Chapter Seven
Rose trotted into the house, heart pounding so hard that her temples throbbed. Had anyone seen Edmund’s familiar touch of her hand, the way he dared to grip her chin? How close they were to— To what?
It should scare her, seeing a sudden passion in a man whom everyone spoke of as quiet and cold. Shouldn’t it?
He was anything but cold. Or quiet. Oh, Lord... What do I really know about either of these men? Of any men in our district? Rose stood in the pantry off the kitchen, fingers clenched in her palms, her breathing shallow as she turned her face to the heavens.
Have faith. Edmund Locke’s appearance last night was wholly unexpected, as were his declarations of suitability and offer of marriage. His horse threw a shoe, her father was just passing, and Bryce was in attendance to spur Locke into speaking out of sympathy... or something more.
Divine providence, that was surely what the vicar would say.
And so you must trust that it’s true. Only God himself could have engineered such a chain of circumstances. Only God himself could take a grain of pollen at the start and turn it into the most glorious bloom by the end.
Rose sucked in a great gulp of air as if she’d been underwater too long, trying not to attract the cook’s attention with her loud gasp. At last, she dared to creep out and up the back staircase, eager to hide in her room.
“Rose! Such news! Your father has just told me that you will have not one, but two offers from suitors!”
No one hides from Mama. Not for long.
Rose shut the door softly and turned to face her mother as she flitted around her bedroom, pulling out petticoats and underskirts. “Mama, how—”
That was as far as she got. Mrs. Lycombe was in a frenzy, whispering as she laid out linens and fussed with the items on Rose’s desk.“Your father has just told me, my darling! Not one suitor, but two! Wait until Mrs. Marbury hears of this!”
“Mama—” Rose followed her, face heating as her mother danced herself into a gleeful tizzy, hugging her daughter’s best dress to her bosom.
“You will decide, he says, but truly, there can be only one choice.” Her mother’s joyous whisper fled and her face became grave. “Sit with me, Rose.”
Rose sat as her mother seized her wrists and held them in her hands, pressing her fingers around them. “I know you will be tempted to choose Bryce. He is handsome, charming, and you would indeed be the envy of every woman in Surrey—but you must think about the future, dear.”
Rose swallowed her protest that the other women in Surrey could have Bryce and fight amongst themselves for him if they wanted. She would far rather stay in Surrey with Locke. She wondered what sort of grounds he kept at Cadfael House. Would he give her a plot of land where she could work on her hybrids? Would he permit her to attempt to grow some of the exotic seeds her father’s friends at the Royal Society had procured from their studies abroad?
Dreams of walking in a garden all her own, where no one would come out and scold her for tarrying too long or getting too bedraggled almost washed the sound of her mother’s urgent murmur away. Almost.
“Locke is far the better option. Consider, Rose! He has a title, land, and an income that far outstrips an officer’s. You are fortunate indeed to get such an offer. I can’t imagine what prompted it. Oh, well. There are some men that will want a prize if only to stop another man from having it.”
Her mother’s careless words were swept away with an idle hand as she continued to try to impress upon Rose the importance of choosing Locke over Bryce.
Rose didn’t fully attend, her stomach suddenly sick with a new sort of nerves. Did Locke only propose to prevent Bryce from asking for my hand? He as good as said so in his letter—yet his motives didn’t seem to be simple selfishness or pride.
I believed he truly wanted to spare me pain. I thought... I thought perhaps something in my nature truly appealed to him.
“You must see that he’s the obvious option.”
With a start, Rose nodded. “Yes, Mama. I believe so, too.”
“Ivy will make a fine wife for Bryce in a year or so. Perhaps we can persuade him to show an interest in her instead,” Mrs. Lycombe said cheerfully. “A long engagement is not unheard of when one is as young as your sister.”
Rose bit her lip. Only yesterday, her mother had said Ivy would never suit an officer. She was too young and in need of spoiling.
But if one shoe doesn’t fit, the cobbler offers another, Rose thought with a sad little smile. Mama sees us only as potential burdens, attractive problems to offer at the marriage mart so that someone else will shoulder the load. Thank God we are in Surrey and not in London, or we should fare much worse, I suppose.
“Rose! Your head is not in a book or a bush, and yet you seem to hardly hear me.” Her mother’s scolding tone changed to something sly. “I suppose it is only natural when one must choose between a dashing gallant and a distinguished baron. Ooh, I must go and write Mrs. Marbury at once. She would hint that you’d become a spinster, what with your fondness for reading.”
Rose found herself suddenly wrapped in a different sort of whirlwind, one with Lyddie rubbing her down with a warm, wet lavender-scented cloth before patting her down with the last of her mother’s rose talcum powder, pushing her into her good dress, and working her thick, heavy hair into a complicated twisted braid with a pearl comb in it.
“Oh, miss. You look ready to be a bride, you do,” Lyddie whispered admiringly.
“Shh, Lyddie!” Rose admonished.
Lyddie, who had been the ladies’ maid to all four women in the house as long as Rose could recall, only gave an impish smile and shook her head. “Why else would your mother tell me to have you powdered and perfumed like you’re being presented at Court? Captain Bryce is down in the dining room already, looking very impatient, too.”
Lyddie left, and Rose paced the room in her wake.
Captain Bryce looks impatient?
This cannot be good, for either he already knows of Locke’s suit or he expects to propose to me and that I shall accept.
