Chapter Ten
Mrs. Lycombe looked at the dress patterns in The Ladies’ Cabinet, alternately muttering to herself or speaking in a loud, cheerful voice. Just now, she was addressing Rose, who was trying to read a difficult article in German—difficult because her grasp of German was poor and because the subject matter was difficult. Her mother, however, took no notice, certain her daughter had more pressing things on her mind.
“June is the most favored month for matrimony. Your father and I had a June wedding. We could apply for a special license—or no, no, it will be just enough time if the banns are read out this week at St. Ann’s and for the following two Sundays. It is up to you, Rose, to fix the date, but I should not tarry too long. And of course, you have been out for more than one Season, so it is not as though we are wholly unprepared. Sir Edmund has been waiting far longer for a wife. It may be unwise to press him to wait until the following June.”
Rose listened to her mother prattle on, nodding every few moments to give the appearance of attention. She had the unkind thought that she would be relieved to marry in three weeks if it meant she could escape her mother’s ceaseless chatter on the subject.
Fear overrode it. To be wed in three weeks? At least she would be nearby, but that didn’t take out the sudden terror of giving her life into the power of some strange man.
A strange,kind man. I do not think he’ll treat me as property as most others would. For that, he is a rarity, and I like him all the more.
Still, three weeks! I suppose if one accepts a proposal on the strength of one night’s acquaintance, three weeks is an ocean of time.
“I will see Sir Edmund today, Mama. I will talk to him and see if he prefers this June or next,” Rose finally said, finding her voice.
“See that you do. You don’t sound eager, Rose. A man likes a woman to be eager for his company.”
Rose smiled and nodded again, a quiet blush creeping up her neck. “I am, Mama. Most eager.” It was the truth, not just something she said to placate her mother.
“IT IS NICE TO HAVEsome time to speak to you without your mother underfoot.”
Sir Edmund—Edmund, she must get used to calling him that, was walking along the footpath that wound through the slightly overgrown garden. The path led to her favorite part of the grounds.
When she didn’t reply, Edmund cleared his throat. “Pardon my frankness. She is a charming woman and a lovely hostess, indeed. It is just that she is so effusive I can scarcely get a word in—nor can I hear your voice, Rose. That is a sound I have already grown very fond of.”
Rose laughed and squeezed her arm against his. It was a curious, new feeling to have a strong, masculine arm in her possession, pressed close in a way that no other relative would venture. “I find your frankness very likable, Edmund. You talk as you think, and so do I.”
“Something which polite society does not thank us for,” he muttered, a hard scowl suddenly on his face.
Instead of joining him in his frown, she only smiled broader. “That is why flowers are my preference. They are honest and rarely deceive. They have sweet manners, but no one will ever find a poppy claiming to be a lily, or an iris speaking as if it were a lilac. Mushrooms, though. They are great pretenders.”
His scowl vanished. “Quite so.” His eyebrows arched and a thoughtful look settled on his face as they entered the shadiest part of the walk. “I never thought of plants in such a way. It is a shame you are not a man, Rose. You would be hailed as a great wit and philosopher.”
It was her turn to look somber. “Perhaps one day a person’s body will not matter more than their brain.”
“Perhaps. I wish it, and I shall see that I assist you in every way possible. I know there are a few women making their way into the sciences.”
“Mary Sommerville and Caroline Herschel have been admitted into the Royal Astronomical Society. One day, I—” Rose stopped abruptly, causing Edmund to jerk against her and falter against his cane. “I’m sorry, my lord!”
“It’s nothing. Tell me what you were about to say?”
“Nothing. It’s silliness. Mama says I am not to speak of it.”
“Not to be precipitous, but who will soon have more of a say in your conversation, your husband or your mother?”
“You.”
“I would not force you to speak—or to do anything that displeases you, Rose.”
Rose was silent as they started to walk again, a happy warmth coursing through her. He is not only honest, but he is... tender. Yes, that is the best word for it. So careful of my feelings, even though we hardly know one another.
“I hope one day you will tell me anything and everything. I want no secrets between us.” His voice was soft and sincere. Edmund stopped and braced his legs so that he could stand unsupported. He used both hands to clasp one of hers. “Trust is very important in marriage, though I think many do not realize it. They take it as an assurance. Well, I will not be so foolish. Not again.”
His words unstoppered her secrets, and she turned to him, eyes shining. “I know it is foolish and not an aspiration fit for a woman—or so Mama says—but one day I hope to be admitted into the Royal Society, Edmund. If not me, then I want one of my papers on botany and hybridization to be accepted and read before the members. I want to be a guest, at least, and hear my words read. I don’t even care if the learned men rip it to shreds and point out all my failings. I’ll know that I’ve done what few women can, what more could do if they were given the chance.”
“Bravo, Rose!” Edmund whispered fiercely, his eyes shining back, a twin flame of hers. “I have already told Allen, the gardener, that the grounds are yours entirely. You will have everything you need to grow your plants, and inside, you will have everything you need to write your paper.”
“Oh, Edmund! Really? You don’t mind?”
“Not in the least. It will help you be content, won’t it?”
“Content? To live at Cadfael House?”
“That, and to have me as a husband. I... May we stop at that little bench?” Edmund suddenly pointed to the rough bench just past the clearing.
“It’s not very wide, but we can squeeze in,” Rose answered with a nod.
