Chapter Five
Rose wasn’t asleep, but sitting up with her stomach in coils of pain. Nerves, according to Lyddie, their maid.
When Greer, the butler-cum-valet, knocked on the door and presented her with a sealed letter, Rose’s stomach sank down to her ankles and weighed her down like lead ingots. She could barely nod and stagger back to her pillows, her limbs heavy and lungs airless.
The letter was bound to be an expression of sentiments from Captain Bryce. Even though she did not know what was said, she knew Locke had not been joined in the garden by her father and their other guest. Despite Locke’s early absence, her father and Bryce had spoken for an hour or more downstairs before she heard their footsteps traveling down the corridor.
Only one thing could cause her father to fail in his hosting duties to Sir Edmund, whom he had always spoken of with great admiration.
He and Bryce were establishing the terms of betrothal. Her dowry. Her father’s blessing.
I don’t want to be married to Bryce. I don’t want to leave Surrey and move to London, even if the house is grand and there are servants everywhere.
I shall barely have any garden. I wonder what sort of books Captain Bryce will have? Will he forbid his wife to read?
No, I can’t. I don’t want to.
The list of things she did not want was piling high in her panicked heart, but they kept circling back to Bryce himself.
He doesn’t even love me. He doesn’t think I’m much to look at. While I must admit he cuts a fine figure, I don’t love him, either. He overpowers me without even trying—and I’m not the only one. Ivy looked utterly besotted with him.
Rose knew her younger sisters were far more beautiful. Their mother always delighted in dressing and styling her younger daughters to give the greatest advantage to their natural graces. With Rose... Mrs. Lycombe tried earnestly, but Rose knew it was her own awkwardness and penchant for wandering outside or squirreling away with her father’s books that had caused her mother to all but give up on the idea of making her look more presentable to suitors.
Bryce’s eyes lingered on Ivy all night...
Yet he’s settling for me. I suppose I must settle for him.
But thoughts of belonging to someone who didn’t love her or even want her with any sort of longing...
Her mother whisked through the door in her nightgown and dressing gown, a finger to her lips. “Oh, Rose!” she whispered in an excited hiss as she shut the door behind her. “It is all but arranged. Bryce has asked your father if he’ll consent to his proposal!” Her mother flew to the bed and squeezed her shoulders, kissing her on the forehead. “What a handsome man he is, my dear! You’ll be the envy of every woman in Surrey!”
“Shall I?” Rose asked, sliding the note under her covers. She couldn’t bear to read it with her mother watching.
“Well, it’s true he’s not quite as wealthy as we would have liked, nor does he have a title, but that would be marrying a fair bit above yourself. As there are no eligible young men in the region who would want a wife who brings so little in the way of property or income, Bryce is by far the best you can do. I was afraid the curate might take it in his head to approach you.”
“The curate is very nice, Mama! He reads beautifully and has a most angelic voice. Not only that, but have you seen how patient he is with the children and how ardently he is trying to bring that old apple tree by the vicarage back to life? I think if he attempted a graft—”
“No. No, Rose, none of your flights of fancy about seeds and sticks now.” Her mother’s glare silenced her. “We must have other talks, about your trousseau and your wedding dress, and you must start embroidering your linens as soon as possible.”
“He hasn’t asked me to marry him!” Rose protested, feeling the note under the cover burn like a hot coal. “Not to my knowledge. Does he not have to at least do me the courtesy of asking me?”
“Well, he’ll get around to it. He has to ask your father first, that’s the gentlemanly thing to do.”
Rose heartily wished all gentlemen would have to be women for a month or two and see how they liked being treated as infants without an opinion in their heads.
“He’ll have to leave early in the morning to rejoin his regiment. He only had permission for an overnight leave, so see that you’re up very early, or else it’ll be at least another fortnight before he returns. I’d rather this was all settled by then. I’m sure this isn’t good for my liver.” Mrs. Lycombe pressed a hand to the small of her back and another to her bosom.
“That’s not the liver, Mother. Neither of those.”
“You shouldn’t know such things! Have you been looking at your father’s books again? Why that man doesn’t keep you out of his study...” Mrs. Lycombe rolled her eyes heavenward and rocked backward, both hands on her spine.
“It’s your kidneys, Mother, and my being unwed cannot cause you any ailment in that area.” Rose wrung her hands and took to her feet, pacing by the windows. “All is arranged?”
There is no hope then.
“Near enough. Now, don’t fret, my dear. He’ll ask, and your father has agreed you shall accept. That was how he left it, that Bryce will have the boon of asking you himself.”
