9. A Favor
9
A Favor
Rosalind stood over a pot of boiling water and added slices of peeled pumpkin, careful not to let the bubbles spill over the brim. Though she kept a watchful eye on the pot, her mind was elsewhere.
In just four days, she would be twenty-two. She had spent her entire life anticipating this day and it was finally on the horizon. Somewhere along the way, doubt had crept in and tempered her hopes, and she’d embraced it, fearing the heartbreak that would befall her if the proverb turned out to be untrue.
But her unexpected encounter with Jonathan the night of the council dinner put an end to that fear and loosened the thread of doubt that had wound its way around her heart. The proverb held true, and she would soon be free of her enchantment. She could walk through a crowded room without concern for proximity—propriety aside, of course. She could pass dishes at the dinner table without fear of hurting anyone, or accept a man’s hand for help into a carriage. She could partake in country dances or even waltz with a gentleman.
For all intents and purposes, she would be like everybody else. But would they accept her as such? It was naive to think high society would forget so easily. And what of those who perceived her as an omen of misfortune? Would she continue to bear that burden in their eyes?
Rosalind jabbed at a slice of pumpkin and felt it give way. She removed the pot from the stove and transferred the boiled pumpkin onto a thin layer of cheesecloth. After it had cooled for a few minutes, she tied the cloth taut and squeezed the soft pumpkin, emptying the steaming liquid into a large bowl.
Once finished, she sought out the coachman, Franklin, with pumpkin puree in hand. While she may not be partial to horseback riding, horses themselves were quite majestic and kind. They would appreciate the sweet treat and she enjoyed observing them from afar.
Rosalind was on her way back to the kitchen when a familiar voice called out to her from behind. “Good morning, Miss Rosalind.”
She turned to see Albert approaching her, wheeling a cart behind him. “Albert, how lovely to see you.”
“I have this week’s produce for Maria,” he said as he brought the cart to a stop in front of her. “Though I don’t have anything special for you this time around, I’m afraid.”
Rosalind gave a small chuckle. “I shan’t take offense.”
“I'm only teasing, miss.” He pulled a small bouquet of purple wildflowers from the breast pocket of his vest. “These are for you. Well, I hoped to give these to you if I saw you. If not, I would have likely given them to my mum.” He brought a hand to rub at the back of his neck, a lopsided smile on his lips.
“Oh my.” Rosalind stared wide-eyed at the flowers in his hand. “Th-that is very kind of you,” she stammered.
She started to reach for them but reflexively retreated when her hand neared his. “I’m sorry, I don’t wish to accidentally…” She let her fingers do the rest of the talking, wiggling them in the air.
“Ah, right. How about I set them here on the cart and you can take them from there?” Albert settled the bouquet gently atop the cart.
Rosalind flashed him a reluctant smile and moved to pick up the flowers. “Thank you, Albert. ”
“They reminded me of you.” He slid his hands into his trouser pockets and rocked back and forth on the heels of his feet. “Delicate and pretty,” he added quietly.
Her mouth went dry. “That’s very kind of you.” She found herself repeating her words in the absence of coherent thought.
“Miss Rosalind,” Albert started again, his eyes not meeting hers. “I wish to ask you something.”
“Oh?” she said, voice cracking. She placed her arms behind her back and straightened her spine in an attempt to maintain a calm demeanor.
“If I recall correctly, your upcoming birthday is a significant one.” He kicked at the dirt as he spoke. “And I was wondering if you would do me the honor of joining me for dinner. I could prepare us something or—or if you felt it too forward, perhaps I could accompany you on a stroll through town?”
Rosalind’s heartbeat rang in her ears. She had sensed this was coming and yet, she was still surprised by it. She twisted her hands behind her as she contemplated how to respond. Never had she been asked anything like this before.
“I…” she started. When nothing followed, she shut her mouth and forced her nerves back down her throat. Then she took a few steadying breaths and tried again. “I—”
Her attempt was cut short by a stammering, wide-eyed Albert. “Oh, L-Lord Rashford, good day to you, sir.” He removed his cap and ran a hand through his hair.
Rosalind followed Albert’s eyeline past her shoulder to find Jonathan leaning against the kitchen doorway. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. He wore a burgundy double-breasted suit, the jacket cut at his waist in front and tapering out behind him. Peeking out underneath was a white shirt with black buttons. A gold bar and matching chain adorned his collar. As usual, his dark hair was swept up in a neat coiffure with not a hair out of place .
