Chapter Eight
Rose felt as though she were being pulled along like a disobedient dog on a lead.
“Captain Bryce! Sir, I assure you I know my way,” Rose protested, panting as he urged her to walk faster.
“You do have a rather nice wit, Miss Lycombe. I am aware you know your way. As your father praises your intellect, I’m certain you can guess why I wanted you to see me off and why I stole this opportunity to have a private word.” Bryce stopped at the garden gate. Beyond it lay a cool green lawn in front of the Lycombe house, and beyond that was the small lane that led from the main road. The family carriage was already waiting, the horses lazily cropping grass before they had to carry Bryce back to the barracks.
Rose wished that he was already on his way.
“You flatter me, Captain. My wits are far more aligned with books and botany than with—with what a gentleman is thinking,” she tried not to stammer, forcing herself to meet Bryce’s eyes and not keep ducking her head like a shamed child.
To her surprise, he gave her a real smile with something of genuine fondness in it.
He was quite handsome then, she had to admit.
“Rose, that is just why I should like to marry you. You are so...unspoilt. You strike me as easily contented and agreeable. Though you seldom seek to be the belle of the ball, you are lovely. What’s more, you are competent, and your family has an admirable reputation. As Locke was saying—you’re quite suitable. Your father has already given me permission to ask for your hand. All you must do is agree, and the matter is concluded to everyone’s satisfaction.”
Rose swallowed, shock momentarily blocking her words and her manners.
Bryce patted her hand as it remained tucked in his elbow, his voice a pleased crow of triumph.“Oh, and bashful. You know, there are a great many flirts in Surrey, conspiring to get themselves an officer, dancing every dance far too close, playing pretty games with their gloves and fans to drive a fellow mad—but you don’t do that. You are lovelier than I first thought, Rose. Yes. I’ve decided that you would make a fine wife.”
Her throat cleared and words unstuck. “What do you think we’d have in common, Captain Bryce? What sort of camaraderie would we share?”
The gallant soldier seemed taken aback, but he rallied. “Camaraderie is for officers in the mess, dear Rose. You and I will have marital interests in common. Running a home. Hosting parties and balls. Attending to the domestic staff. Children. My mother is in need of looking after since my father’s passing. You would be a great comfort to her. Do you play piquet? Mother is very fond of it.”
“I do not know the game, sir, nor am I content to have only matrimonial duties in common, as many women are. I wish to find a husband who shares my tastes in other ways. You mentioned balls and parties. I have no desire to attend those, let alone host them.”
“Well, I suppose a fair few people don’t enjoy them, but it’s expected of an officer of my means, especially once I’m married.”
“Then perhaps you should find a wife who longs to entertain. I wish to spend my time gardening and improving my mind. I would prefer to host small soirees where conversation is expected instead of dancing. My father is certain that if I continue my studies, I may even help him with his next scientific paper that he presents to The Royal Society in London.”
Bryce moved back quickly, dropping her arm. His face was grave. “No. No, I’m afraid that sort of thing would be frowned upon, Rose. No decent husband would want his wife doing a man’s work.”
Rose laughed, one short, surprised bleat of laughter that brought a scowl to her companion’s lips. “Surely, sir, you expect a woman to go through confinement and enormous physical torment to give you an heir?”
“Shh! Heavens.” Bryce backed up yet again, putting more distance between them as he looked at her with scandalized eyes.
“I am sorry, it is only that I fail to see how you can say studying delicate, beautiful blossoms and writing up my findings is a task unfit for a woman when the act of bringing a child into this world is far bloodier, messier, and more painful.”
“Do not speak of such things! Gracious. I am relieved that you have not accepted my offer. I still respect your father, Miss Lycombe, but I will indeed offer him counsel about his eldest daughter! If he persists in allowing you your head in matters of books and—other distasteful subjects—it will render you unmarriageable. Your argument against my proposal bordered on the obscene! No man will want to marry a woman who is so outspoken and wishes to pursue a passion clearly meant for men.”
“I would.”
A voice behind her made Rose spin.
Locke was walking slowly through the garden, his walking stick pressed into service on the uneven ground.
“Sir Edmund, I would thank you to leave us,” Bryce said through tight lips.
“I thought you were the one leaving, Captain. I am also expecting my carriage or, at the very least, my groom to arrive, and then I shall leave.” Locke bowed his head, but not in time to hide the amused smile he was wearing.
“Perhaps you would find it more comfortable to wait inside?” Bryce hinted, his voice now a growl.
“I would find it far more pleasant out here, with Miss Lycombe. She impresses me greatly. Very few women would turn down a life of balls and flirting to pursue an interest in science. And only the bravest of women would dare tell such a fine specimen of an officer that the expected task of ‘having children’ is a battle that would make most soldiers quite faint. You will ask women to expand your family line but forbid them to put pen to paper?” Locke clicked his tongue. “Quite remarkable.”
Bryce skirted Rose and marched close to Locke, hissing, “And wholly unacceptable. A woman ought not to speak of such things.”