“And... A-and what if I said no?” Rose asked faintly.
“Oh, you wouldn’t, you silly thing! You’ve no other offers, and Captain Bryce will be snapped up like a sausage if you hesitate a moment!” Her mother laughed.
Rose seethed. How could her mother be so blind? “I dare say Ivy is more to Bryce’s taste, Mama.”
“Well, yes, she is very lovely and looks far too womanly for her age. But you well know that your father will not have her ‘out’ until you are wed or she turns eighteen, whichever is first. Captain Bryce will soon see he got the far better bargain in you, my girl. Ivy is meant to be the wife of a wealthy man, one who will indulge her. She wouldn’t do as an officer’s wife.”
“Mother—”
“Gracious! Can it be eleven? You must fall asleep quickly, Rose, or else you’ll be dull-eyed when Captain Bryce makes his offer in the morning!”
With that, her mother was gone, and Rose found herself back on her bed, shoulders beginning to quiver with the sobs she couldn’t release for fear others would hear her.
She’d have to go to her father privately, very early in the morning.
“But who gets up earlier than a regimental soldier? No one, other than a farmer.” Rose flopped down on her bed and felt the rustle of paper next to her ear.
Perhaps Bryce had already proposed—on paper. Perhaps he’d done it clumsily and in such a boorish way that her father would have to let her refuse.
With a faint note of hope in her heart, Rose rolled to yank the letter from its hiding place.
The white wax seal looked familiar—an oval with an L.
Where have I seen such a thing? It looks less like a seal and more like a signet ring, rather like the one Papa gave Charles when he entered his final year of school.
Yes, a ring that she had seen only in passing, very recently.
Sir Edmund’s ring?
Yes, she was certain it was!
“Why should he be writing to me?” Rose pried up the seal with her finger, heart beating faster in agitation.
As she read, her eyes grew wide, and the tiny note of hope turned into an entire chorus.
ROSE PULLED SOME FINE, lilac-tinted paper across the small desk in the corner of her room. She hoped her mother would not decide to return, drawn by the glimmer of candlelight coming under the door.
Her hands were shaking and wet, so she smoothed them down her plain white cotton nightgown.
What could Sir Edmund see in me? He is a man of property, with a title, and he’s much older. He lives and travels abroad—but perhaps that is only for business, and he’ll let me remain at Cadfael House, and I shall visit home every week or so. I can have Lily and Ivy come to stay!
Rose read the letter again, her shaking puffs of breath threatening to extinguish the candle.
He does not speak of love.
But he praises me. He is certainly perceptive, not just about my attributes—such as they are—but also about Bryce’s assets—or shortcomings. It all depends on the couple, does it not? A strutting rooster would have no use for a quiet garden mouse.
How Bryce struts. No, clearly I am suitable for his use—but not as his lover.
A hot flush swept up Rose’s cheeks. The world was changing, and Queen Victoria’s rule showed that women were capable of wielding great power.
I don’t want great power—only enough that I should be given a choice in how I spend the rest of my life.
Locke appears stern and solemn—as if he has no enjoyment in anything.
Bryce takes joy in everything—but sometimes far too much in himself.
Dear, oh dear.Rose reverted to pacing, still clutching Sir Edmund’s letter. Would I rather be with a man who is always effusive or one who never is?
That answer ought to be so simple. Obviously, she should choose a joyful, amiable spouse.
Rose paused by the window, pressing her cheek to the cool glass.
Life with Bryce would be a whirl of gaiety—unless Bryce was called off to war. Rose pressed her hand to her side. That thought added a whole new level of worry.
Either way, in war or peace, an officer is never alone. She would be forever surrounded by other officers and their wives unless she remained locked away in London.
Only extremes and the unfamiliar.
Locke, on the other hand...
His words on the paper were so different from his demeanor at dinner and the few whispered remarks she’d heard about him. He had been observant and kind in the garden, complimentary of her flower arrangements and knowledge.
Locke’s letter made her stomach tighten in a way that she could not understand, with a different sort of anxiousness. It didn’t feel like worry, more like excitement—as if somewhere, hidden between his words, there was a secret for her to discover.
Why should he offer me such an opportunity? Why should he allow me the honor of being his wife? My goodness, I wouldn’t just be his wife, I would be a baroness.
He has no children. Perhaps he is simply thinking I’m a means to an end.
But even as Rose tried to think in calm, rational terms, a stubborn thorn dug into her heart.
I think he means his offer sincerely. That maybe there is something he likes about me—beyond mere compatibility. Even mere suitability is more than Captain Bryce and I share.
