Chapter 4 #2
“Oh.” The single word escaped her lips like a prayer—or a curse—he couldn’t tell which.
Her face cycled through a dozen emotions—surprise, recognition, something that looked almost like joy before it shuttered behind that careful reserve again.
“I suppose I should call you Lord Balfour. I…I didn’t recognize you.
You’re so…” She gestured vaguely at him, then dropped her hand. “Different.”
“Eleven years will do that.” He kept his voice gentle, though his heart battered against his ribs. “And call me James. My brothers and I decided a long time ago not to use our titles here.”
She studied him, as though searching out the reasons for that choice.
He’d gladly tell her—they weren’t deep or any great secret.
Maybe in England his father was the Duke of Clarence, a powerful member of the House of Parliament and distant cousin of Queen Victoria.
But here in American lands, he was just a regular person, liked and respected for what he did, not his lineage. All his brothers felt the same.
But Rose didn’t ask. Instead, she looked away, staring at the aspens like they might offer escape. “Thank you for offering me a ride.” She glanced back with a tight smile. “I’m glad it’s you and not a stranger.”
She didn’t look particularly glad. Not with the pressed line of her mouth.
What had he done to make her dislike him?
She and her mother had left so many years ago, but he’d never been aware of saying or doing anything to hurt her.
Of course, his days had been dark during that time, what with Mother’s passing.
Then with Rose leaving too… The entire year felt like a murky fog.
Something cold settled in his gut now as he watched her not meet his gaze. This wasn’t the reunion he’d imagined during all those sleepless nights.
He’d thought his letters must not have reached her. But maybe she really didn’t ever want to see him or his family again. Had her mother turned her against them? His memories of Mrs. Prescott were only pleasant. She’d been his own mother’s best friend, as well as her lady’s maid.
He had to tell Rose the job she came for was with his family, though he hated the thought of her response. If she harbored ill feelings toward the Balfours, she might not be willing to work for them. Yet there was no sense in riding farther only to turn back if she decided not to take the position.
“Rose.” He kept his voice careful, gentle. “The job you’re traveling to—it’s with my family. At our ranch.”
Her face went perfectly still, like a deer that just caught the scent of a hunter. “Your family?”
“We need help for Mrs. Wang—she’s getting on in years, and with my sister-in-law expecting…” He let the words trail off, watching the way Rose’s grip tightened on her bag. “We’d love for you to come home.”
“Home.” She repeated the word as though it were foreign on her tongue. Something flicked in her eyes—longing, perhaps, or pain. “I see.”
The flatness in her voice made his chest tighten even more. He held his breath, torn between hoping she’d stay and fearing what it might mean if she did.
This wasn’t the eager, trusting girl who used to follow him through the meadows. This Rose looked like she might bolt at any sudden movement.
“Mrs. Wang is still there?” Something shifted in her voice—the first genuine warmth since she’d spoken his childhood name.
“Still there. Still keeping us all straight.” He managed a smile. “She’s asked about you through the years. Wondered what became of Margaret Prescott’s little songbird.”
For a moment, her careful mask slipped. Grief welled in her eyes, and something deeper—a longing so sharp it made his chest ache.
“Mama died a few years ago.” The words came out lifeless, practiced, like she’d had to say them too many times.
“I’m sorry.” The statement felt so inadequate, but he meant it. “She was a good woman. My mother’s dearest friend.”
Rose nodded stiffly, looking away toward the mountains. “She was.”
After a moment, her gaze dropped to her hands. “Mrs. Wang…she taught me to make her special dumplings. Does she still serve them?”
“She does.” A spark of hope lit inside him at the softening in Rose’s voice. “They’re my favorites.”
They sat in silence, the aspens rustling overhead. A hawk circled high above the meadow, riding the mountain wind with lazy grace.
He had to give her an out, in case that’s what she truly wanted. He wouldn’t force her to come. “If you don’t want to take the position, I can drive you back to Butte. Or arrange passage wherever you’d rather go. No questions asked.”
Rose stayed quiet so long, it seemed she might not answer. When she finally spoke, her voice came out barely audible. “What would the work entail? Exactly?”
“Helping Mrs. Wang with the cooking, the cleaning. Some mending, perhaps. Keeping my sister-in-law company—Mandie, Enoch’s wife. She gets lonely with the men out working the ranch all day.” He paused. “Nothing you haven’t done before, from what I remember.”
“And your brothers? Are they all still there?”
He nodded. “Enoch, Robert, and Thomas. Enoch is married, of course, and they’re expecting a babe in another month or so.
” He studied her profile, the ache rising in his throat at this next part.
Both for him, and for her, hearing the news fresh.
“Will passed last year. An accident with one of the colts in training.”
That still felt surreal to say. Will had been so strong and capable. To think he was gone…forever…
Rose gasped, and she spun back to him as her hand moved to cover her mouth. “Will? Oh, Jamie.” The old nickname slipped out again, and with it came another crack in her careful composure. “I’m so sorry. He was so… He was always so kind to me.”
This was the Rose he remembered—the one whose heart broke for others’ pain, who’d once cried when they found a baby bird fallen from its nest.
He nodded. “He would have been glad to see you again. They all will be.”
She remained quiet another long moment, her fingers worrying the edge of her glove. When she spoke again, her voice had regained that careful control. “The position—it would include room and board?”
“Your own room, the same one you and your mother shared. Meals with the family.”
Emotions played across her features—hope warring with fear, longing battling with some deep-seated caution.
“Would it be…” She hesitated, then straightened her shoulders, and her tone turned more business-like.
“Would it be acceptable if I stayed for a trial period? Two weeks, perhaps? To see if the arrangement suits everyone?”
The tension slipped from his chest. “Of course.” He kept the eagerness out of his voice, though his heart already raced ahead to the moment she’d walk through the familiar doors of the ranch house.
“And if it doesn’t work out, I’ll personally see you get safe passage back to… wherever you’d like to go.”
She nodded, though he caught the flicker of something—gratitude, perhaps, or simply relief—before she looked away to the mountains again. “Then I accept. For two weeks.”
“Good.” He turned back to the horses, releasing the brake. “If we push, we should reach the ranch by nightfall.”