Chapter 22 #2
As Christopher had warned Rose, Honora was certainly lively. An eccentric character, and Rose could tell right away that she was going to like her.
The only curiosity that persisted was that niggling sensation that something wasn’t quite right here. How could someone like this have been so closely involved in Christopher’s life and not have influenced his personality? It was a question that Rose hoped would be answered over supper.
“So, tell me of the wedding,” Honora began once they were seated in the dining room and waiting for their food to be served. “How was it? I am sure it was beautiful, even if I was not there.”
“Honora,” Christopher sighed. “I told you why I did not invite you. And you assured me that you were fine with it.”
“I was at the time,” Honora agreed. “But I have since changed my mind. Silly me, wanting to see my nephew wed such a beautiful creature as this. Shame on me.”
Rose chuckled. “Oh, you didn’t miss too much. It was a rather standard affair.”
Honora snorted. “Which I am sure that my nephew had everything to do with. He always was lacking in imagination, wasn’t he?” She made sure to wink, just as she made sure that Christopher saw it.
“So, you were close to Christopher as a child?” Rose asked, sensing her chance.
“Very,” Honora said rightly. “Like that of a mother, just about.”
“Honora…” Christopher looked at her with warning.
“What?” Honora asked. “She asked, and I answered.” She shook her head and then leaned across the table toward Rose, purposefully cutting Christopher out. “You are likely wondering why Christopher is such a…” She clicked her tongue. “Grump.”
Rose laughed, and Christopher groaned.
“It was his father,” she said. “My brother. A wonderful man, and do not let anyone tell you differently. But he is much like Christopher in temperament and nature. Truly, the two are spitting images of one another…” She looked at Christopher and smiled.
“Which is why I have always had such a soft spot for him, I suppose.”
“I am to assume that Christopher was a child of little humor then?” Rose asked lightly, making sure to grin at Christopher, who was looking more uncomfortable by the second.
“Not always,” Honora said. “In truth, as a child, he was rather buoyant. Free-spirited and even fun, if you can believe it. Alas, all boys must grow into men, and it was around the time that puberty struck when he became a real stick in the mud.”
Rose burst into laughter, and even more so when she saw Christopher squirm.
Supper was a revealing experience to say the least. Throughout, Honora spoke freely of Christopher and his father, happy to regale them both with tales from the Duke’s childhood.
Some were embarrassing. Some were in appraisement.
And many seemed designed specifically to try and get a response out of Christopher.
As she listened, Rose took note of her husband and how he was reacting to all of this.
Before they had arrived, Rose had wondered if she might be treated tonight to the other side of her husband, the one that was slowly coming to the fore, the more comfortable he grew around her—that which laughed and made jokes and could poke fun at himself.
Instead, Rose was disappointed to see Christopher revert to his old self. He was serious and no-nonsense. He was stern and judgmental. And most of all, he was awkward and careful, saying little but watching his aunt closely, always ready to jump in when he feared she would go too far.
“I often wonder what might have happened if his mother had not passed,” Honora said at one point, sighing with a sense of sadness.
“What was she like?” Rose asked.
“Oh, she was –”
Christopher cleared his throat and raised a warning eyebrow at Honora. Honor frowned in argument, Christopher continued to watch her warningly, and Honora sighed and shook her head.
“She was lovely,” was what she ended up saying. “A true gem.” Once that was said, the topic of Christopher’s mother was not raised again.
After supper, Honora announced that she was giving them a tour of the manor. Christopher sighed and moaned about it, as he had been here a hundred times, but Honora ignored him. She took Rose by the hand, and the two walked out in front as she led her through the halls.
Mostly, the tour brought few revelations. But that changed when they entered the main drawing room.
“Ah, here it is!” Honora led Rose toward the back wall, and she beamed as she showed off a family portrait hanging above the fireplace. “What do you think?”
Rose frowned, not entirely certain what she was supposed to say. “It is… lovely work.”
Honora snorted. “I take it you do not recognize the muse?”
