Secrets of Sloane House (29 page)

A new, hard veneer was formed, along with the proper way of speaking and clothing appropriate to their place in society. Some of the changes happened organically, without much thinking or planning. They just happened.

Some men inherited their fathers’ businesses or adopted their trades. Some inherited the family’s land or home. They continued on, in much the same path of their forefathers.

But not for men like him. No, for the Armstrongs, and most specifically for Reid Armstrong, little in life was left to chance. Instead, each step forward was contemplated carefully. Pros and cons and alternative paths were studied with great care and then put into action with the deliberative force of a general planning his battles.

Accents and fashion were studied. Schools and governesses and tutors were paid for. Dressers and valets, diets and polish. Acquaintances nurtured, friendships fostered.

And any failure to prosper was considered a flaw. A mistake. Something that needed to be rectified as soon as possible.

But of course, all of it could be stripped away with the loss of money or the loss of stature. Making an enemy of a former friend
could do that too. And then, if a man wasn’t careful, he could find the beautiful covering that he’d paid for with time and money and effort and fear slowly crumbling away. Leaving him to be the man he’d always dreaded being.

Reid sat on one of the benches, realizing that he was the White City. He had been as bright and perfect as money and careful planning had been able to buy. However, at the end of the day, his true colors were showing through the cracks in his marble façade.

Over the last few weeks, since he’d met Rosalind and had become interested in something besides his worth or acceptance in society, he’d discovered himself.

Of course, the Lord had much to do with that. He’d been the one who had encouraged Reid to continue to be involved with his church, even when it wasn’t the thing to do. The Lord had kept putting him and Rosalind in each other’s path. And the Lord had also given him the ability to see Rosalind for herself.

He’d begun to see beyond her stunning looks and social status. He’d begun to think of her as a whole, unique person. A child of God. And during that time Reid had realized she was important to him.

He didn’t know what was going to happen next. Would he ever be able to help Rosalind enough for her to discover what had really happened to her sister? Were his puny efforts ever going to be enough?

He sincerely hoped so.

“Guvnor, you need something to eat?” A young man about twelve years of age gazed at him hopefully. Behind him was a row of thick pretzels. Suddenly nothing had ever looked so good.

Reid got to his feet. “Yes,” he said. “I’ll have one of those pretzels.”

“Salt?”

“Of course.” He got out some change from his pockets and paid generously.

The boy looked at the coins in his hand, grinned, then promptly closed his fist, just as if the metal was about to fly out of his hand. “Thanks.”

Reid nodded, then bit into the pretzel, enjoying the bite of the yeasty concoction. Then he started walking. To where, he didn’t know.

But for the first time, it didn’t really matter.

Rosalind had just finished freshening up when there was a light knock at her bedroom door.

Curious as to who it could be, she opened the door slightly and peered out. It was Mr. Watterson.

“You have a caller, Miss Rosalind.”

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s a Miss Carstairs, miss.”

Rosalind swallowed. “I’m afraid I have no—”

“I’ll escort her downstairs, Watterson,” Reid’s mother interrupted smoothly as she walked down the hall.

“Rosalind, Eloisa Carstairs is one of my son’s good friends. She has come to pay a call. She’s hoping that she might be able to help you in your search for your sister.”

Rosalind had no idea why a lady would make such an offer—or how she knew about her sister. But she was curious to find out. Quickly, she followed Mrs. Armstrong down the winding staircase, still feeling terribly conspicuous for going down the main stairs instead of the servants’.

When she entered the drawing room, she saw an exquisitely dressed young lady perched on the edge of a settee. She was fine-boned
and elegant-looking. She looked up and smiled softly as Rosalind followed Mrs. Armstrong into the room. “Good afternoon,” she said by way of greeting.

“This is Eloisa Carstairs,” Mrs. Armstrong said with a smile. “Eloisa, may I present Rosalind Pettit, our guest.”

Rosalind felt her cheeks heat. “How do you do, ma’am. I’m only here because of the generosity of the Armstrongs.”

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance. Reid stopped by to see me this afternoon and told me about your situation.”

“He did?”

“Yes. And don’t fret. He wasn’t gossiping. Rather, he thought that I might be able to help you in some way. Like Reid, I know a great many people in our circle.” Looking beyond Rosalind, she added, “I’ve also known the Sloane family for many years. We were once friends, Veronica and I.”

Rosalind felt her eyes widen. But for the life of her, she couldn’t think of a thing to say.

Luckily, Mrs. Armstrong took control of the conversation. “Tell us a bit about your sister, Rosalind.”

She racked her brain, but she couldn’t think of anything new to say about Miranda that Reid and his mother didn’t already know. “I’m sorry, I’ve told you all I know about her job and what I’ve discovered about her last days there.”

“No, dear. I don’t want to hear about your sleuthing,” Mrs. Armstrong said. “Rather, I want to hear about her. What is she like?”

Eloisa leaned forward. “Did she do her chores without complaint? What did she like? What didn’t she like? Were you close?”

“Miranda is truly beautiful. She isn’t ethereal like you, Miss Carstairs, but she is striking. In many ways I’m a poor copy of her. Her hair is brighter, her eyes bluer, her figure more filled out. And
she is impetuous.” Her voice warmed as she thought about the person Miranda is . . . or was. “Miranda was always hatching a plan and was always a bit foolhardy. My mother depended on me to be her voice of reason.”

“And were you?”

“I’m ashamed to admit that I was not. Truthfully? Her ideas always sounded like a lot more fun than mine. More often than not, I was as much her devoted follower as any of my brothers.”

“So you were close?”

“We got along and were close in the way sisters always are. But in many ways we were not close. I’m a bit too much of a worrywart for her.”

