A dozen choice words filled Reid’s head, none of which were suitable for mixed company. “I will do my best to see that your suffering is not in vain.”
Eloisa looked at his mother. “I believe I need to go home now. I hate to impose, but could you, perhaps, summon a maid to help me repair myself? I can’t go home like this.”
His mother smiled. “I know just the person to help you, dear. Rosalind. She is staying up in one of the guest bedrooms. Of course, she knows how to dress hair and mend torn hems and seams. We’ll have you looking as fresh as can be in no time.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Armstrong.”
Every trace of humor left his mother’s expression. “Please don’t thank me. It is the very least we can do. And I promise, it is not all we will do, either. Now, Reid, please go knock on Rosalind’s door and tell her that I’ll be walking Eloisa to her room in five minutes’ time. And then you may go to bed.”
“Mother—”
“Your day will be tomorrow, son. For now, I think it might be best if Eloisa and I have a few moments to speak privately. And the only way that will happen is if you remove yourself from the situation.”
He knew she was right. With a new resolve, he strode to Eloisa and bowed in front of her formally. “Miss Carstairs, I bid you good evening.”
“I can never thank you enough.”
“I assure you, it was an honor and a privilege to assist you.”
After kissing his mother lightly on the cheek, he left them and strode up the stairs to quietly make his way to Rosalind’s room, hoping all the while that they were all doing the right thing.
Only God knew. Perhaps only the good Lord would ever know for sure.
CHAPTER 31
How far she’d come. As Rosalind methodically pinned up Eloisa Carstairs’ hair and applied cold compresses to her bruised cheek, she realized that in many ways she’d grown into herself while in Chicago.
Just a few weeks previously, she’d been a timid, rather self-centered girl. Not spoiled, but rather unaware of the world around her, her family, her small farm in Wisconsin. The problems one faced while living in a big city like Chicago had been as foreign to her as the United States must be to the natives from West Africa at the fair.
Rosalind remembered her first glimpse of the foreigners. She’d stared at them curiously, quite unable to fathom that they were all the same human race. The men had seemed too different from the men she’d known. Their dress—or lack of it—such a distraction that she’d forgotten that such things didn’t really matter at the end of the day.
As she calmly completed dressing Miss Carstairs’ hair and then painstakingly repaired the torn hem of her dress, the tear in its lace, and the rip in its sleeve, Rosalind felt less dismay and shock and more concern and sympathy.
That was the difference. She was less inclined to do nothing, more determined to make a difference as best she could.
Forty minutes after Reid had awoken her with two firm raps of his knuckles on the face of her door, Rosalind was saying good-bye to Miss Carstairs.
“Are you certain there isn’t anything else I may do for you, miss?”
“You are too kind.” Eloisa gave her a shaky smile. “Thank you, but I think I am sufficiently presentable to make it past our butler without him alarming the household.”
“I know this is none of my business, but wouldn’t it be good if your family knew what happened?” Reid had prepared her with the truth, knowing that she would never betray Miss Carstairs.
“It wouldn’t be good at all. All a woman has is her reputation, you know.”
Rosalind did know that. She also knew that no good would come of her interfering in things that were not her business. “Good evening, miss. I will hope and pray that one day this evening will be just a faint memory.”
“I doubt that will ever happen. But perhaps it doesn’t need to be,” she said before walking out of Rosalind’s room with the elegance of a young lady who had nothing more on her mind than satin slippers and brand-new hair ribbons.
Five hours later, Rosalind was facing Reid across the breakfast table, where he had insisted she dine rather than in the kitchens. He was as immaculately dressed as always, but there were new lines of stress around his lips and shadows under his eyes.
He was sipping coffee but not eating. She was doing the same thing.
“I hope Miss Carstairs arrived at her house safely last night?”
“She did. Our driver took her home. She also sent a missive this morning that everything was fine. No one suspected a thing, not even her lady’s maid.”
“I am glad of that.”