SIR EDMUND LOCKE,
Sir, I cannot express in words how unbelievable I find your offer. I cannot imagine why you should show such a tender thoughtfulness for my welfare and happiness, although I do understand that your own unfortunate experiences have been a hard master. It is most noble of you to share your confidences with me in order that I should avoid such an unhappy fate.
Rose swallowed. If this was all some colossal joke or her reply fell into the wrong hands, she would be ridiculed at the least and ruined at the worst. Her wrist wobbled as she plied her pen once more.
You are a most observant man, Sir Edmund. Your descriptions of the players in this unexpected drama were very apt. There is one player I wish to know more about, but time prevents a long exploration of his character. I can only hope he always acts in the spirit of honesty and friendship he showed in the letter I received. Should I accept his gracious offer, hopefully, I should spend years and years discovering his fine qualities, of which I’m sure there are many.
My dowry may be little to a man of your means, but I am no stranger to a woman’s work and to the responsibilities of a gentlewoman. I would strive to be a helpmeet and hostess. I have no great desire to travel abroad but will go if my husband is desirous of my company. Perhaps your kind offer is sensible of the fact that a wife may spend her time on her husband’s estate while he is abroad on business. If that is your wish, I should not hesitate to grant it.
If I were to accept your most kind and generous offer, I believe I would not be any great hindrance. While some women wish for jewels and luxuries, I would find greater happiness in a garden and improving books.
Rose swallowed as the candle beside her guttered, now a mere stub. What more could she say or express? She knew both Bryce and Locke were worthy gentlemen, but neither was truly a love match. Neither would have the deep, burning passion most couples could only dream of.
To Captain Bryce, that would be failing and a cause for unhappiness.
Locke seemed to know and expect it... Yet Rose allowed herself to believe there could be more.
If such an arrangement is truly welcome to you, I urge you to approach my father with all haste and myself directly after receiving his consent. I do not believe he will refuse such an esteemed peer as yourself, someone whom he thinks most highly of. I have rapidly come to share his admiration. I am hopeful that we are indeed suitable companions.
I feel in closing, I must say that if your action was only out of an abundance of pity, please say nothing more of the matter. I do not wish to provide you with a second opportunity for unhappiness.
I pray that I may remain suitably yours,
Rose Lycombe
EDMUND WASN’T SLEEPING. How could he sleep? His entire body lay tense on the bed, a string pulled between two rampaging horses waiting for the moment he would tear.
In his agitated silence, he heard a door open further up the hall and a light, sure footstep walk toward his door, then hesitate.
It could be Rose.
It could be her mother, coming to give me merry hell for daring to propose in such a fashion.
The footsteps paused in the corridor.
Does Rose know which room I’ve been given? What if she were to slip her response under the wrong door? Oh, if Captain Bryce should receive it...
Edmund could picture all sorts of horrible scenarios, all equally dreadful, no matter what response the girl gave. He sprang out of bed and used the wall for support as he made his ungainly way toward the door. Edmund flung it open just in time to see Rose, with her hair in a long brown braid peeping out from under a nightcap and wearing a simple white gown, kneeling beside his door. To her credit, she did not scream at his sudden appearance but only silently straightened up. Her mouth was a bubble of surprise as she thrust a letter out towards him. In the darkness, Edmund had no way of knowing if Rose was handing back his own letter as a form of rejection or if she had penned a response. He seized it and clutched the letter in his fist, crinkling it slightly as he backed away. Edmund gave a perfunctory bow, and she returned it with a jerky nod of her head. With his face an expressionless mask, he shut the door and then leaned against it, listening to her footsteps retreating back to her room.
Edmund lit a candle with sharp, jerky movements. Striking a match against the side of the desk, he could see that it was not his own letter. It had no seal and was only folded one end over the other to conceal its contents.
The letter would have been easy to open, but Edmund didn’t. He sat at the desk and tapped the pretty paper, a light lilac in color, with one tentative finger.
She didn’t look angry.
Or relieved.
Not remotely pleased.
It’s rejection, and the lady is in shock. Dismayed shock, but she didn’t cause a fuss or scowl at me.
An unfamiliar softness stirred in his heart.
Such an action just proved her sweetness.
I supposed I would be lucky—and I’ve always been mistaken when I thought fortune favored me.
Another harsh jerk, this time to tear the letter open, and then Edmund sat still, with the paper near the candle’s flame.
Slowly, slowly, the tense look of pain melted from Locke’s face, and something unfamiliar settled upon it.
A smile.
“Suitably mine, indeed.”