Suddenly, the memories poured forth. “Once she wanted to rush through our chores so we could go to the swimming hole with the family next to ours. But I was afraid we’d get in trouble.” She shook her head in wonder, her eyes brimming with tears as the moment rushed forth, bringing with it both laughter and sadness.

She tried to stem the flow, but it was as if all the pressure from the past weeks was too much to contain. Or perhaps it was really the fact that she didn’t need to bear the weight by herself any longer.

She could afford to feel instead of plan. She could afford to remember instead of plot.

The realization only made the tears fall harder, followed by a choking sob.

“Oh, my dear,” Mrs. Armstrong murmured, moving to her side. From out of nowhere, she produced a handkerchief and folded it into Rosalind’s hand. And that act of kindness only made the tears fall still harder. Before she knew it, Eloisa was sitting on her other side, her slim hand gently patting Rosalind’s back.

Which, of course, only made her tears continue.

Seconds later, Reid walked in. “Mother? Eloisa? What is wrong?” he said, then added in a rush, “Rosalind? Rosalind, are you all right?”

She lifted her head just as he rushed to stand in front of her, his hands outstretched.

And she knew right then and there that if they’d been alone, he would have pulled her into his arms. And she would have gone. Gratefully.

She lifted her head and met his gaze. Forgot about his mother and Eloisa. Was only aware of Reid Armstrong. And knew that she’d fallen in love.

“Ah,” Mrs. Armstrong murmured. “Now I understand.”

Eloisa stood up and stepped toward the door. “I believe I do too.”

Reid looked confused, but Rosalind was not. For better or worse, her heart had made a decision. And even if she spent the rest of her life on a farm in Wisconsin, she knew she would only give her heart to one man.

Reid Armstrong.

CHAPTER 30

I
t was probably best to be philosophical about the recent developments with Reid Armstrong, Eloisa Carstairs decided the next evening as she alighted from her carriage and walked into yet another black tie event. This one was hosted by the McCormicks, and their beautiful home was glowing from the number of gaslights and crystal chandeliers. The walls were lined with paintings, each worth thousands of dollars. They were widely known to be fans of portraits. Dozens of pairs of eyes watched the event, giving one a slightly elusive feeling of constantly being under surveillance.

All two hundred of the privileged guests.

The function was a charity gala, its purpose to raise money for Salvation Army orphans. A noble cause, indeed.

But as she studied the variety of men in black tie, escorting women wearing thousand-dollar brocaded gowns and snow-white gloves up past elbows, each dripping with enough jewels to pay for
food for whole blocks of unfortunates, Eloisa couldn’t help but be struck by the absurdity of it all. Surely more good would come from money donated to the cause instead of being spent to look good while supporting the less fortunate.

But perhaps that was why a man like Reid was so important to her. He was one of them, there at the gala tonight. She could see him talking intently with some friends nearby.

But he also had his toes in his parents’ former pool. He understood better than most in the room the consequences of the reforms and how much good even a dollar donation could do.

It was too bad that she couldn’t seem to summon more feelings for him than friendship.

After being announced, she walked down the stairs, greeted several friends, then looked up to see Douglass Sloane quietly studying her.

Douglass was everything Reid wasn’t. He was vaguely dangerous and had no more concern for penniless orphans than he did for a splinter in his thumb.

Her mother thought he was eminently suitable, and resolutely had paid no mind to any of the rumors floating about him. Eloisa, however, knew better.

But because she’d promised Reid to do what she could, she smiled in Douglass’s direction.

He approached, his handsome face as perfectly composed as always. “Eloisa, you look as stunning as ever.”

“Thank you, Mr. Sloane.”

He leaned closer. “Why will you never call me by my Christian name?”

“I’m afraid we don’t know each other well enough.” Then, remembering her mission, she smiled at him softly and added the one word that changed everything. “Yet.”

“That can be rectified. Walk with me.”

She’d arrived rather late. The ballroom was crowded. Crowded enough for her not to fear his company. In addition, she knew that she’d just been given the perfect opportunity to help Rosalind. Setting her hand in the crook of his arm, she smiled. “I would like that very much.”

Something new glittered in his eyes, and she felt a flicker of unease. With a mental shake of her head, she brushed it aside. Surely her imagination was running away with her.

Douglass’s smile broadened into a full grin when several men and women watched them. “Eloisa, who would have imagined the two of us could create such a stir?”

She played along, mentally calculating how long she should stay in his company for propriety’s sake. And how many questions she could pepper him with without giving away her true motives.

“Not I,” she replied. “Though it shouldn’t be a surprise. We are much alike.”

“Perhaps that is the reason, though I would put the blame solely on you.”

“Me?”

“You are the most beautiful woman in the room, Eloisa.”

“You flatter me.”

“I speak only the truth. Your beauty is blinding.”

His effusive flattery embarrassed her. They continued walking to the side of the ballroom. To her surprise, Douglass bypassed several groups of their friends. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere private. Someplace where we can talk.”

Because she did need to speak with him, she kept her silence, even when Douglass led her into a vacant hallway. As she glanced down the passageway, empty except for a few closed doors and a series of rather
stuffy portraits of dead relatives, her uneasiness grew. It wasn’t the norm for guests to wander uninvited into closed rooms, and it wasn’t her norm to ever do so in the company of a man, with no escort or chaperone in sight.

“We will be missed. We should probably get back.”

“I agree. But not yet. We still have to talk, yes?” Smiling a bit, he led her farther down the passageway, trying one door, then the next, but finding them all locked.

“Douglass, where are you taking me?” she asked, feeling more than a little vexed.