The Rogue's Reluctant Rose by Daphne du Bois

years ago by her great grandfather. The gloom prevented her from seeing the whole, but her memory filled in the rest. The heels of her travelling boots crunched along the stony drive as she proceeded towards the house, beaming at her sister-in-law.
    Harriet’s blonde hair was neatly piled on top of her head, and she still wore her mourning black. Araminta felt a tremor of concern as she took in the older woman’s pallid complexion, made starker yet by her dark gown. Harriet looked worn and tired, and she had grown thinner in the past month. Araminta felt her guilt rush back. How was she going to tell Harriet that she still had no luck? She knew, without a doubt, that the hopeful tone of Harriet’s letter did not depict her true feelings. She wore melancholy like a veil.
    “Minta! Welcome back. How glad I am to see you.” Harriet’s voice sounded cheerful, though Araminta knew she was making an effort for her benefit.
    “And I you, dear sister. I am so pleased to be back. But Harriet, you are looking so very thin. Has cook not been feeding you well? And how is little Henry?”
    Harriet enfolded the younger girl in a warm hug.
    “Nonsense, my dear, I assure you I am as well as can be expected, and getting better. Only I have missed you. It is simply not the same here without your cheer, though I have not been entirely lonely — some of our neighbours have been to see me, you know. Henry is well also. A lively, clever little boy, more like his father every day.”
    Her voice almost choked at the mention of Charles, but she carried bravely on, taking Araminta’s elbow and leading her into the house. Minta knew that a strong love had existed between her brother and his wife, and she could see with each day how much Harriet missed Charles. She wondered at the wisdom of Harriet’s remaining at the hall, where so much reminded her of him, and reopened barely healed wounds. But she knew that the house held, as it did for herself, many happy memories, and it was because of this that Harriet would not hear of leaving.
    “Come, Minta, I have a warm supper waiting, and a bed, of course. How was your journey? You must be very tired. How did you find London? I trust you enjoyed yourself? The Worthings were good to you? But of course they were. I am being silly.”
    Harriet accompanied Araminta all the way to the door of her room, seemingly loath to part with her now that she had come back. Araminta’s expressive eyes filled with warmth as they took in the familiar surroundings, and as Harriet’s gentle voice washed over her.
    “I shall wait for you in the little dining room, Minta, when you come down for supper. I am so eager to hear of all your adventures!” With another smile at her sister, Harriet descended the stairs.
    Harriet’s maid, Jenny, came in to help Araminta with her toilette. Jenny was a young woman, and very shy, but she imparted to Araminta that her ladyship had not been at all well.
    “Very bleak she has been, Miss, and sad. She rarely plays her piano any more, and she likes to sit and watch the rain. She is worried, Miss, and she misses his lordship,” Jenny told her in a hushed whisper.
    Araminta had not given much attention to her dress and hair. She was home, after all, and they weren’t to have any company. She put on an old, comfortable woollen blue gown, and a warm grey shawl to protect herself against the chill that was often to be found in the passages of the house. She knew Harriet would not mind the dress, and so she could afford to be mindful only of her comfort.
    Home was entirely unlike Town, where one always had to look one’s best. Thinking of town inevitably led Minta to contemplate the the one man she had been trying to push out of her thoughts. She could not seem to forget the strange bitterness she had glimpsed in his enigmatic eyes when he had abducted her in the park, so at odds with his usually blasé façade. This in turn led her to think of the abduction, and her heart rate sped