The Roses of Feldstone, page 20
“Rose,” he said only slightly out of breath, “has your talk with my mother been adequate enough that I may now speak to you?” I was not certain that it had, but I nodded anyway. I stepped away from his mother and nearer to him. My mind was still wrapped around the last moment of our kiss in the garden and the resulting conversation with his father. Perhaps there were still things that needed to be cleared up.
“Good.” He crossed the threshold and took four powerful steps in my direction, and we met in the center of the room. Our eyes met, and he reached for one of my hands. When he had it in his grasp, he turned it so the palm faced up and placed the pot into it. I quickly raised my empty hand and placed it over the top of William’s other hand so the vessel was supported on both sides. The mischievous glint that I had seen in William’s eyes during our carriage ride was still there, but when our hands touched, it seemed to grow into a fire. The fire grew hotter and more intense the longer our hands remained in contact. He slowly and carefully slid his left hand out from under my hand and removed his right hand from the top of mine. I was left holding the pot on my own. But even with our hands no longer touching, the heat from the fire was still there. With his eyes holding mine, he said, “I want to get one more thing from my chambers. I’ll be right back.”
After the door closed behind him, I inspected the stick and the pot closer. It wasn’t a stick after all but a clipping from a rosebush. And not just any rosebush. I knew what rose clipping this was, and it seemed to solidify my newfound understanding of what had happened between us.
Over and over, I rehearsed in my mind what I must have looked like right after William had kissed me: my face covered, my declaration that the only reason we had thought to marry was because of his mother. I hadn’t had time to tell him how I truly felt before his father had interrupted. The enormity of that realization, paired with my new rose, must have been showing on my face because I heard a contented sigh from across the room. I tore my gaze away from the rose to see Lady Chatsworth still sitting on the settee. The smile on her face made her look as if she were about to get everything in the world she had ever wanted.
“But what of Lord Chatsworth?” I asked. “I know he doesn’t want a union between the two of us.”
“You let me and William worry about Reginald. He blusters like a heavy storm cloud, but given enough time, he will settle down and become more of a light breeze,” she said. I furrowed my brows at her description of her husband. I had never thought of him that way, but I hoped she was right. “Besides, the next in line to inherit is my nephew Herman, and he is a complete imbecile. He recently bought a twenty-two-year-old racehorse based on his record seventeen years prior. He paid a fortune for him and then was laughed off the track when he tried to race him.” Lady Chatsworth shook her head at the memory. “Reginald already disinherited one son; I am afraid that is all the luxury the estate can afford.”
William walked through the door a second time, this time holding a thick stack of diverse-sized papers in his hand. “Hello, Mother,” he said with a quick glance in her direction.
“Welcome home, William. Rose has just finished telling me some very interesting information.”
“I know,” he said to her. “I came here to talk to her about that.” William turned to me and stepped in my direction. “I have some things I want to explain to you, and I need you to hear me out completely.” He stopped walking when he reached a leather club chair and placed his free hand on the back of it. “Will you hear me out?”
“I will,” I said, and my answer seemed to echo like a prophecy throughout the large drawing room.
“When Joseph left,” he said, “I promised myself I would never hurt my parents like he had. The one thing I learned from that episode was that one should not be selfish in love, because it affects everyone around you.” I nodded in encouragement. William’s never wanting to hurt his parents was no surprise to me. I wanted him to hurry and finish saying what he needed to say so he could stop bracing himself on that cursed club chair and instead come closer to me.
“Over the course of the past few weeks, I have seen my mistake,” he said. “Joseph knew something I was too naïve to understand. He understood that love—real, true love—can be worth risking everything for. I could never have done what he did, not in that way, but I should have fought for you, Rose, and won a blessing from my parents. And I don’t just mean that evening in the garden. I should have done it long before then.” He finally pushed himself away from the chair and made his way over to me. I was still holding the pot, and he traced one finger down the length of the clipping.
“You asked me once why I tried to save the roses,” he said. “I knew you loved them. That is why I tried to save them. I didn’t tell you about it because I was afraid you would see how I cared for you, and I was in no position to care for you. My father had made it very clear that I had to marry the daughter of a peer, and I was too scared of tearing my family apart to defy him.” He was still looking at the rose start; his eyes hadn’t met mine since walking over to me. “I am not even sure if this clipping will handle a transplant. Mrs. Wright has been caring for it while I’ve been in London, but now it is yours. You can plant it in your home.” He paused for a moment, thinking. “Or Lord Blakeley’s home, wherever it will make you happiest.”
“This rosebush will never be planted anywhere near Lord Blakeley’s house,” I said. “That man saw me more as an ornament than a person, and his concern for Adam was as fake as his wooden smile.” The lines to the sides of William’s mouth deepened, and the corners of his lips lifted. His eyes finally met mine.
“I had hoped that would be the case,” he said.
“I’ll do my best to make it grow,” I told him. “Even if it means digging in the dirt.” His smile deepened at the jest, but I could tell there was more he felt he needed to say.
