Beauty and the Baron_A Regency Fairy Tale Retelling by Joanna Barker

Author:Joanna Barker [Barker, Joanna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-01-15T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

Henry was certain something was addled in his head. Two days had passed since his afternoon in the gamekeeper’s cottage with Rose Sinclair, and still he could not go more than five minutes without thinking of her. He was nearing the end of his morning ride and he pushed his mount, urging the stallion up a steep incline, but he could not outrun his mind. His thoughts flashed continually through their conversation, which had bounded between topics like a hound on the hunt. Rose never allowed an uncomfortable silence, continually asking him questions.

They’d been confined to the cottage for nearly three hours as the rain fell steadily around them, yet Henry would have sworn it was not a half hour. When the wind finally calmed and the rain slowed to a drizzle, he accompanied her back to the road and watched her depart again for town with a feeling akin to disappointment. Rose’s openness and sincerity awakened something inside him, a remnant of the man he’d been before his parents’ accident. Once, he had been charming and witty. Once, he would never have thought twice about speaking to a beautiful woman.

That must be it, he decided as he slowed his horse to a walk, approaching Norcliffe House. It had simply been too long since he had conversed with a woman, save for his own tenants and household.

Except she was a part of his household. Why could he not remember that? Why was it that every time he came across Rose, he forgot who she was and what her father had done? He only saw her smile, bright and kind, and her arresting brown eyes that danced with an amused glimmer.

He shook his head, as if the motion might free him from his memories. He focused his gaze ahead as they approached his home. His eyes were drawn immediately to a figure standing at a second-floor window—Rose. She was holding the parlor draperies away from the window, inspecting them with such concentration that she did not notice him watching her from below.

Henry’s stomach gave a strange lurch as she turned and left his view. She was likely alone in the parlor, amidst the mountain of chores given her by Mrs. Morton. He really ought to talk to his housekeeper about Rose’s workload. Her dislike for Rose was obvious, probably stemming from their differences in background. Mrs. Morton had come to Norcliffe House from the Ramsbury household four years ago after having spent her entire life in service there, whereas Rose had lived a more privileged life. But he needed to ensure his housekeeper did not treat Rose unfairly.

He left his horse at the stables and walked up to the house, handing his hat and gloves to a footman at the front entrance. He went to his study, but paused with his hand on the knob. The knowledge that Rose was above him in the parlor set him on edge. He hadn’t so much as seen her since the rainstorm.

Perhaps if

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