatever trial he faces, let him not face it alone. Deliver him from those who would see him harmed.
Tears pricked her eyes, but she blinked them away.
During the Ladies of Opportunity meeting the other day, Aubriella mentioned her husband had recently seen Shelby.
That news startled Roxina.
She had believed no one in their inner circle had any contact with him.
Aubriella said Jack had been quite close-mouthed about the encounter, but Shelby continued to search for Mitchel while evading the moneylender pursuing him, a vile reptile of a man known as Merciless Morgan.
Giving Roxina an apologetic glance, Aubriella had lifted her shoulders. “I’m sorry, Zina. I know this must be hard for you.”
In truth, Roxina reserved her concern for Shelby, not Mitchel. She did not wish harm upon her brother, but he had made his choices and had to face the consequences and repercussions.
However, Mitchel had wronged Shelby unforgivably, and because of his skullduggery, Shelby now faced deadly risks—an offense beyond the pale.
Aubriella had also reiterated that she had not sent Roxina the mysterious money.
“You have asked me not to, and while I would without hesitation, I respect your wishes.” She met Claire and Georgine’s mystified gazes. “We are all curious who your secret benefactor is.”
No one more than Roxina, but she would not stay awake fretting about that conundrum too.
Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and counted one, two, three, four, five , willing sleep to encompass her once more.
The tick-tock of the small wooden bracket clock on the nightstand echoed loudly in the silent chamber. Squinting, she found it impossible to see the clock’s hands, but she refused to light the lamp simply to determine the hour.
Hoping that letting her mind wander might encourage drowsiness, she let her musings roam unhindered.
Several times now, she had taken Mrs. Beale freshly baked treats: Savoy biscuits, Rout cakes, and just yesterday, Sally Lunn Buns. To her surprise and delight, Mrs. Beale had transformed into a warm, welcoming lady and had invited her inside for tea after the first visit.
When Roxina had offered to let Mrs. Beale read Astrid’s gothic and mystery novels, the woman had positively beamed. It seemed Mrs. Beale had a penchant for sleuthing, which explained why she spent so much time watching her neighbors—or so she claimed.
Truthfully, Roxina had yet to decide if that was the case.
Regardless, she invited Mrs. Beale to come over anytime and select a volume or two. A friendship had blossomed between them, and Roxina now understood that loneliness had prompted Mrs. Beale’s harshness and gossipy nature.
Gradually, sleepiness overtook Roxina once more. As she drifted into slumber, Shelby’s handsome countenance, with his piercing gray eyes and dark blond hair, lingered in her mind.
Somewhere in the night, danger stirred, and she had the unsettling feeling it involved Shelby.