Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Rose was feeling more excited than usual. Dammit, she was buzzing with nervous energy, so she could hardly stand still. She spent the whole morning pacing the manor, unable to stay in one place for too long lest her body explode!
Where is it? It should be here by now. Why is it taking so long?
It was two days after Rose and Christopher shared supper with Lady Honora, and since that evening, Rose and Christopher’s relationship had improved even further than it had been.
It was as if introducing Rose to his aunt and revealing to Rose that part of his life had awakened something inside of her husband.
He was more attentive than usual. He was more willing to spend time with her. He was affectionate, like he had not been before. He was damn handsy, even, and more than once they stole kisses when none of the staff were watching.
Their marriage was coming along in leaps and bounds, and Rose was beyond grateful for how hard Christopher was trying. For that reason, she decided to get him a gift to show him her appreciation.
As for that gift and what it was…
It arrived shortly after midday on the second day following the supper. Rose had made sure to instruct the staff of its arrival, as well as ordering them not to tell Christopher about it. It was to be a secret, and she wanted to be there when she revealed it to him.
“Would you like some help carrying this, Your Grace?” Mr. Carter asked when he handed the gift to Rose.
“No, no,” she assured him as she awkwardly took the gift; it was large and cumbersome, and she needed both hands to carry it. “I am quite fine.”
“But Your Grace –”
“I told you, Mr. Carter, I am quite capable.” She managed to find her balance with the gift. “What I need from you, Mr. Carter, is a warning. When His Grace returns home, you are to come and find me immediately. Is that understood?”
Mr. Carter eyed her with great disapproval. “As you say, Your Grace…”
With the gift held firmly in her hands, Rose hurried through the manor and in the direction of Christopher’s bedroom.
Upon reaching it, she teetered in the doorway, suddenly feeling a little indecisive about stepping into his private sanctuary.
She knew how much Christopher coveted this section of the house as his own, and she did not want to upset him by breaking his trust.
He will understand, surely? Once he sees what I have done for him.
The decision was made, and she hurried into his room… and then into the orangery built off its side.
Rose was shaking with excitement as she stepped into the orangery. It was a sunny day, and the room was bright and warm as the sun streamed through the glass walls and roof. She looked around and found a table to put the gift down, which she did with much care, not wanting to drop it.
Then she stood back, hands on her hips, and inspected the gift as she tried to decide where to put it.
Her brow furrowed, and she expanded her gaze over the orangery in search of a plot of earth that was freshly soiled and in need of a new flower.
Oh yes, the gift that Rose had bought for Christopher was a flower for his garden.
Better than that, it was a rose. Better than that, it was a bushel of roses!
She did not know their technical name, only that they were bright pink, yet to bloom fully, and would make a welcome addition to the garden.
I like to think that every time he sees them, he will think of me. Better that every time he does, he smiles, because here there is nobody to watch and judge him for it.
She laughed gaily when she found the perfect spot to plant them, and then she fell to her knees… but paused when she saw the problem at hand. To plant them properly, she needed to dig through the dirt, and to do that, she needed a spade.
“A spade… a spade…” she said to herself as she climbed back to her feet and looked about. “Surely, he has a spade somewhere…”
Rose searched the orangery, frustration mounting as she could not find a spade anywhere. She had assumed one would be hanging from the wall or lying about, but seeing as this was the Duke, a man who did not like mess or things being out of place, she supposed that was too much to hope.
In an act of desperation, she started opening random cupboards, thinking that one must be hanging up inside. That was when she found it… ‘it’ not being a space, or anything close.
What she found was a small book, old and frayed at the edges, with no title on the front, but with each page written on. Her hands trembled as she opened the book, eyes scanning the pages. She tried not to read what was written, and mostly she did a pretty good job. Mostly…
Father says that I am not to speak with her again. He would not tell me why, only that it was for the best. I wish I knew the reason, because I love visiting Aunt Honora and playing in her garden. What does it matter if I do or do not speak with her maid? Why does he care?
Rose’s brow began to sweat as she turned the pages…
I found Father crying today. When I asked him why, he told me that a dear friend of his had passed away, and he would say nothing more about it, only that he loved this friend dearly and would miss them.
Rose licked her lips, still turning the pages of what she was starting to realize had to be Christopher’s journal from when he was a child.
It all makes sense now, and yet I am not sure how I feel about it. Why did they not tell me sooner? Why all the secrecy? And why did they not give me a chance to get to know her better? If they had never told me, it would have been for the better…
Rose turned another page, from which a loose piece of parchment fell to the ground. She gasped and scooped it up, unfurling the folded parchment on instinct. It was a simple drawing, done in pencil, of a young woman and a young boy standing together in what had to be Lady Honora’s garden.
Rose looked at the drawing, her brow furrowing… her heart racing… her fingers trembling… the realization dawning on her, at which point she gasped and nearly stumbled back into a row of orchids.
The boy in the drawing was undoubtedly Christopher, and he looked roughly the same age as he had in the portrait at Lady Honora’s home.
But the woman was one whom she did not recognize.
Rose thought it must have been his mother, for the way she stood with her arms around him, and how happy she looked, suggested as much.
Only, she didn’t look at all like the woman from the portrait. This woman was beautiful, with sharp features, bright eyes, and a smile that was like the sun on a summer’s day.
Rose bit into her lip as she looked closer… something wasn’t quite right… something about the woman seemed familiar, even if she could not say what…
“Oh my god…” Rose gasped when she finally understood.
It all came together for her suddenly. The secrecy surrounding Christopher’s childhood. The reason he acted the way he did. Why did he not want to marry, why was he so careful not to draw attention to himself, and the true meaning of this garden, and why it was so important to him.
Rose’s heart was racing. She struggled to comprehend what all of this meant. She thought to put the journal away and pretend that she never found it, while also wanting to go to Christoper and ask him if it was true.
But what if it is true? Then what? It’s no wonder Christopher was so slow to trust me…
“What are you doing in here?” The voice was like a hammer smashing against a pane of glass.
Rose gasped and looked up, and she nearly cried out in surprise to see Christoper standing in the doorway.
“Rose…” His expression was typically stern, and it grew more so when he saw the journal in her hand and when he saw the drawing that she was holding. “Where did you get that?”
“I… I…” She didn’t know what to say. “I…”
“I can explain,” he said, taking a step into the room. He looked worried, damn near terrified, as if fearful that the ceiling might suddenly collapse and bury them both. “Please, allow me to explain.”