“When Mother mentioned how happy she would be with a union between us, I was elated. But I thought I had pushed you too far away. I couldn’t marry you if you were only doing it to be loyal to my mother. I wanted to, but I knew I couldn’t. On top of that, my father interrupted and made my task that much more difficult.” He shook his head at the memory. “I am sorry about the kiss,” he said, and Lady Chatsworth reminded us of her presence with a clearing of her throat. William didn’t seem to notice as he continued. “I know it was abrupt, and I am sure I scared you. I would like the chance to start slower and certainly gentler. I hope you will let me court you in earnest. Now that my mother no longer has a deadline, there would be no rush. You’ve been the only woman for me since I first started noticing women. I could never forgive myself if I let you go because of a misunderstanding.” He reached with his free hand for my hands that were still cradling the pot but then thought better of it and placed both of his hands, papers and all, behind his back. There was nothing in my immediate vicinity for me to put my lovely rose clipping on. I was dying to set it down but didn’t want to move away from William and have him misinterpret my actions once again.
“I want you to know that I do want to marry you for my mother’s sake,” he said, gesturing to his mother, who had discreetly picked up a book from the bookshelf and then proceeded to pretend to read. “But also, truly, for my sake. I fear I will never find true happiness if I don’t explain everything that is in my heart now. I know I have been awful to you for the past two years. Each year, you grew more beautiful. I watched you in London as men clamored to gain your favor, and I dreaded the moment you would notice one of them. But now I hope you will notice me. I am the one clamoring like all those poor saps. Please, Rose, give me a chance to prove that I am a better man than I have been.” The parlor door opened and closed. Lady Chatsworth must have given up on her book and decided to leave us alone. I really did love that woman.
“Lord Telford—” I began, and his face fell slightly. It was truly wicked of me to use his title.
“Before you answer me,” he said, “I want to make one more thing clear. It is true that Mother told me I should court you but only after she saw how devastated I was at your rejection.”
“But, William,” I said, reverting back to his given name and stepping even closer to him. “I never rejected you.”
“No,” he said, rumpling his hair once again. “But you only agreed to a marriage because of your love for my mother, not for any love you have for me.”
“But when you asked, I didn’t reject you.” Sometimes William could be a little slow, but given our history, his caution was understandable.
He did reach for my hand now, and his fingers rested softly on my own. “What are you trying to say?”
“I am trying to say that if I didn’t reject you when you proposed, I think that means we are engaged.”
His eyes narrowed as if he were trying to understand whether or not this was a trick, and I didn’t blame him. I walked away from him and crossed the room to set the rose on a side table, then returned to him with my hands free.
“Can we just be engaged, William?” I said. “I really, really want to be engaged to you. Outside. In the garden. Preferably next to the oak tree.”
His eyes widened in understanding. He took a few tentative steps in my direction and stopped just inches away from me, his worried look returning. “Is this because of my mother?” he asked.
A delighted laugh escaped my throat. Would we never be able to move past this? “I do love your mother, and I am grateful she has forgiven me after my horrible outburst, but no, William. I love you so much more than I love your mother.”
“Then why . . . You looked so shaken after our kiss. I thought surely you hated me then.”
“I was shaken, William, truly shaken, to the point—embarrassingly—that I couldn’t look at you. But it wasn’t because I didn’t want you to kiss me. It was because you had.”
William’s hand went to cover his mouth; his fingers were splayed and pressing deeply into the skin along his cheek. I could see a sparkle in his eyes. His eyelids closed, hiding his all-knowing gray eyes from me. He inhaled deeply, and the sound of his breath was an ocean wave returning to shore. He removed his hand from his face and placed it on mine. His hand was so warm against my skin it felt as though my cheek could burst into flames. His thumb softly stroked my cheekbone.
“Do you really love me more than my mother?” he asked, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear.
“Much more than your mother.”
“And do you love my mother very much?” He dropped the papers in his other hand, and they fluttered to the floor. He cupped my other cheek, but this time, his thumb rested on the outside of my lip.
“I do, very much,” I answered, resisting the urge to press my lips into the palm of his hand.
“I haven’t forgotten your request to go to the garden. That’s an entreaty I’ll be sure to fulfill,” he said with a flash of his brilliant teeth. “But I’m going to have to do it later.” He eliminated the remaining distance between us. His lips met mine, and I could feel his smile against my own. The sensation made my grin grow even larger. I traced the roughness of his cheek with my fingers, confident that this time our kiss was a beginning and not an end. Joy bubbled up from deep inside my soul until it escaped as a laugh through my otherwise occupied lips. William responded with a laugh of his own, grabbed me by the waist, and lifted me into the air. “Let’s go find that oak tree!”
“William, you cannot carry me there!” I yelled as he spun me around and took a few steps toward the door without releasing me.
“Well, you can’t expect me to let you go now! What if you change your mind again?”
“I never changed my mind in the first place!” I cried. I looked down at the floor and noticed the papers he had scattered around us on the floor. I squinted and tried to understand the exposed bits and pieces of the drawings. A skirt with a pattern I recognized, a young girl smiling down from the branches of an apple tree, the edge of a smiling mouth. There were dozens of them, and as far as I could tell, they were all drawings of me. “What are those drawings?” I asked.
