Free Lord of Secrets by Alyssa Everett Page B

I have three daughters-in-law at home with prior claims on my attention.”
    Rosalie regarded her in dismay. “But I thought you didn’t get on with your daughters-in-law.”
    “And I don’t. Two are widgeons with scarcely a word to say for themselves, and the third is a brass-faced hussy. Not a one is good enough for my boys. But if I had no excuse to call on them or have them come to me, they would lose the benefit of my counsel, and then what kind of mother would I be to my sons?”
    “Oh.” The single meaningless syllable was all Rosalie could manage in her disappointment. True, the decision meant she wouldn’t have to move to New York after all. She wouldn’t be working for Mrs. Howard, never knowing when or if she would see Charlie again. But it also meant she had no choice now but to throw herself on her uncle’s charity.
    “And besides, dear, I don’t really need you.” Mrs. Howard’s voice took on a faintly lecturing tone. “We’re more egalitarian in America, you see. We’re not above asking servants to thread our needles and fetch our physics. Why, I have a maid who reads almost as well as you do.”
    Rosalie didn’t know how to answer. She had the disquieting sense Mrs. Howard had been taking advantage of her. After all, Rosalie had nursed her through innumerable ailments, done her mending, read aloud to her and even lent the lady her gloves and jewelry. If not for Mrs. Howard, she might even have been with her father on the night he died. Rosalie gulped. Was she really so anxious to find a place that she was willing to let Mrs. Howard use her so ungratefully?
    But Rosalie also had the depressing sense that she had no one to blame but herself if Mrs. Howard didn’t want her. Charlie had said that the older woman treated her like a servant, but it was worse than that. A maid’s wages were more economical than a companion’s salary—and, lacking any real distinctions or accomplishments of her own, Rosalie had nothing but companionship to offer. It seemed she didn’t fit in anywhere, being too wellborn to work as an actual servant but too ordinary to mix with Mrs. Howard and her friends.
    Dully, she picked up the book and resumed her reading. “‘ As thou art born of woman , spare the honor of a helpless maiden — She is the image of my deceased Rachel , she is the last of six pledges of her love — Will you deprive a widowed husband of his sole remaining comfort ? ’ ” The words blurred on the page, and Rosalie’s voice cracked. She looked up. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Howard. I can’t read any more right now.”
    Casting the book aside, Rosalie bolted from the cabin.
    * * *
     
    David strolled the deck, hoping to walk off a little of his restlessness. The sun was sinking, and the second dog watch, the last shift of crewmen before dark, were setting up the ship’s rigging for the night. As the men worked, tightening the slack lines and adjusting the sails, their distant shouts punctuated the soft lap of the waves.
    David had just passed the companionway when a softer sound—a muffled sob—made him turn. Miss Whitwell was emerging from below. When she caught sight of him, she froze, then made to go back the way she’d come.
    “No, wait.” Why did he call out to her? Was it simple curiosity about the sob he’d heard—or was it the odd lurch his heart had taken the moment he’d spotted her?
    She paused in her retreat but didn’t come any closer.
    “Please, tell me what’s wrong.” What was it she’d said to him on the night she’d urged him to join her at dinner? “I promise I don’t bite, Miss Whitwell.”
    She threw him an uncertain glance but hesitantly came up the remaining steps to join him. Whatever the reason for her tears, she was doing her best to present the appearance of composure. She lifted her chin, blinking rapidly.
    He had a disquieting vision of himself, ten years old and struggling with all his might not to cry in front of his uncle Frederick. “Whatever has