Surrender the Night (38 page)

Her uncle tapped his chest. “But you don’t know His love in here.”

Rose huffed. “I don’t understand.”

“When you truly believe God loves you and have experienced it in your heart, there’s nothing to fear. Don’t you see?” He removed his spectacles and placed them on the side table, then leaned over the man to take her hand once again. “The Bible says that if God is for us, who can be against us? ‘He that spared not his own Son, but delivered him up for us all, how shall he not with him also freely give us all things?’” He squeezed her hand. “You see, when you’re God’s child, there’s nothing to fear.”

Rose frowned. “But that’s where you’re wrong, uncle. There is much to fear in this life. Bad things happen to God’s children. What of me? What of Elaine and James Myers?”

“Aye, but you mistake me, lass. I didn’t say bad things would never happen. I said regardless of what happens, there’s nothing to fear. Because God loves you, everything has a purpose. Everything will work out for good in the end. That’s a promise.”

Rose wished she could believe that, desperately wanted the peace that believing those words would bring. If she could, then she needn’t worry about her future. She needn’t worry about being forced to marry Mr. Snyder and never seeing Alex again. Somehow things would work out for the best, and God would see her through.

“You must first let go of your bitterness and unforgiveness, child.” Her uncle’s brown eyes held such wisdom, such peace. “Perhaps that is what is keeping you from truly receiving God’s love in your heart.”

Withdrawing her hands, Rose clasped them in her lap and lowered her gaze. “I don’t know how to let go.”

“Then those who have done you harm will always have a hold on
you. They will always dictate your happiness. Do you want to give them that power?”

Rose shook her head. She hadn’t thought of it that way. “But if I forgive them, doesn’t that mean they have escaped without punishment?”

“Escaped?” Her uncle snorted and pressed down a strand of his unruly gray hair. “No, lass. If they don’t repent, they will have to answer to God on judgment day. And if you don’t forgive them, you will as well.”

CHAPTER 22

R
ose gazed out the window of Mr. Snyder’s hired coach and tried to drown out his incessant babbling. Beside her, Amelia, dressed in a beautiful gown of creamy satin embroidered in glistening emerald, pinched her cheeks with excitement. Next to Amelia, light from the lantern perched outside the carriage transformed Aunt Muira’s satin burgundy gown into shimmering red. Across from the ladies sat three gentlemen, Uncle Forbes, Mr. Braxton, and Mr. Snyder, who had insisted he provide their group with a plush hackney to convey them to the ball. And who now regaled them with the tale of how he had convinced the council to adopt a provision for another theater to be built in town that would “greatly enhance the city’s reputation as a bastion of civilization.”

Or so he declared.

Rose pressed down the folds of her own gown of royal blue silk trimmed in white satin netting—a gown drawn from the collection her aunt had kept from her youth and altered to fit Rose’s smaller frame. She tugged at the white sash around her waist. A matching ribbon adorned her hair, which had been pinned up in a cascade of curls and decorated further with jeweled pins and a spray of tiny wildflowers. A gold necklace, embedded with rubies and pearls—also
her aunt’s—hung over a neckline that was a bit low for Rose’s taste. Nevertheless, the elegant attire made her feel like a princess. At least until Mr. Snyder had appeared at the house, with black top hat in one hand and his ever-present cane in the other, wearing a grin that reminded Rose of Prinney’s pink snout after a fine meal of kitchen slops. And suddenly, instead of a princess, Rose felt like the icing on a cake about to be eaten by the devil himself.

Wind gusted through the coach’s window, and she closed her eyes, imagining she was on board a ship with Alex, sailing to an exotic port where it didn’t matter from whence they hailed: America or Britain, France, or even the moon. She wondered where he was at that moment. What he was doing. Was he safe? Had his captain accepted him back on board without repercussions?

Was he thinking of her?

Rose shook her head, trying to scatter the thoughts away. They served no purpose other than to feed an ever-growing depression that hovered over her like a dark, icy fog.

Amelia slipped her hand into Rose’s, and she felt the woman’s tremble of excitement even through her gloves. Rose smiled her way and then dared a glance at Mr. Braxton, whose gaze had not left Amelia since he had entered the carriage. Perhaps her maid would find true love again after all.

As Rose had found. If only for a few days.

But now that she had experienced it, nothing else would do—especially not the man sitting across from her. She felt his eyes upon her, but she refused to honor his sordid stare with a glance of her own.

Instead, she studied her uncle sitting across from his wife. She’d never seen him looking so dapper in his black overcoat, embroidered satin silver waistcoat, and breeches. He tipped his hat toward her, drawing a smile from Rose, yet something in the curve of his lips, the depth of his gaze, gave her pause. It was as if he knew some grand secret. Returning her gaze to the window, she released a sigh. Fairy tales and dreams were for little girls. Not for women like Rose, who had seen too much of the cruel world to no longer believe in happy endings.

Mr. Snyder tapped his cane on the floor. “I daresay, it promises to be a glorious evening. I am quite looking forward to it.”

Uncle Forbes lifted his hand to his mouth to cover what sounded like a chuckle but ended as a cough.

Aunt Muira frowned at her husband before responding, “Indeed, I do agree, Mr. Snyder. This ball is just what this city needs to take our mind off the war.”

“And what is your opinion, Miss McGuire?” Mr. Snyder addressed Rose in a tone that dared her to speak her true heart.

She flashed a caustic smile his way and tugged upon her long white gloves. “I fear I do not share your enthusiasm, Mr. Snyder.”