“Oh, those,” he said, glancing at them. “That’s what I have been doing in my spare time for the past two years. I told you I hadn’t shown you all of my drawings.” A corner of one of the pictures was visible; it was my head peeking out from behind a thick and knotted wooden door. My hair was free and flowing to my waist, my eyes wide in surprise. It was the evening William had come to my room. What other moments had he captured?
“Why did you bring them now?” I asked.
“I figured if the rose clipping didn’t work, perhaps my drawings could convince you that I’ve loved you long before that evening in the garden.”
I closed my eyes in pleasure at the sound of William saying he loved me. He slowly lowered me in a movement that caused my whole body to tingle as I slid down his chest. No sooner had my feet touched the ground than he scooped me up again, this time with one arm under my legs and the other cradling my neck.
“I can’t do it. I can’t let you down. I am still afraid you will run away.”
“I will never run away from you, William. You are the kindest man I know.”
“Not for the past few years,” he said with sorrow. “Not to you.”
“I know,” I said. “And it was killing me. I could see evidences of your kindness with your parents, neighbors, and tenants. Heavens—even Daffodil was not ignored like I was! I never could figure out what I had done to be the one person whose heart you could step on and not even notice.”
“I’m so sorry,” he said, nestling his face in my neck. His breath was warm and soft and too delicious for the sensitive skin on my throat to handle. When he pulled away, I released a strained breath. “I was so busy hiding my own heart, I didn’t see yours.”
“But you see it now.”
“I see it now.” He tightened his grip on me and then strode out of the drawing room and through the hall.
We reached the heavy outer door that led to the garden in no time at all. He balanced me precariously in his arms as he turned the handle and then kicked the door open. Cold air surrounded us, and the wind blew my skirt to the side.
“William, I don’t even have a coat!” I exclaimed as my arms tightened around his neck.
“You will have to stay close to me, then. I’ll keep you warm.”
He stumbled a few times as he navigated his way to the oak tree. Just before we reached it, we passed the dry, brown, and scentless rosebushes that lay dormant for the winter. He tripped one more time as we passed them, and our laughter echoed throughout the garden. His eyes met mine, and rather than slowing down, he gathered me tighter in his arms and increased his pace.
As we reached the tree and he finally set me down, I closed my eyes and imagined the garden in the spring. The bushes would be crowned with blossoms and leaves; the scent of roses would hang in the air. The land would come alive, and the time it spent in resting would only have made it stronger.
“Are you cold?” William asked, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear.
I wasn’t. I didn’t think I would ever feel discomfort with him so near. “Yes,” I lied with a wicked smile on my face. “I am very”—his smile deepened—“very cold.” He licked his lips, and I bit the bottom of mine. For once, I was glad William was able to read my thoughts.
Epilogue
Fifteen years later—1834, London
The nursery had plenty of places to sit. Three small wooden chairs were placed near the rocking chair I sat in. A play horse and a small settee were nearby as well. But none of the children used them. Elizabeth, who was only two, sat in my lap, where she belonged. Samuel and John sat on the narrow arms of my chair. Four perpetually moving feet in wool stockings made pointing to the pictures in the book I held a sometimes impossible task. Jacob and Adam stood behind me, at times leaning in and adding another limb to the chaos.
I didn’t blame them. It wasn’t often I pulled out William’s book of drawings.
“What’s that one?” John asked, pointing at the charcoal drawing of my hand reaching for an apple.
“That is me picking an apple off the apple tree at Feldstone,” I answered. “Your father and I used to climb that tree just like Adam and Jacob do now. The apples always taste best when warmed by the sun. Don’t you think?”
I was stalling. It would be at least an hour before William arrived home, and I was doing anything I could to make the time go by faster. Risking William’s book to so many interested fingers was a price I was willing to pay. Samuel, who was eight, began to swing side to side, making the rocking chair rock back and forth. Rather than try to make him stop, I pushed off the floor with my feet, and we rocked back into the older two boys.
“Hey!” they cried out in unison, but we ignored them. They scrambled out of the way, and we rocked faster. Elizabeth squealed in delight, her chubby fingers reaching up and pulling some of my hair out of its chignon. Sam and John each grabbed one of my shoulders to steady themselves. The rocking chair had been a gift from Joseph and Lucinda. They had managed to bring it back with them from India after William’s father had invited them home and told them they could occupy and eventually inherit Campton House. Surrey was a much closer location than India for his granddaughter to grow up. Joseph and Lucinda had returned just in time for Adam’s birth, so the gift was fitting and appreciated.
My ear caught the sound of a commotion downstairs—a door slammed, and voices were raised.
Adam must have heard as well, for his head whipped around and he walked over to the door. “Father’s home!” he said.
I put both feet on the ground to stop the rocking. He was home early, and I hoped that meant good news.
“Rose!” William burst through the door. His eyes were alight, almost translucent silver; even more revealing was his grin. His wide mouth showed most of his teeth as he strode to my side and picked up Elizabeth.
It passed.