“The muse…” Rose furrowed her brow and looked closer at the portrait. It was of three people: a brooding male, a plain-looking woman, and a young boy of about eight.
The brooding male was the one who took Rose’s attention at first. There was something familiar about the man, in particular his eyes; they were grey colored, cold, and emotionally distant. Next, she looked at the young boy, and that was when she realized who he was.
“Oh!” Her eyes widened. “Christopher! It’s you!” She spun about, smiling broadly, expecting Christopher to be at the very least smirking to see her so happy. Instead, he almost looked ill.
“It is,” he said.
“As you can see, little has changed,” Honora said. “A grump then, and a grump today. You see his father…” She pointed to the brooding male standing behind the younger Christopher. “You can see where he gets it from.”
Rose laughed. “I do. And this must be your mother…” She stepped in closer, eyes narrowing on the plain woman who stood by Christopher’s father.
“She is… I guess I can see the resemblance.” Rose frowned as her eyes flicked from the woman to Christopher.
“You have the same chin… but her hair is lighter, as are her eyes.”
“It often happens that way.” Honora swept in and took Rose by the hand, pulling her attention off the portrait. “That a child looks more like one than the other. But I can assure you, she is his mother.” Honora laughed a little too loudly.
“Honora…” Christopher’s expression darkened.
“What did I say?”
It was another strange interaction, and Rose was sure to notice it this time.
Every time Christopher’s mother was mentioned, Christopher became upset, even angry, and Honora turned even more hysterical than usual.
For some reason, he did not like talking about her, and Rose could not help but wonder if it had something to do with this relationship and why Christopher was the way that he was.
She wanted to ask. She wanted to pry. She wanted answers! But now was not the time. Not yet… not until I can prove to Christopher that he can trust me.
The final stop on the tour was the most surprising of all…
“The best for last!” Honora announced as she ushered them both into a private room located on the bottom floor of the manor, right in the very back corner, so that it would not be stumbled upon by accident.
It was dark outside, which made the room hard to gauge at first, especially when considering that the walls and ceiling were made from glass, and there was no light anywhere to be found. It thus took a moment for her eyes to adjust… or rather, her nose.
Rose smelt it before she saw it. The smell of freshly cut grass, of blooming flowers, of nature and all things good and beautiful growing throughout the small orangery. Her eyes widened, and her smile grew as her eyes adjusted and she took in the room properly for the first time.
“Oh my!” Rose gasped, turning on the spot so that she could see the greenery; how it grew up the walls, spread along the floor, enveloped the entire room so it looked like a small forest. “This is…”
“I can’t believe you kept it.” Christoper stepped in beside her. “After all this time?”
“Of course I did, Christopher,” Honora said. “Of course I did.”
“What does that mean?” Rose tore her eyes from the room and found Christopher and Honora looking at one another strangely.
Christopher wore the slightest of smiles, and Honora’s eyes twinkled in the darkness. It was as if they were having a shared conversation, one about a memory that both had experienced, and that Honora was just now reminding him of.
“Nothing…” Christopher tore his eyes free, and he was still smiling when he did. “I am just surprised that this still exists.”
“I wasn’t going to tear it down,” Honora said rightly. “How could I? When my little nephew always loved it so much.” Honora took Rose’s hand and led her deeper into the orangery. “When Christopher was a boy, he used to love coming here. Didn’t you?”
“I did,” Christopher chuckled.
“So, this is where he gets it from?” Rose said. “I had wondered about that. Have you always loved gardening?”
“Me? No, I can’t stand it,” Honora said without humor.
“This here…” She indicated proudly to the orangery.
“This was the brainchild of one of my maids, if you believe that! Ha!” She shook her head.
“She conceived it when I was ill one time, thought it might cheer me up. And the hours she put into it…” She sighed and shook her head at the memory. “I couldn’t very well tear it down.”
“Where is she now?” Rose asked. “The maid, I mean?”
It was a fair question, Rose thought, and certainly not deserving of the tense reaction given to her by both Honora and Christopher. They looked at one another again, expressions suddenly stern… even a warning in Christopher’s eyes for his aunt not to say anything.