Amelia looped her arm through Rose’s. “Oh I do pray you will cheer up. We shall have so much fun.” The woman’s lavender perfume swirled around Rose, mingling with the rose oil she had dabbed on her own neck.

“I agree.” Aunt Muira’s tone was scolding. “Count your blessings, dear, or they shall be taken away from you and given to someone more appreciative.”

Uncle Forbes coughed again, and Rose swept a gaze his way again. Was he ill? But no. A smile creased the corners of his mouth.

Blessings, indeed. Rose tapped a gloved finger over the window frame in an attempt to count out those blessings. But the few she recollected were instantly shadowed by the disastrous future looming before her.

Soon the hackney turned down Light Street, which was aptly named this evening for the many streetlights setting the block aglow—the ban on city lights apparently lifted for this gala event. A parade of ladies in flowing gowns, escorted by gentlemen in top hats and coats, drifted down the avenue toward the Fountain Inn. Coaches, curricles, and chaises, along with gentlemen atop horses swarmed the cobblestone street. The
clip-clop
of horses’ hooves, the rattle of carriage wheels, and the laughter and chatter of the crowd rose in a chorus of gaiety that thumbed its nose at the British troops blockading the port.

The driver pulled the coach to a halt before the Fountain Inn, an elaborate structure that rose several stories into the night sky. Light shone from the upper windows onto iron-grated balconies before spilling down upon the crush of people swarming to enter the front doors. The gentlemen leaped from the carriage, the footman lowered
the step, and Mr. Snyder’s bony hand appeared in the doorway. The audacious jewel on his middle finger winked at Rose in the lantern light. She drew a deep breath. She could do this. She could endure one night with this hideous man. Just one night at a time—although he insisted on many more. But she could not think of that now, or she feared she would lose all desire to live.

Avoiding Mr. Snyder’s outstretched hand, she clutched her gown and descended the steps, searching the crowd for any sign of Marianne or Cassandra. She could use a friend tonight. The ladies’ coiffures adorned with ribbons, flowers, and plumes bobbed alongside waves of black hats that swept through the front door like seawater pouring through a crack into the hold of a ship. With her hand all but hovering over Mr. Snyder’s arm, she allowed him to lead her through that crack, wondering all along if she would drown in the agony of her heart.

Once inside, Mr. Snyder ushered her through the main courtyard of the inn, where a large trickling fountain was the centerpiece in a flower garden set aglow by flickering lantern light. Rose gazed up at the inn’s chambers perched upon levels of terraces that circled the gardens. Several couples stood near the fountain or sat on the iron benches in deep conversation. She glanced over her shoulder to see Amelia hanging on Mr. Braxton’s arm, her eyes sparkling with excitement as they scanned the surroundings. From behind Amelia, Aunt Muira offered Rose a gentle smile. Rose knew her aunt meant well. And by all accounts, Mr. Snyder was a perfect match for any young lady. Until he revealed the devil buried beneath his polished facade.

Following the swarm of chattering guests, Mr. Snyder, with his head held high, led Rose through another set of doors to their left. A few heads turned their way as they moved into the brightly lit ballroom. The elegant tones of a minuet began at the far end of the hall where musicians sat on a raised stage. Two massive crystalline chandeliers hung from an arched stucco ceiling that was etched with flowers and gilded in gold. Mirrors on either side of the room reflected the light from dozens of candles. The smell of sweet punch, beeswax, and a myriad of perfumes tickled Rose’s nose and made her long for fresh air.

After their names were announced, Rose scanned the ladies who stood at the edge of the dancing couples, gossiping behind fluttering
fans like a gaggle of geese flapping their wings. No sign of her friends anywhere. Rose’s heart sank even lower. She turned to ask Amelia if she had seen Marianne, but Mr. Braxton had already swept her out onto the dance floor.

Aunt Muira and Uncle Forbes soon followed, gazing into each other’s eyes as if they were the only ones in the room.

Rose swallowed a lump of sorrow. Her aunt and uncle shared an intimate, eternal love Rose had but tasted, but would never know in full.

“Would you care to join them?” Mr. Snyder’s blue eyes studied her, and Rose searched her mind for an excuse.

It came in the form of her dear friend, Marianne, who hurried to join her from across the room in a flurry of pink satin. She grabbed Rose’s arm. “I was so glad when I heard you were attending.”

“How did you hear?” Rose turned from Mr. Snyder and gave her friend a questioning look, glad for the excuse to avoid his question. She had only just agreed to attend three days prior and had not spoken to anyone since.

“Oh, never mind.” Marianne smiled and nodded toward Mr. Snyder. “Good evening, Councilman.”

He scrunched his lips together as if tasting something sour. The music stopped and those who remained on the floor lined up in two rows as others joined them, men along one side and women on the other. “Mrs. Brenin.” Mr. Snyder said. “If you’ll excuse us, Miss McGuire and I were about to partake of the country dance.”

He grabbed Rose’s arm to drag her onto the floor when Noah wove his way through the crowd to stand before him. “Mr. Snyder, I have a matter of great importance to discuss with you, sir. Would you join me in the other room for a glass of port?” He flashed a smile toward his wife. “I’m sure the ladies can entertain themselves in our absence.”

“Importance, you say?” The councilman’s chest seemed to expand beneath his velvet waistcoat. “Can’t it wait?”

“Not unless you wish to keep the mayor waiting.”

Snyder peered around Noah toward the side doors. “Mayor Johnson wishes to speak to me?”

“Indeed. He asked for you directly.” Noah’s tone was serious, but his blue eyes held a twinkle of mischief.