“Because plainspeaking is so very dangerous?” Edmund countered.
Rose looked at the two men, Bryce with his angry voice that rose and fell like branches lashing in a storm—and Locke, who said everything in a cool, flat sort of voice. It was steady.
Like a tree that grows another inch each year. Slow, measured, but sure of itself.
“Gentlemen—” Rose attempted to intervene.
“Miss Lycombe. You’ve done enough for the moment. I suggest you allow us to continue our conversation without your assistance. Regrettably, I have nothing more to say to you.” Bryce gave her the shortest, stiffest bow that manners would permit.
Although she was relieved that Bryce didn’t want her for his wife any longer, Rose felt dread creeping up her spine. She should have been more reticent in her remarks. If Bryce repeated her careless words, soon the entire district would think her unfit for society. Mama would be furious. Lily and Ivy’s prospects would be ruined. Charles would be burdened with three spinster sisters.
Well, two.
Did Locke just tell Bryce he would marry a woman like me? He means me, truly me! Rose pinched her arm. It hurt.
I’m not dreaming.
“Rose! What have you done?” Her mother was suddenly by her side, face mortified. “Did you not thank him for the offer but decline? Oh, you foolish girl, did you tell him you preferred Sir Edmund?” Mrs. Lycombe hissed in her ear.
“I did nothing, Mama, but tell him I did not think I was the sort of wife he would like, for I dislike parties and balls and much prefer to read and study nature. Captain Bryce said I was doing a man’s work and was unmarriageable, and Sir Edmund took exception.” Rose knew she was leaving out some important details, but she didn’t care.
“He looks in an awful temper. You know I was trying to assure his interest in your sister!” Mrs. Lycombe hissed, clucking like a fretful hen.
Rose said nothing, guilt washing over her. “I know, Mama. But... But would you want any of your daughters to live with a man who has such a temper?”
Mrs. Lycombe huffed, waving her hand to dismiss the inconvenient words. “Don’t be silly. All men have tempers, some just show them more than others. Speaking of men in ill tempers, your father ought to be here to quell this.”
Papa is in an ill temper? Why? Did he want me to choose Bryce? Rose twisted her hands. “Should I go and look for him, Mama?” Even as she asked, Rose wanted to withdraw the offer. Some tiny and hitherto untried spark of proprietary pride stirred. She wanted Locke, who looked to be the David to Bryce’s Goliath, to handle the matter himself without a raised voice or an angry look.
“I’ve no idea what could be keeping him. Yes, you’d better—”
“I’ll take my leave of you, sir. Good day! And good day to your fine family, Mrs. Lycombe.” Bryce was suddenly marching toward the carriage, shouting over his shoulder. The bit about the “fine family” rang hollow.
Locke leaned on his stick. His voice was mild as he called out, “Oh, Captain Bryce?”
“This matter is closed, Locke. We are not in agreement on the subject, and I see no need to bandy words any further.”
“You haven’t got your things, Bryce. Your case? Why don’t you wait in the carriage? I’ll have someone fetch your belongings.”
“I’ve got them here.” John Lycombe emerged from the house with a bemused smile on his face and a large leather case in his hand. “I wondered where all of you had gone. I’ll ride back with you, Bryce. Locke, will you join us? Or will you stay here and wait for your man to bring a horse or some other means of transport home?”
Locke beamed. Rose could have sworn he threw her the most subtle of winks. “I’ll stay here, John. The company is most refreshing, and the roses are particularly worthwhile.”
LOCKE FELT HIS LIMBSshake and the skin on his back turn cold and clammy as Bryce and Lycombe left. Bryce was doubtless whinging to the patriarch about Rose’s comments and her rejection.
Or he’s complaining about how I stuck my nose in where it didn’t belong.
Only it does belong. Rose is mine.
A dim reminder of the possessive pride he’d felt in “owning” Catherine worried him.
No. She is merely a suitable and charming companion. I doubt there will be any possessing in the passionate sense. Or even the physical sense. Although, as a woman of intellect, she is more aware of matrimonial expectations than others of her age and sex.
Edmund knew it was wrong, but he enjoyed a moment’s satisfaction about how one pointed phrase had sent Bryce running.
“I... I must speak to Greer.” Mrs. Lycombe’s voice broke into his silent musings. “Rose, see that Sir Edmund finds his way back to breakfast when he’s done in the garden, will you?”
“Yes, Mama.”
Mrs. Lycombe flurried away, and Edmund remained still, trying to remind his body that he was the master as Rose came to stand beside him. “I do believe that your mother expects me to make my proposal now.”
“Ah.” Rose nodded. “You needn’t. I had a very pleasant one from you already. I accept. If the offer remains?”
“It remains. Will you be my wife and mistress of Cadfael House?” Edmund tugged on his waistcoat and tried to sound proper and passionless.
Rose hesitated. “I would like that very much—if you’re certain you would like it as well?”
“Do I not seem keen enough for you?” He arched one eyebrow.
