Chapter Two #2
“Mrs. Blythe will be ready to meet with you after breakfast about the summer house party.” Prudence hesitated, her fair cheeks flushing pink. “But there’s something I need to tell you first.”
Rose’s stomach clenched. Prudence had been with the family since before Rose’s birth, first as head maid, then promoted to lady’s maid when Rose turned sixteen. She was loyal, protective, and privy to all the household gossip. When Prudence looked worried, there was usually good reason.
“What is it?”
“Your father has asked Mrs. Blythe to send an invitation to Baron White. For the house party.”
The words sent ice through Rose’s veins.
She sank onto the edge of her bed, memories flooding back unbidden.
Baron White at that dreadful London ball, following her into the garden.
His sweaty hands, his brandy-soaked breath hot against her neck as he whispered things that made her skin crawl.
The way her father had looked at her afterward, tired and resigned, when she’d told him what happened.
“I told him where to find you.”
Her father’s words still echoed in her mind. He’d practically served her up to that horrid man, all because she’d failed to attract a better offer during two full Seasons.
“Oh, Lady Rose.” Prudence sat beside her, taking her trembling hands. “What can I do to help you?”
Rose forced herself to breathe slowly. She wouldn’t fall apart. Even if it nearly killed her trying, she would be brave. Face whatever came for her. What choice did she have? “Does Father truly think so little of me that Baron White is the best I can hope for?”
“Lady Blackwell has been whispering in his ear again,” Prudence said. “She’s made it clear she won’t marry him until you’re… settled elsewhere.”
Of course. Honoria Blackwell, her father’s widowed mistress, who’d been circling like a vulture ever since her own husband died and left her in reduced circumstances. The woman wanted Rose gone so she could finally become the new Lady Wentworth.
“Prudence, I’m afraid for what is to come,” Rose said.
“As am I, my lady. I tremble to think what will happen to the staff if he marries Lady Blackwell,” Prudence said.
“You are all so dear to me. Yet, I’m powerless to protect you. She has her claws into him, and I don’t anticipate her releasing him anytime soon. I’m afraid I’m doomed to marry Baron White.” She clamped her teeth shut to keep her lips from quivering like a child.
“If only you could find a love match.” Prudence looked up at the ceiling dreamily, as if she could conjure one from the heavens. “A handsome duke who is very, very rich and will agree to take us all with you when you marry.”
“Wouldn’t that be wonderful?” Rose asked, smiling at the idea, before lowering her voice. “But not Hargrave. He must stay with them.”
Prudence giggled. “Yes, please.”
Hargrave had been the family’s butler since her father had been in his teens. The staff and Rose despised the man, although none of them would say it out loud. Hargrave was not someone to make an enemy.
Rose stood abruptly, moving to the window.
She pressed her forehead against the cool glass, watching the new gardener walking alongside Mr. Thorncroft in the distance.
Even from here, she could see his confident movements, the way he carried himself with dignity despite his rough clothes.
A former soldier? She felt sure suddenly.
The square of his shoulders and straight back—a military man.
He’d fought in the wars, only to return to tend gardens.
Would it be so bad? She enjoyed being in the gardens more than anywhere else, other than curled up with a book. However, she didn’t have to dirty her hands as this man would.
Soon, she might not have that privilege. If she was forced to marry Baron White, she would move away to his home. Away from her mother’s rose garden. The one thing she’d left to Rose that thus far no one had been able to take from her.
There were only three days before the house party and Baron White’s arrival. Three days before she’d have to smile and play the gracious hostess to the man who’d tried to assault her. Three days before her father would expect her to accept Baron White’s renewed advances with gratitude.
“What if I told Father I won’t marry him?” Rose asked.
Prudence’s silence was answer enough. They both knew what would happen. Rose would be cut off entirely, left with nothing and nowhere to go. And her father would simply arrange the marriage anyway. After all, she had no legal right to refuse.
“I feel like I’m suffocating.” Rose pressed her palms against the window. “Like the walls are closing in and there’s no air left to breathe.”
“Oh, my lady,” Prudence said, her voice thick with sympathy.
Rose straightened, squaring her shoulders. She couldn’t change what was coming, but she wouldn’t spend the next three days cowering in her room either.
“After breakfast, I’ll take a walk. I need air.” She reached for her bonnet. “Some time in Mummy’s rose garden before I meet with Mrs. Blythe might help clear my head.”
“That’s a good idea. The rose garden always soothes you.”
Rose tied her bonnet strings with fingers that trembled only slightly. “Will you tell Mrs. Blythe I’ll meet with her in an hour?”
“Of course, my lady.”
Rose paused at the door. “Prudence? Thank you. For always looking out for me. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“We’ll find a way for you to be happy,” Prudence said softly. “Somehow. We simply must.”
Rose nodded, though she couldn’t see how. As she made her way downstairs, she felt like a condemned prisoner walking to the gallows. The only difference was that her execution would be a slow one, played out over decades of marriage to a man who revolted her.
But for now, she could still breathe free air and walk in her mother’s garden. For now, she could pretend that three days was nearly enough time to figure out a miracle.
Even though she knew it wasn’t.
*
Rose made her way downstairs, her thoughts churning with equal parts dread and determination.
The grand hall stretched before her, sunlight filtering through the arched windows to illuminate the portraits of her ancestors.
She paused before the painting of her mother, commissioned just months before her death.
