Chapter Eighteen
Kew Gardens was everything Rose could have wished for. Unlike many men she heard of or encountered in the past, the few learned men she saw strolling the grounds with their notebooks and botanical guides under their arms were eager to talk to anyone who shared their interests. Edmund stood by patiently, an indulgent smile on his face as she spoke to several students from Oxford. Eventually, he claimed a bench on the broad lawns, enjoying the sweet scent of flowers and the lush avenues of trees.
“I am sorry I have neglected you so.” Rose was breathless by the time she returned to his side, cheeks warm and eyes sparkling. “Mr. Lewis and Mr. Yates are studying botany and the natural sciences at Oxford. Mr. Lewis’ father is a member of the Royal Horticultural Society as well, and he hopes to publish a paper on cross-fertilization in Gardeners’ Chronicle very soon. He even suggested that I should write about creating our conservatory, or the work on hybridization of roses. Roses are very popular, he says.”
Edmund grinned up at her and then looked past her at the university men. “My Rose certainly is.”
Rose looked back over her shoulder. “Me? Oh, such silliness, Edmund. They only spoke to me because I was here to admire the garden and knew something beyond how beautiful flowers are.” She sat next to him on the pretty stone bench with its artful carvings. “You do not mind me discussing such things with people, do you?”
Edmund leaned close to her, his eyes twinkling and a smirk on his usually unsmiling lips. “I am jealous of every moment away from you but jealous of your attentions to others? No. No, Rose. I believe you are generous with your attention, but your affection?” His smirk widened and his lids drooped as he leaned forward further still. “It seems that I’ve secured that for myself.”
Rose felt her heartbeat, that normally unobtrusive constant, suddenly tapping hard against her ribs. Edmund’s expression held more than his usual fondness. If she dared to think it, she would say it was the look of a man in love, a man burning with passion.
Suddenly, she wished they were far from the wonders of Kew Gardens and hidden away in their own rooms at Cadfael House. “My own darling Edmund,” she whispered, gloved hand sliding up his neck and tracing over his cheek.
“My Rose.”
The rest of the world dropped away as he kissed her in the September sunshine, surrounded by her favorite things, plants and flowers.
Edmund means more to me than any of them.“Edmund?” She stopped the kiss suddenly.
“Mm?” His voice was a low hum of pleasure, eyes dreamy.
“Can we leave now?”
His eyes lost their sweet, sleepy look, and became startled. “Leave? No! My leg is fine, equal to touring for several hours more, as long as we walk slowly.”
Rose hesitated before replying. Surely it was unbecoming in a wife to request more physical displays of affection? Even vulgar? What if she offended Edmund, or he believed she was pushing him to “prove” himself in some way, going against all she had promised when he proposed to her?
“I am glad you’re equal to a longer excursion. May I tell you a secret?” She swallowed, hands tucking back into her lap.
“Anything!” Edmund’s brows arched in surprise, and he pulled her hands into his own. “Whatever you wish.”
“I never imagined such a collection of plants and flowers all in one place, or the chance to exchange pleasantries with strangers and find them as keen on the subject of botany as I am. Truly, it is an exceptional way to begin our honeymoon, Edmund,” she praised with a sweet smile, trying to find the right words that would convey her interest without pressure.
“I’m delighted—but surely that’s no secret?”
“No, no. The secret is that I would trade all these wonders for more time alone with you at Cadfael House. Particularly when we are quite alone. In our rooms. Curled up close.”
“Oh? Oh!” Edmund stood and offered her his elbow. “That is quite high praise, that my company should outrank all of this.” He gestured to the majesty around them.
“You do not think that was forward of me?”
“I think that was perfect of you. I love those moments best of all. It is a secret we share.” He smiled.
“Which hardly makes it a secret,” Rose giggled as they set off again.
Her face bore a smile, but her heart was wilting just a little. Edmund didn’t take her up on the offer to leave—and even if he did, what would happen when they were alone? More of the same tender embraces would be wonderful, but not all she was craving.
What if it is more than just his leg that keeps him from pursuing a deeper intimacy with me? Perhaps he knows his body would not disappoint, but his heart would. What if he is only filled with fondness and passion—but not love? So many marriages are like that. Mama says love in marriage is not the sort one reads about in fairy stories, and that as long as a husband is kind and provides for his wife, that is love enough.
But I love Edmund in ways that go far beyond mere kindness.
Patience, Rose. Keep tending that hard-shelled seed, and it will finally bloom.
EDMUND WOKE THE NEXTmorning with Rose dozing in his arms, her hair fanned around her face and across his shoulder, tickling under his unshaven chin. He smiled and went to turn on his side, hand reaching to cup her face. Instead, Edmund found himself hissing in pain. His weak leg trembled, and reminders of yesterday’s long walk through the botanical gardens assaulted him.
He should have listened to Rose.
I should always listen to Rose.
Even when it hurts.
With a sigh, he moved his sleeping beauty from the pillow of his shoulder and swung his legs over the edge of the feather bed. Walters would be in soon, and Edmund would take breakfast downstairs while Jane attended to Rose.
“Edmund?” Rose’s soft voice washed away all thoughts except returning to bed and the safe, soft haven of her arms.
“Good morning. Sleep well?”
“Mm, entirely well. I could sleep again, nestled against you. I shall do so tonight after we’ve seen Dr. Owens and his assistant.”
Rose stretched and sat up, her smooth white nightgown bagging around her slender shoulders, drawing his eyes far lower than he meant them to go.
“Are you still willing to go?” Rose whispered, taking his hand.
Edmund rose, his ankle throbbing as he put his weight upon it, forcing itself out at the unnatural angle time and injury had inflicted upon him. For a dreadful moment, he thought of months of having his leg in a steel cage, or worse, having his leg rebroken...
But thoughts of walking with Rose, of gathering Rose in his arms and taking her back to his bed, thoughts of being able to whirl her around the floor at a Christmas Ball at Cadfael House quelled his cowardice.
For Rose, I would try anything.“I want to go.”