No Other Love

by Isabel Morin

  “Rose. Please wait.”

  She stopped where she was, her back to Luke, unable to face him. The feelings were too new, her newly awakened body too inexperienced to contain them. She didn’t understand what had just happened. Why had he kissed her? And how could she have kissed him back? She was terrified at how quickly she had let go of everything she knew of herself. When Luke was near it was as if Will didn’t even exist. Even now she could not so much as summon his face to mind.

  “Rose, please look at me,” he said, and she felt his hand on her shoulder, urging her to turn around.

  But she couldn’t bring herself to speak to him. Her life had been turned upside down in the space of a few minutes, and she was very much afraid she would not be able to pretend otherwise.

  So she ran. He called after her but she didn’t slow down and she didn’t look back. Out of the study and down the servants’ staircase she flew until she was safe from him, if not from herself.

  ***

  Luke ran a shaking hand through his hair. What had he been thinking? Nothing rational, that was certain. He was so utterly drawn to Rose, his reason fled whenever he was around her.

  At first he’d just been startled to see her. But when she pulled open the curtains, the sun that flooded the room lit her hair and warmed her skin to a glow. He could see where a sheen of perspiration dampened the fine hairs on her neck, and her worn dress revealed her gentle curves.

  And then, sweet heaven, the taste of her. He was so undone by that kiss he could have dragged her to the floor then and there. Even now he imagined Rose opening for him, her skirts up around her waist while he buried himself inside her. A moment of heaven for a lifetime of hell. It might have been worth it, come to that.

  But of course it would never come to that. She had stopped him because she was not some strumpet who lifted her skirts for every man who couldn’t control himself. He doubted she’d ever been kissed properly – if indeed she’d been kissed at all.

  The last time he saw her she was telling him to leave her be, and now look what he’d done. It hadn’t helped matters that she’d stood there, looking at him with naked hunger. She was so innocent she probably didn’t even know what she was inviting, but he was no saint.

  He needed to put some distance between them. He’d been planning a trip out to survey for possible routes over the hills, so he might as well leave now. When he came back, he’d have his head on straight.

  That was the thing to do, but even so he felt an alarming pang at the idea of never touching her again. If only she were not so innocent, or not employed in his father’s house.

  If only he were not the man he was.

  ***

  Rose tossed and turned all night, falling asleep only a few hours before dawn, her dreams a disturbing mix of her father and Luke Fetcher, desire and guilt. She woke feeling ragged and forlorn. Fortunately today was her day off and she would see Vivian.

  It was a six-mile walk to the March’s modest home just off Tremont Street near the Common, nearly two hours each way. But as it was virtually her only time alone, Rose didn’t mind the long walk. She nearly ran the last few minutes, stopping only at the post office to mail her letter. Though she and Vivian had remained close after Rose’s mother died and she and her father left Boston, the friendship had been conducted almost entirely through letters until Rose’s return two weeks ago. Seeing Vivian once a week while working for the Fletchers was a treat she didn’t take for granted.

  “You look tired, Rose,” Vivian observed. “Are you well?”

  They were sitting on the front porch where the breeze slipped pleasantly over them, sipping lemonade made by Sally, the March’s housekeeper. Sally was more like family, and in fact it was she who had helped secure Rose’s position at Cider Hill.

  Vivian waited patiently, her kind face inviting Rose’s confidence. It felt like months since anyone had shown such concern for her. The thought flashed in her mind that Luke Fletcher had worried for her, but she quickly banished it.

  “Oh, you needn't fret over me,” Rose said, smiling at her friend. “It’s not so very bad. In fact, most of the work is no harder than what I do on the farm. The difficult part is that most of the staff dislike me. But I have you, and that will be more than enough to see me through,” she finished, trying to sound optimistic. Like Aunt Olivia, Vivian had been against the idea of Rose going to the Fletcher’s, though her support never flagged once it was clear Rose would go through with her plan.

  “We’re always here for you, you know that,” Vivian said. “If you should get into any trouble…”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll come straight here if I find I must leave Cider Hill.” Rose paused, trying to find a way to broach the subject that was most on her mind this morning. “There are complications that I hadn’t expected, Vivian. Ones that are dangerous in an entirely unforeseen way.”