Lady Eleanor Wentworth sat in her beloved rose garden, forever frozen in a butter-yellow silk gown, pearls at her throat, a pink rose in her delicate hand. Her smile was sweet but tinged with sadness, as if she’d somehow known what was coming.
“Give me strength, Mummy,” Rose whispered.
She straightened her shoulders and continued down the sweeping oak staircase. With each step toward the breakfast room, her resolve hardened. She would not simply accept whatever fate her father had planned for her. Even if it meant running away.
The footman opened the door with a bow, and she stepped inside. The room smelled of coffee and bacon, but her stomach was too knotted to appreciate it.
Her father sat reading his newspaper, his posture rigid in his perfectly tailored maroon coat, silver hair combed neatly off his forehead.
He didn’t look up when she entered, merely grunted an acknowledgment.
The gold chain of his pocket watch glinted as he turned a page.
No doubt he’d be checking it frequently, as if her presence were an inconvenience to be endured.
“Good morning, Father.” She bobbed her head before helping herself to a modest portion from the elaborate sideboard.
“Good morning, my dear.” His tone was measured, cold. When he finally looked up, his thin-lipped smile conveyed nothing but disinterest. His sharp features and ice-blue eyes had always reminded her of a predator evaluating prey.
Had her mother loved him? Or had she merely endured him?
“I’ll be meeting with Mrs. Blythe this morning about the house party. Is there anything in particular you wish me to do?” Rose settled into her chair.
“Excellent. You have much to prepare for. I’ve asked her to include Baron White as our special guest.” He folded his newspaper with crisp precision. “I trust you’ll make a better impression this time. I have high hopes for your marriage.”
Rose’s fork stilled halfway to her mouth. So it was to be stated as fact, not discussed. “May I know who else will be attending?”
“Mrs. Blythe has the complete list. I’ve included your friend, Lady Daphne.” His tone suggested he’d granted her an enormous favor.
At least there was that. Daphne would be a comfort, and perhaps her shy friend might finally find someone who could see past her nervousness to her wit and kindness.
“You’re also to plan the theme for the masquerade ball,” her father said. “I expect it to be the finest of the summer.”
“The ball? We’re having a ball?” She stared at him, flabbergasted. They had not had a ball since her mother’s death.
He nodded, as if he’d included her in his plans all along. “Your mother excelled at such things. The last ball we held was her celestial theme—a thousand stars, she called it. She had the ballroom ceiling painted like the night sky.”
Rose leaned forward, hungry for any detail about her mother. “She loved the stars?”
For a split second, what could be regret flickered across his face before he said, “She did. She wore silver that night, like starlight herself.” His voice softened, then hardened again. “By midnight, she was dead.”
By midnight, she was dead and Rose was left without a mother. Rose remembered sneaking from the nursery that night, watching her mother glide down the hallway in that shimmering gown, beautiful as an angel.
“Why are we having the ball again now?” she asked quietly.
“Honoria wishes me to announce our engagement sooner rather than later. She has grown rather impatient.” He picked up his coffee cup, his movements precise and controlled. “It is time I remarried.”
“I see.” Rose forced herself to keep eating, though the berries now tasted like ash. “And when is this to happen?”
“Our engagement will be announced at the ball. As will yours.”
Rose’s cup rattled against its saucer as she set it down. “Mine?”
“Baron White has asked for your hand. I’ve accepted.” Her father’s blue eyes were as cold as the winter sky. “You’ll be married within the month after that.”
The room seemed to tilt. Rose gripped the edge of the table, her carefully constructed composure cracking. “You’ve already accepted? Without speaking to me?” This was even worse than she’d anticipated.
“Dearest, you had two Seasons to secure a better match and failed. Baron White is willing to overlook… certain circumstances. It’s more than generous, considering.”
“Considering what?” The words came out sharper than she intended. “What circumstances?”
He gave her a withering look. “Considering how awkward you are. As much as it pains me to say it, you embarrassed me. Seeing how you faltered and stumbled brought shame to our reputation. I would have thought you to have more charm and wit, given the education provided you. Alas, it is not so. Instead, you made a fool of yourself at every turn.”
She flushed with shame. It was true. Her dance card had remained empty.
She had sat with the other wallflowers at every ball.
There was no other explanation. She was undesirable to men, despite her healthy dowry.
There was no worse failure for a young woman of her class.
If only she could understand what she was doing wrong.
Or was she so unattractive that men would pass her over, even though her father was rich?
“Your choices are clearly lacking. Perhaps Baron White does not seem the right choice, but in time, you’ll grow to care for him. He will look after you, Rose. Which will give me peace of mind.”
And Honoria in his bed.
She kept that thought to herself.
“Baron White arrives in three days for the house party. You’ll be the perfect hostess, and by the time he leaves, the engagement will be settled.”
Rose stood slowly, her breakfast barely touched. “If you’ll excuse me, Father, I believe I’ll walk in the gardens. The roses are particularly lovely this time of year.”
“Those damned roses,” Lord Wentworth muttered under his breath. “Always the roses.”
Rose walked from the room with measured steps, her head high, but inside, her mind was racing. Three days. What would she do? She would have to run away. But to where? She had no one to turn to. No one to offer her a home or shelter.
As she stepped into the morning sunlight, she breathed in the scent of her mother’s rose garden and closed her eyes for a moment, praying for a miracle.
But as she’d learned very young, miracles were only in fairy tales.
This was real life. Her life. Doomed to marry a disgusting old man because no one else would have her.