“Have we been acquainted before?” Jonathan asked as he made his way toward them. His casual stride and affable smile softened what would otherwise be a rather intimidating appearance.
“No, sir,” Albert replied, straightening himself. “The name’s Albert, Albert Burrows. You may recall my father, Andrew Burrows? He’s been delivering to your family for decades. I’ve taken over a few of his routes, you see. Yours being one of them, sir. Been coming here for the last two years now.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Albert.” Jonathan held out his hand.
Albert’s gaze flicked from Jonathan’s outstretched hand to his face and back again. “It’s an honor to make your acquaintance, Lord Rashford.” He eagerly shook Jonathan’s hand. “Chancellor Rashford, that is,” he added hurriedly.
“You do us a great service, bringing us our produce each week. That makes us fast friends, so you should feel free to call me Jonathan if you’re so inclined. Since my return, I have thoroughly enjoyed every meal Maria has prepared, thanks in large part, I suspect, to the fresh foods you deliver. Between you and I”—Jonathan leaned forward conspiratorially—“everything here is more delicious than anything I had back at the capital.”
Jonathan glanced at Rosalind briefly, igniting a trail of gooseflesh along her spine, before returning his attention to Albert.
Albert beamed at the compliment. “Thank you, sir. Means a lot to me, and my pops will be thrilled to hear it.”
Jonathan smiled. “Well, I suppose I should be off. Have an appointment in town later today that I really must prepare for.” He reached between Rosalind and Albert to lift the crate marked Rashford from the cart.
Albert darted forward. “Oh no, sir, I can take— ”
“Not a bother, Albert. It’s the least I can do. Granted, I will need to steal Rosalind here so she can instruct me where best to put this. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Oh yes, of course,” Albert replied. A frantic expression suddenly crossed his face. “I mean, no! W-what I mean to say is yes, I understand, and no, I don’t mind.” He finished with a sheepish chuckle.
Jonathan flashed him a smile. “Again, it has been a true pleasure, Albert. Until next time.” He bowed his head at Albert, then turned to Rosalind. “Shall we?”
Rosalind looked from Jonathan to Albert and back again. She considered him for a moment, then nodded slowly. Turning her attention back to Albert, she smiled. “Thank you again for the flowers.”
Her eyes darted briefly to where Jonathan stood before she lowered her voice and added, “If it’s alright with you, might I give you my answer next week?”
“Certainly, miss. I shall look forward to seeing you then,” Albert said with a hopeful grin. He bowed, and she returned it with one of her own before heading for the kitchen with Jonathan in tow.
“You can set it here,” she said, indicating the table they had sat at five nights ago. Her gaze lingered briefly on the large cabinet beside it before she made her way to the counter where she had been preparing the pumpkin bread earlier.
She was trying to recall the recipe when Jonathan slid a glass of water in front of her. She looked up at him with a quizzical brow.
“For the flowers.”
Rosalind let out a small gasp and peered down at the forgotten bundle of purple wildflowers, held firmly in her hand. Reluctantly, she unwound her fingers, revealing their crumpled stems. “Thank you,” she muttered as she hastily placed them in the water. Unsurprisingly, their pretty petaled heads drooped listlessly over the rim of the glass.
It had been such a thoughtful gesture from Albert. Why hadn’t she held onto them with more care? So much for being delicate.
“Do you plan to accept his invitation?”
Rosalind glanced over at Jonathan, whose back was to her. He appeared to be rummaging through the produce crate.
“Yes, I suppose so,” she answered quietly. “I mean, I should… shouldn’t I?”
Albert had been kind to her. He was polite and patient and seemed to like her regardless of the enchantment. And it wasn’t as if she had a line of suitors waiting for her.
“Do you think Maria would be upset if I ate this?” Jonathan asked, holding up an apple. Before Rosalind could answer, he rubbed it against his sleeve and took a bite. Then he pulled a chair out from under the table and swung a leg over the seat so he sat facing backward. He rested an arm atop the back of the chair and regarded Rosalind.
“If you want to, I don’t see why not,” he said, shrugging. “He seems like a good enough lad. A bit naive perhaps, but I wouldn’t hold that against him.”
