Secrets of Sloane House(90)
Caught off guard, she sipped her coffee and then bit into the remains of her toast. The funny thing was that she did understand. Whereas before she might have been tempted to rush headlong into each conversation, certain that only she could make a difference to Miranda, she was now learning the benefits of biding her tongue and time—and remembering that she wasn’t alone.
And that sometimes it was even better to rely on others, because they could do things much better than she could herself. It was both humbling and exhilarating to realize that the simple act of trusting another could reap great rewards.
“Thank you for allowing me to go and for everything you have done. Already, you have done so much for me. I am grateful to you both.”
Mrs. Armstrong took a bracing sip of tea, then said darkly, “Let’s just hope our efforts aren’t in vain.”
And on that note, Mrs. Armstrong stood up and walked out of the room.
Only later did Rosalind realize that Reid’s mother had never followed her own advice. Her only breakfast had been a pot of strong tea.
CHAPTER 32
The three of them set out for Sloane House on foot a few minutes after ten. It was, of course, far too early to respectfully pay a social call. But they weren’t calling on the family for social reasons.
For most of the five-block journey, Rosalind had walked behind Reid and his mother. Though he’d attempted to coerce her to walk by their side, she’d murmured something about being more comfortable trailing them. Only when they’d stopped in front of Sloane House did she join them, her eyes wide and her mouth set in a tight line.
His mother looked no less apprehensive. “Do you truly think this is the right thing to do, Reid?” she asked, for at least the fifth time since they’d begun their walk.
Remembering the shadows under Eloisa’s eyes, he said the same thing he’d uttered the other four times. “Of course it’s the right thing. We cannot simply stand back and do nothing.” Looking at Rosalind, he asked, “Will you be all right? I have a feeling this will be difficult for you.”
Rosalind lifted her chin. “I will be fine.”
Reid almost smiled. He did admire her spunk.
Looking up at the broad façade of Sloane House, with its limestone bricks and many gables, Reid vividly recalled his first visit there. He’d been in awe not only of the house but of the family and everything the Sloane name represented. He’d been proud to make such an acquaintance. Now he knew better. Now he knew what the name really signified and what the grand home hid inside.
Beside him, his mother gazed at the house as well. She wore a frown, and a small wrinkle marred her forehead. “I sometimes wish the right thing wasn’t always so hard.”
“I’ve wished that a time or two as well. But as you once told me years ago, the Lord doesn’t promise us an easy life. Only a fulfilling one.”
His mother wrinkled her nose. “I fear I said that before I had ever been tested.”
He chuckled. “Ladies, shall we soldier on?”
Rosalind nodded while his mother shook out her skirts and then led the way up the steps. “Of course. I may be nervous, but even I know nothing gets done by putting it off.”
Hodgeson answered their bell within seconds. His normally impassive face softened in recognition. “Mrs. Armstrong, Master Armstrong, good morning.” When he looked at Rosalind, he inhaled sharply. “I hope all is well with your family, sir?”
Reid nodded. “Good morning, Hodgeson. My mother and I are here to pay a call on the Sloane family.”
The butler’s expression became more guarded. “Whom did you wish to see?”
“All of them,” his mother said crisply. “We need to see as many Sloanes as are home.”
The man had just stepped backward so they could enter the grand foyer. “Beg your pardon?”
“We’d like to see Douglass, Veronica, and Mr. and Mrs. Sloane, if they are available,” Reid murmured. “And please convey that it would be in their best interests if they were.”
“I will see who is receiving at this early hour.”
“It’s a matter of some importance,” Reid said. “Otherwise we would not have dreamed of infringing upon their privacy at this time of day.”
“Please, let me escort you to the drawing room.”
As they followed him across the black-and-white-checkered marble floor and into the almost stark drawing room, its elegance and spaciousness something of a surprise in the current Victorian fashion of excess, Reid thought again about his first visit.
He’d been struck dumb by the grandeur and the pure beauty and quirkiness of the home. Only then did he truly appreciate the place the Sloanes occupied in Chicago’s social circles. Here was a family that didn’t rush to adopt every new fad or trend. Instead, they set them—or ignored them, thumbing their noses at the rest of the world. As a product of two people’s extreme efforts to make him into the mold of a gentleman, the pure disdain for the accepted decorating styles felt both freeing and vaguely scary.