“Oh! No, that’s not it. I am glad you think we’re suitable in tastes—but Bryce did say I was unmarriageable. And Mama... Mama said she wondered why you would ask me. We do not know each other well, after all, and she said,” Rose looked him in the eye, well-shaped lips unsmiling, “that some men will only grab a prize to prevent another from having it. Oh, of course, I know I’m no prize. I would not be so vain as to—”
Edmund cut her off with a sudden grab for her hand. He knew it was ungentlemanly, and her startled gasp made him feel like he’d committed an atrocious breach of manners, but he didn’t care at the moment. “Do not disparage yourself, Miss Lycombe. Rose. Everything that Bryce found disappointing, I find pleasing. I have been married to a beautiful woman, a charming hostess, and a very capable flirt.” His features twisted into a sneer, and he knew it brought out the age and ugliness in him, a stark contrast to her innocence and beauty.
She didn’t look away.
“I am sick of balls and gossip. If my wife wants to read and study... If she is pleased enough to marry a weakened man and will be content to potter about beside him as he retires to his country estate and no more wanders abroad, then that is the wife I seek. Until I met you, I never thought of marrying again. No, Rose, I didn’t take you as a prize merely to stop Bryce from asking for your hand. I think you’re a prize in your own right. I snapped you up because, well,” he gave her a weary smile, “there may be something wrong with my leg, but there is nothing wrong with my brain. Or my eyes.” One hand found her cheek again, tracing a slender finger over the fullest part before straying down to her chin. His eyes were fixed on her lips.
He had an inappropriate fascination with them, the way they quirked, smiled, and thinned. “I can withdraw my offer, Rose, now that Bryce has gone. Would you prefer that?”
“No! Oh, no, no.”
He released her hand, stepping back, looking at the flush on her cheeks and hearing the breathlessness in her declaration.
She is relieved not to be marrying Bryce, a thoroughly unsuitable man for her tastes. But perhaps she is not so sure how she feels about marrying someone like me—or what I expect of her. It was such an impetuous decision on my part—and such a brave one on hers to accept.
Dropping his voice despite their increased separation, Locke murmured, “I do not expect you to love a man like me, only to be a faithful wife who enjoys what I have to offer. Word has surely reached you about my cold demeanor and how I shun society. To say nothing of the ugliness of this.” Locke glared at his weakened leg.
Rose, his quiet Rose, stared at him and shook her head. “You are a foolish one.”
For an awful moment, her words stung and brought back a flood of old memories. His hands clenched at his sides, and his jaw shut with a snap in an effort to hold in words he would regret. Catherine had been one to mock. One to belittle and shame. She could never bear the sight of his leg.
Rose was the one to come to him now, to cross the little gap and place her hand in his. “I am pleased and content—and more. I am stunned, but my surprise is a happy one. Do you honestly believe that a gardener can’t see the beauty inside the seed? That we don’t know there’s a world of warmth and softness under that hard shell?” Rose’s blushing cheeks framed a smile. “I may be bold, but then again, you were most bold in your proposal, sir, but my father often says God made flowers as an example of love and a desire to garden as a sign of persistence. If you will let me persist, perhaps something will grow. Something worth loving.”
For a moment, he could not speak, swallowing several times before nodding and whispering back, “That is an admirable sentiment, Rose. Garden away—and you must call me Edmund when we’re alone.”
“Oh, no, sir. If I did so earlier, I apologize. Mama says that is only for husbands and wives, or couples that are betrothed—oh.”
“Perhaps you need reminding since the idea is so new.” There was a hint of teasing in his voice. “It is the fashion for prosperous men to give an ‘engagement ring.’ I shall call back tomorrow with one, Rose, or if you don’t wish one, I’ll find some other present. A brooch, perhaps? Or a necklace?”
“A ring is fine, sir—Edmund. I would like that.”
At that moment, a smart carriage with its top folded back so that its occupants could enjoy the spring sunshine came rolling down the lane. “Ah. My ride home.”
“Oh, but Father is not back yet. Are you... Are things quite settled?” Rose asked, hands beginning to twist nervously at her waist.
Edmund chose to take her anxiousness as a sign that she wanted their engagement to be firmly cemented. That she wanted their wedding to go forward. That somehow, miraculously (or perhaps mistakenly), Rose even wanted him.
“Things are settled, indeed, if you approve.”
“I do!” Rose blurted.
His smile, rarely seen, stretched and spread until he felt his cheeks burn with the unfamiliar sensation. “Excellent. I will not leave until your father returns if it sets your mind at ease. And when I do return home, it will be to attend to important matters that must be seen to in order to make you my wife and the new mistress of Cadfael House.”
She nodded, throat moving silently with her swallow.
He searched for words to fill the stillness between them. “Shall I go present myself to your mother as her future son-in-law?” he asked.
Her smile stayed in place, and Edmund realized how much he enjoyed the sight of it. He hoped he would never have occasion to see it flee from her face.
“Mama would like nothing more.”