“I hadn’t planned to,” she muttered under her breath, a slight furrow forming between her brows. She had half a thought to point out that Albert was only two years younger than him when Jonathan spoke again.
“He isn’t wasting any time, is he? Makes me wonder how long he intends to court you before proposing.”
Rosalind made a strangled noise. “Come again?”
“He doesn’t strike me as someone who takes these things lightly. And if I recall Maria correctly, he’s harbored affections for you for some time now. Given what I witnessed today,” Jonathan explained with raised brows, “he hasn’t much practice in making such advances. That leads me to believe he’s been biding his time to ask you. I don’t know of many men who wait unless their intentions are serious.”
“But he hardly knows me,” Rosalind insisted.
“He’s delivered to our estate for two years now, yes? So he knows you some. Others have married knowing far less,” Jonathan pointed out.
Until a month ago, she had barely let herself imagine a life free of the enchantment. To be able to touch a man—to feel him, to kiss him, to hold him, and to be held by him—was something she was only now beginning to envision, admittedly in vivid detail. She hadn’t yet allowed thoughts of love and companionship, let alone marriage, to take up residence in her mind.
Agitation flickered across her brow again. “Why are you telling me this?” she pressed, not bothering to hide the irritation in her voice.
Jonathan didn’t answer right away. Instead, he set his half-eaten apple down on the table behind him and pushed off the chair. He strolled around the stone counter until he stood catercorner from her. Leaning against the counter’s edge, he said simply, “I figured you’d want to know.”
“How can you be so confident in your assertions about someone you've known for mere minutes?”
A smirk tugged at his lips. “What can I say? I’m good at first impressions. It’s a useful skill in my line of work, you know.”
Rosalind snorted. “And you are never wrong, I take it?”
“Rarely.”
“So you’re saying there’s a chance…”
Jonathan huffed a laugh. “Fine, I will admit there is a tiny, minuscule, almost imperceptible possibility I’m wrong and he doesn’t have his sights set on marriage just yet. Perhaps his motivations are more carnal in nature.” He crossed his arms. “Is that what you want to hear?”
Rosalind drew back. “What? No, I—”
“Good, because frankly, I don’t think he knows how to make head or tail of another’s body.”
“There you go again, making assumptions based on a brief acquaintance,” she shot back. His flippant remarks fueled her irritation, which in turn hampered her ability to think straight. “And for your information, I am plenty familiar with my own body for the both of us.”
“Are you now?”
A blush crept over Rosalind’s cheeks. The retort had sounded cleverer in her head. She knew better than to attempt to match wits with a Rashford, yet she couldn’t stop herself from rising to the bait.
“Oh, please,” she scoffed. “Simply because he isn’t as handsome or charming or refined as you doesn’t give you the right to disparage him so.”
“Handsome, charming, and refined,” he drawled. “You flatter me.”
Rosalind leveled him an icy glare, and he raised his hands in mock surrender. “Your words, not mine.”
She huffed. “Why are you so intent on sullying my perception of him?”
“I’m not,” Jonathan countered. “I’m just being honest—”
“Judgmental,” she interjected. “Suffice it to say, you know your way around another’s body.”
“I do,” he admitted.
“Quite practiced, are you?”
“Who is being judgmental now, hmm?” Jonathan asked pointedly. “I think you overestimate how much free time I’ve enjoyed in the last decade. That said, I’ve been with enough to know I am more than competent. ”
Ashamed of her earlier sentiments, Rosalind looked away. She wrung her hands as she spoke. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“It’s alright. I’m quite the man about town if the gossip columns are to be believed,” he remarked sardonically. “Apparently, the allure of one’s name in the papers proves too tempting to some, regardless of what may or may not have actually happened.”
How awful. She would never do such a thing if they were to…
“I know.”
She stiffened. Slowly, she raised her gaze to meet Jonathan’s. His eyes searched hers as if to uncover the dregs of her thoughts. So it was as she feared—she had voiced it aloud.
As they bickered, an indecent idea had taken root in the farthest corner of her mind. Born of her own curiosity and desire and sustained by Jonathan’s allusions to intimacy, its tendrils sprouted and quickly weaved their way into her consciousness. They tangled with her every thought and emotion, and she couldn’t ignore it any longer.