  “What do you mean?” her friend asked, frowning in puzzlement.

  Taking a deep breath, Rose began to tell Vivian about Luke.

  Vivian kept silent and let her speak without interrupting, though she leaned forward in her chair, her hands gripped tightly together. She squealed as Rose described the tension of searching the study, and let out a gasp, her hand flying to her mouth, when Rose described their kiss.

  “So you see,” Rose finished, “the work is actually the least of my worries.”

  “This Mr. Fletcher must be very compelling for you to behave so uncharacteristically.”

  “Yes, he is. He’s terribly handsome and …there’s just something about him.”

  “Something Will doesn’t have, I take it?”

  “Next to Luke Fletcher, Will feels like a brother,” Rose replied with dismay.

  “Oh dear.”

  “I can’t believe I said that, or thought it, but I’m afraid it’s so. Will has never made me feel as Mr. Fletcher does. I’ve always wondered why I never got as excited as other girls do over their beaux. But if Mr. Fletcher were to court me…”

  “Oh Rose, do be careful! There are so many things that could go wrong if you get mixed up with him. What if he’s trifling with you?”

  “He most certainly is trifling with me. What else could it be? But I’ll be more careful. I’m sure someone in that family killed my father. Jonas Fletcher makes the most sense, though I confess I have difficulty believing it of the man I met. I must contrive to see his business correspondence.”

  Vivian looked alarmed. “How will you do that?”

  “I have no idea, but I’ll find a way.”

  Vivian reached out and took Rose's hand in hers.

  “I admire you exceedingly, you know.”

  “Whatever for? I'm making a mess of everything.”

  “For your courage, your heart, your loyalty. Not to mention that perfect skin of yours,” she laughed, lightening the mood with her smile.

  “Oh, but you can’t admire my hands. Look at them,” she said, holding out her chapped hands for her friend to see. “No one could ever mistake me for a gently bred woman now. I never thought I was vain,” she sighed ruefully, “but I must admit, I did set a store by my hands. I suppose I got that from my mother. Every night we smoothed salve over them and wore kid gloves to bed. I never stopped doing it, even after she died, though it doesn’t seem to make much difference these days.”

  “I always thought the way your parents fell in love was the most romantic thing I ever heard,” Vivian confessed. “The way your mother gave up her family in England to live with your father here. I made my father tell me the story every night at bedtime for a year at least.”

  “They were very much in love until the day she died. I always hoped I’d find that sort of love myself.”

  “Yes, we all hope for that,” Vivian murmured.

  “Has Mr. Mitchell gotten up the nerve to speak to you yet?” Rose asked.

  This elicited a telling blush from Vivian, who shyly told her about Mr. Mitchell’s careful approach after church the previous Sunday. They sat
happily for hours, enjoying one another’s company, and Rose joined Vivian and her father, Edward, for an early supper. She left soon afterwards, promising to be careful and return the next week.

  The town still held the day’s heat, but once she left Boston proper the air cooled. Houses fell away and farmland took over, most of it bordered by low stone walls running along the side of the road. The soft light of early evening descended as she approached Fletcher land, blurring the landscape until it felt almost dreamlike. On either side of the road freshly tilled soil alternated with pastureland, the peaceful goats and cows bestowing an air of serenity. These gave way to the apple orchard Cider Hill was named for, the trees with their froth of late-blooming white blossoms stopping Rose in her tracks.

  They looked so full of promise, so graceful in a week perilously short on grace. Rose stood and gazed at their long, arcing branches and delicate flowers, drawing strength from them before continuing on.

  She was no more than half a mile from the house when she heard someone call her name.

  “Rose? Rose, is that you?”

  Startled out of her thoughts, Rose stopped and looked up to see Mrs. Fletcher's son, Mr. Byrne, sitting in a brougham watching her expectantly. A coachman sat atop it looking the other way.

  “May I offer you my carriage the rest of the way?”

  Rose began to object, but he would have none of it.

  “I insist you let me convey you to the house.”

  Rose hesitated, unsure what to do. She had been enjoying her walk and wanted these last few minutes to herself before returning to the house. But it was not only that. There was something about Mr. Byrne that made her uneasy, yet in a way unlike his stepbrother did. Maybe it was his smile, which held no warmth, or the way his pale blue eyes traveled over her figure.