Once they were seated, Edmund took a deep breath. “It is no good lying to you as you will live under my roof. I have two things to tell you, Rose, and I would like to tell you now, so that you may still change your mind before it is too late. I would not tell most women—but you are different. Different in a wonderful way.”
Rose let her fingers curl between his, pulling them to the place where his riding breeches met her skirt. Legs bumping, hands joined, heads close... Rose knew it was most likely wrong to be so comfortable with a man so quickly, but she didn’t object. She leaned her head forward more so that her dark curls fell forward and he tucked them back. “You may tell me anything and everything, too. We will have no secrets. Only nice surprises.”
His smile was sweet but fleeting. “You are a dear girl. And much younger than me. Had I not heard for myself that you have a bold and factual manner of speaking, I wouldn’t know how to... Well, it is difficult to explain, but I will try.”
“Is it to do with your leg?” Rose whispered.
“To be blunt, yes. My late wife, Catherine, was not pleased with it. It made me a clumsy failure in many respects—not the least of which was acting as a husband to her. I would rather not,” he coughed once, pulling away and eyes looking elsewhere, “I would rather not disappoint you.”
Rose blinked in surprise. “Edmund, a wife must love all of her husband, not only the perfect bits. You will not disappoint me.” It was her turn to look away. She chose to study the hem of her skirt. “If you were ‘clumsy,’ I should not know the difference. I am also bound to be quite...” her words were coming out as little gasps, the heat of the day combined with her corsets, that must be it, “I would be quite unskilled. Wholly unskilled.”
A soft brush of lips upon her cheek made her look up, startled. “Thank you.”
“No, thank you. If it takes us a while to gather our courage, will that be acceptable?”
“Take as long as you need. Only, you must tell me what you expect, because I probably won’t know. If there is a book on that subject, it is not in Father’s library.”
Edmund let out a startled guffaw, “No, and I am very pleased to hear it! I will tell you, my dear Rose. I will tell you all—even this. It was no secret that my wife was a sensation at parties and balls, known for catching every eye. She played the coquette before I married her and the flirt after I was lamed. I’m afraid I’ve discovered that it went beyond flirting. She had at least one other lover, maybe more.”
Rose put her hand over her mouth in mute horror and pity. “Oh, Edmund, no!”
“I’m afraid so. I blame myself. If I had—”
“No, no. No. That won’t do,” Rose said firmly, rising, pulling him with her. When he tottered, she steadied him, surprisingly strong hands on his shoulders. “She should not have done that, regardless of her thoughts about your marriage or your injury. If you are laboring under the misapprehension that I will need another man because you are not enough—that is wrong. I am young, I know that, but I also know that I want you. I want you and not another.”
Oh, my. Should I have said that? Was that too bold?
Apparently—but Rose liked the effect it had upon her groom-to-be. He pulled her by the waist, pressing her right to his chest and kissing her until she was sure that she would faint.
Kissing, corsets, and the heat of the mid-day sun—dangerous.
She pressed forward, deciding that if she were going to be a woman who constantly defied convention in a quiet way, this was as good a place as any to start. Dark dots danced before her eyes, and she didn’t care.
When he released her, she fell, dropping to the little bench and sucking in great unladylike gasps of air.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not!” Rose managed to pant, hands to her cheeks. She was sure they were red as radishes.
Edmund laughed. “You make me feel different, Rose. You make me feel, full stop. For years, I have felt nothing at all. Here, wait a moment.” Edmund sat beside her again, reaching into his pocket. His hand emerged with a small brown leather box. With a flick of his thumb, he opened it to reveal a deep red stone on a thin gold band. “Red, like a rose. My Rose.”
Rose stretched out her hand and let him slip the ring over her finger. “It’s beautiful.”
“It’s yours.”
For a moment, she sat and simply stared. Ivy was the one who coveted pretty things, but this beautiful stone mesmerized her. She couldn’t take her eyes from it, thinking of all it meant.
New life beginning.
New love in bloom.
“Rose? Should we go back? I’m afraid your mother will think I’m taking liberties, and I should head home to ensure everything is ready for your family’s arrival this evening. You will spend the night as my guests, won’t you?”
“Surely, if Father wishes.” Rose stood, and her arm immediately found its cozy place, nestled in the protective crook of Edmund’s arm. She could not understand how his late wife could have been so cruel to him.
I suppose it depends on what you want from a man. She wanted things I do not.
“You’ve gone quiet. Is it the ring? Do you want another? There are several at Cadfael House that you could choose from.”
“No, no. It is—it is that I just remembered that Mama says I am to ask you if you prefer to be wed this June or next.”
“It is the bride who must fix the date and the groom who must make sure all is in readiness at the specified time.” Edmund gave her a courtly little bow.
Rose swayed her steps to match his, enjoying the companionable silence as she thought. “The idea of being married in just three weeks is quite scary. But the idea of waiting a whole year and not being your wife is somehow more frightening. I’m sure that’s not how a bride is supposed to feel.”
“On the contrary, that is the best way for a bride to feel—that she cannot wait to be with the man she lo—” Edmund stopped speaking and then resumed with an abashed smile. “It’s better to wish to be together than feel relief at putting it off.”
“I don’t want to put it off! I only thought that perhaps it would be wise for us to know each other better—but every time I talk to you, I feel as though I’ve known you forever. Mama would say I’m being dramatic.”
“But I, as your husband-to-be, say that you are being unselfish, and sweet, and that I feel the same.”
“Agreed. This year.”
“This year. I’ll have them read out the banns.”