“What if—” she started, then stopped as the air in her lungs left her. She sucked in a shaky breath and tried again. “Would you—” Again, the words abandoned her. It was too absurd to voice aloud.
Jonathan leaned forward. “Go on,” he coaxed. “Would I what, Ros?”
Rosalind’s heart was racing so fast that she glanced down to reassure herself it hadn’t burned a hole in her chest. She looked back up to find Jonathan watching her intently. It was a miracle her legs didn’t give way. Mustering up every ounce of courage in her body, she opened her mouth to try again.
“If I wanted to know what it was like, would you”—she swallowed—“sh-show me?” Her breath stilled as she waited for his response.
Jonathan held her stare for a moment longer before straightening himself and smoothing out the front of his jacket .
“Huh, I rather thought you were going to ask me to grab you something from the top shelf of the pantry before I left. It seems I was wrong.”
The color drained from her face as he spoke. It wasn’t until his lips curved into a sly smile that she realized he was teasing her. Conflicting emotions rushed in, and she wasn’t sure whether to laugh, shout, or cry. Ultimately, she resorted to her preferred course of action—retreat. She pushed away from the counter and started for the doorway.
She had only made it a few steps when Jonathan caught her hand. “Ros, wait. Please.”
It was their first touch of the day. Their first since their lips had met in this very room. She couldn’t very well ignore it. Sighing, Rosalind turned to face him.
“I was only teasing, but I shouldn’t have,” he admitted. “Forgive me.”
He stepped forward, narrowing the gap between them. “My answer is yes. That is if the request still stands.”
She eyed her hand, still clasped in his, then raised her eyes to meet his. “It does,” she said quietly.
“If you change your mind at any point, I won’t take offense. And I’ll leave it to you to decide when—”
“The night of my birthday.” The words tumbled out before she could gather her wits.
Jonathan gave a soft chuckle. “And so it shall be. Funny thing, I was wrestling with what to give you this year. I suppose I have my answer now.”
“Good luck finding a ribbon large enough for such a gift,” she quipped.
He rubbed a hand behind his neck. “Well,” he drawled, “I think you’ll find a modest-sized ribbon will do the trick just as well. ”
Rosalind bit back a smile, but it wasn’t long before a pang of worry sobered her thoughts. There was one more thing she needed to say to him, needed him to understand. Her hand slipped from Jonathan’s and into her own as she readied herself. Hands wringing, she cleared her throat.
“Jonathan,” she began, her voice wavering, “I want you to know that you needn’t worry about me. I won’t make anything more of this than what it is—a favor or a gift or what have you—from one friend to another. I value our history and friendship far too much to allow myself to jeopardize it. One night is all it shall be, I swear it. I won’t ask for anything more. I won’t want for anything more. And it'll just be between us, of course.”
Having been too nervous to meet his gaze earlier, Rosalind now risked a glance at him. He was regarding her with a look she couldn’t decipher, though she could see the gears at work behind his eyes. It felt as though there was an eternity of silence. For a brief moment, she worried he might reconsider and her heart sank a little at the thought, but then his features slackened and one corner of his lips drew up into a half-smile.
“That makes the two of us, then, as I would also not wish to tarnish our friendship especially when we are only just becoming reacquainted. So, as you so delicately put it, but a favor it will be.”
At this, they both smiled at one another. Rosalind felt hers falter slightly as her eyes swept across his face, only to find that his smile did not yield the small dimple she sought.
“Well, I probably should get back to it or Maria will have my head,” she said, injecting levity into her voice. She pointed to the ingredients on the counter.
“Ah, yes, the, uh…” He gestured aimlessly around as if attempting to pull the word from the air.
“Pumpkin bread,” she chimed in.
“Oh? That sounds lovely. ”
Rosalind nodded. “And thank you again”—she hesitated briefly—“for doing me this favor.” She nervously brushed at a non-existent piece of lint from her skirt.
To her surprise, Jonathan stepped close and leaned down so that his mouth settled beside her ear. He held his arms behind his back as if to ensure he did not incite the enchantment.
“I mean this in more ways than one, Ros. It will be my pleasure. And yours as well, if I can help it.”
And with that, he left her near breathless in the kitchen. His words echoed in her ear as she absentmindedly returned to her preparations. It would undoubtedly be her worst attempt at pumpkin bread yet.