“She has passed on, sadly,” Honora answered. “Years ago, now.”
“It is unimportant,” Christopher grumbled, and he turned away as if he meant to flee the room suddenly.
“I don’t understand…” Rose looked between them, still confused. “If you didn’t do this yourself, why did Christopher develop such a love for gardening? I assumed you might have built it together?”
Another fair question, and another answered with an awkward silence and more strange looks exchanged between Christopher and Honora.
Once again, Rose was desperate to push and find out more. That niggling sense that something was going on here… a secret shared… one that both aunt and nephew were desperate to keep hidden.
No… not yet. Christopher and I have come so far, but we are nowhere near close enough yet that I might risk everything on what might be nothing at all. If he wants me to know, he will tell me.
It was a strange evening, and not at all what Rose had expected.
In many ways, it was a success, as she was given a keen insight into her husband beyond what she already knew. But the night also had the effect of raising more questions than what was answered, and Rose could not help but wonder when, or if, those questions would ever be given a proper answer.
“Well, that was relatively painless,” Christopher sighed once they were back in the carriage and on their way home.
Rose laughed. “Oh, it wasn’t that bad. I rather enjoyed myself.”
“I am sure you did,” he snorted.
“What does that mean?”
He rolled his eyes. “My aunt. The two of you have a little too much in common.”
“Such as?”
He looked at her flatly. “For one thing, you both have the unique ability to make me feel uncomfortable. I might have guessed it was done on purpose.”
Rose laughed as she took his hand and placed it in her lap. “Come now, we both know I am far more adept at making you feel uncomfortable than your aunt is.”
“You almost sound proud.”
If Rose had not known Christopher as well as she did, she might have thought it strange how different he acted now that they were alone. He wasn’t as stiff as he had been all evening, and he looked nowhere near as uncomfortable.
For whatever reason, being reminded of his childhood brought out the worst in Christopher, and Rose knew that they would never be truly comfortable with one another until she knew why that was.
“I am still rather impressed by that garden,” Rose said, thinking it best to change the topic. “It was beautiful.”
“It was, wasn’t it?” A smile touched his lips.
“Although I did notice that one thing was missing.”
“And what is that?” he laughed curiously.
“I noticed it in your garden too. In fact, I am inclined to feel insulted by the omission.” She shifted herself to face him, and she raised a judgmental eyebrow.
“Omission?” He frowned and leaned back. “What are you talking about?”
“Of all the flowers and plants that you and your aunt have managed to cram into such a small space, I did not see a single rose anywhere.” She scowled at him as if upset. “No wonder you were so against marrying me.”
He laughed and kissed the back of her hand. “Would you be upset if I told you how much I hate roses?”
She gasped. “How dare you!”
“How about, how much I used to hate roses…” He kissed her hand again. “Lately, I have started to come around on them.”
“Is that right?” she grinned.
He shrugged. “Even I am capable of change.”
“When pressed hard enough…”
“When there is a good enough reason to be,” he countered.
They sat looking at one another. It was dark in the carriage, so that only the Duke’s eyes were truly clear.
But in them, Rose saw his smile, and she felt it in her heart.
Despite how strange tonight had been, and despite how much she still had to learn about her husband, it was undeniable how far they had come together.
And because of this change between them, when she noticed Christopher leaning in closer, she did not start in surprise. Rather, Rose beamed, and her heart swelled, and she moved forward to meet his lips as if on instinct.
They kissed passionately in the back of the carriage. A kiss not brought on by anger or emotion, like the last time. A kiss not done to change the subject or confirm anything between them. It was a kiss that was perfectly natural, which is why it felt so right.
Rose was well past the point of ‘falling for’ her husband. She had already fallen, head over heels, and the kiss confirmed it. Like a flower given sunlight and soil, their love was blooming in real time, and Rose could not wait to see where it led them next.
What was more, based on the way that her husband kissed her, Rose sensed that he was of the exact same mind.