No sooner had Lyddie gone than Lily appeared, breathless and looking over her shoulder. “Mama says to make haste because Captain Bryce must leave directly after breakfast, and he is most desirous to see you!”
“I’m just coming, Lily. Is Sir Edmund sitting at the table yet?”
“No, he is tarrying in the garden and visiting his horse in the stable.” Lily wrinkled his nose. “I suppose it is because we have no groom to see to the horses.”
“It could be because he likes his animal,” Rose countered, secretly hoping it was so. A man who is fond of his animals has a gentle nature—and that would be a good thing to find in a husband...
“A gentleman wouldn’t go to a smelly stable.”
“Go, Lily!”
Rose shooed her sister away and put a hand to the strange roiling sea that had formed under her breastbone. At least I do not have to say yes to Bryce—if he even asks me.
“AH! MISS LYCOMBE. YOUare late abed. I thought you an early riser,” Captain Bryce rose when Rose entered the room.
“It is my custom, sir. I am ready far earlier than this most days.” Rose bowed her head in return and quickly sat down. Her mother and sisters were already seated and nibbling on toasted bread. They said nothing, but their whole bodies were tensed, listening and looking.
“I wonder if you might come outside to see me off, Miss Lycombe? Your father has kindly offered me a ride back into town.”
“Of course, sir.” This is awful. He doesn’t know. Why didn’t Father say? Where is Father?
“Captain? How do you feel about long betrothals?” Mrs. Lycombe suddenly interjected with a nervous titter.
“I am not in favor of them as a rule.” Bryce frowned.
“But sometimes a situation presents itself where a suitable match could be made if the gentleman were willing to wait a little while longer,” she hinted.
“If the gentleman were in great need of a bride and could not choose another who would be ready sooner, then I suppose he would have no choice. I am not so encumbered.” His frown turned to Rose, who looked steadfastly at her boiled egg. “A lady would do well to accept my offer quickly, especially as I will soon journey to London to see to my father’s estate.”
“Surely a suitable wife matters more than how fast one acquires her?”
Rose cracked through the shell harder than she meant, jabbing the spoon in so that yolk spurted down the side of the cup as Locke’s smooth, faintly disapproving voice entered the conversation.
“Good morning, Locke.” Bryce rose and bowed again.
“Indeed, a fine morning. I couldn’t help but overhear your last remark, sir. As a man who has been married once before, I felt obliged to impart my wisdom, what little I have.” Locke sat at the place where he had been last night, a small, tight smile on his face. “Time doesn’t matter as much as the symmetry of your interests and values, Bryce. When you find a woman who you know would make the best companion for the balance of your life—then you must ask for her hand. But if you’re only picking a bride to ensure you have one before you are perhaps stationed abroad—” Locke’s smile turned smug as Bryce’s shoulders jumped in his uniform, “then the pressure of time may cloud your judgment and push you to wed a woman who has little in common with you.”
“Funny, Locke. I had heard it said in the district that you seldom took an interest in the affairs of others—and when you did avail yourself of company, that you rarely spoke,” Bryce had an amiable grin on his face but coolness in his tone, “but instead, I find you a font of gaiety and chatter. One must also remember that a marriage is a contract between two. Sometimes a gentleman is moved to haste because he wishes to ease a lady’s unfortunate position of enduring yet another Season without being claimed.”
This time, Rose felt her shoulders snap guiltily. True, she had been presented to society and participated in her first Season—such as it was in Surrey—without result. Now she was facing a third year of attending balls and gatherings that she found tiring and usually uninspiring.
I do not seem to inspire others, either.
I suppose I am in danger of becoming a spinster. Does Bryce see me as something so undesirable?Rose put down her spoon, unable to stomach another bite.
“I’m pleased to hear your intentions are so noble, Bryce. Has some woman of several Seasons’ vintage caught your eye?” Sir Edmund smiled mildly, eyes full of innocent light as he pulled his egg in front of him and began tapping on its snowy top.
“My affairs are private at this time, Locke. I am sure that the woman I ask will be thrilled to receive my addresses, that is all you need know.”
“Ah. Godspeed, then. Myself, I would fain ask until I knew how she felt on the matter. There is such a restful, peaceful joy that enters into one’s soul when he believes he’s found the suitable woman, the partner for his remaining years.”
“Partner? This is hardly a business.”
“Isn’t it? You yourself said it is a contract between two. It surely must function like one for the happiness of both parties, with both members of the union being of one mind.”
Bryce’s frown was now etched into his face like the lines on an old woodcut. “What strange notions you have, Locke. To each his own, I suppose.”
“Yes! Yes, let’s say no more of such things now. It hinders the pleasures of the table,” Mrs. Lycombe burst out in a high, unnatural voice before she let out a whinnying laugh.
Rose caught Locke’s eye across the table.
Peaceful, restful joy.
Partnership.
Oh, dear. He may only think me suitable, but my heart is fast falling towards his. With every word he speaks, either about marriage or merely to lighten Bryce’s arrogance—I fall faster. The flames that she’d felt earlier when he pulled her close came soaring back, bringing reinforcements.
Rose wondered if her cheeks were as red as the apples in the center of the table. She resisted the urge to touch her face, something a lady should seldom do in public, asking, “Mama, may I be excused? I need a breath of fresh air. I am feeling a little too warm.” Rose pushed her chair back, eyes downcast.
“Allow me to escort you around the garden, Miss Lycombe. It is on my way out,” Bryce said firmly.
Before anyone could say another word, he had swept around the table and hooked his arm through hers, leading her into the garden.