  Still, it seemed ridiculous to refuse, and she didn’t want him to make a greater fuss.

  “Thank you. You're very kind,” Rose replied without feeling, unsuccessfully trying to calm her misgivings as Mr. Byrne watched her climb in.

  It was luxurious inside, far nicer than she would have expected, given that he did not have a great deal of money. It struck her as an affectation for a bachelor to keep a coachman, particularly as he did not have the means. But then, perhaps he had his mother’s ambition for greater social standing.

  He was smiling to himself as if terribly pleased. He had a dissolute look about him, his eyes bloodshot, his clothing wilted as if he'd been up all day and night in the same attire.

  The carriage had just begun to move when he spoke.

  “I cannot help wondering how you came to work at Cider Hill. You're much too pretty to be a servant.”

  Rose stared resolutely ahead, her hands curled into fists on her lap. How dare he speak to her so? She should never have accepted the ride. Though she had only to bear his company for a few more minutes, even that was intolerable.

  “Cannot a servant be pretty?” she countered, more sharply than was wise.

  “I suppose, but there are so many other things pretty girls may do if they like,” he replied with an insinuating smile.

  Rose shook with fury, but she could not afford to insult him. Though she’d once feared that Luke Fletcher would have her dismissed, she understood now he would never do such a thing. She had no such confidence in Mr. Byrne.

  “I prefer an honest day's work. In fact I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Rose replied, refusing to look at him.

  Mr. Byrne shot her a quick look and she worried she’d gone too far. Then he chortled as if amused.

  “I guess you came to the right place then. Just remember, if you ever tire of it there are easier ways to make a living.”

  Mercifully, they had arrived at the house. Climbing out of the carriage, Rose hurried away without a word. She knew without looking that he watched her the whole way.

  By the time she gained the servants’ entrance she had moved Mr. Byrne up her short list of suspects. The fact that he was a cad did not necessarily mean he was a murderer as well. But he was family and he clearly had a stake in the railroad. Just how much she would have to find out.

  Her pulse sped up as she made her way through the servants’ wing and up the stairs to her room. Of course she didn’t hear or see any sign of Luke, but just knowing that at any moment she could run into him kept her on edge.

  She spent the next morning in this state, her senses on alert for Luke’s voice or footstep. Her anxiety was soon dispelled however when she overheard Mrs. Craig reviewing the week’s menu with Mrs. Beech.

  “Master Luke left for the Berkshires this morning on railroad business. That leaves us with just four for supper tonight, though tomorrow…”

  Rose lost track of what Mrs. Craig was saying. She knew only that she need not face Luke for a while yet. It was a four day trip on horseback, which meant he would likely be gone at least two weeks. It was an unexpected reprieve. Yet mixed with her relief was a sense of disappointment.

  It was only then she admitted to herself that part of her very much wanted to see him again.

  Chapter Four

  “Rose?”

  Rose started at the voice behind her and turned from where she stood on tiptoe in the pantry, searching for the tea Mrs. Fletcher insisted must be served to her guests. Charlie, the lanky young groom, stood in the doorway, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he tried and failed to make eye contact.

  Rose couldn’t begin to guess the reason for his shyness. Normally he was quite confident, and though he was not as cold to her as were Dottie and Abigail, his manner when they had occasion to meet was familiar to the point of rudeness.

  “Yes, what is it, Charlie?”

  “I was wondering…that is…Lydia says you read real pretty and you’re helping her read too. I don’t need to read out loud to people or anything, leastways I don’t expect I’ll ever want to, but I was thinking maybe someday I’ll want to do something besides take care of horses. So I was wondering if you could help me read better, and maybe even write better also.”

  He looked up at her hopefully.

  Rose stared at him in surprise, turning the idea over for a moment before replying.

  “Yes, I could help you,” she said, glad for the opportunity to make another ally. Besides, she enjoyed her sessions with Lydia and could never turn down anyone who wanted to learn to read.

  They had their first lesson the very next afternoon. It being too warm in the servants’ hall, they settled themselves on a horse blanket under the shade of a maple tree near the carriage house. With a sheepish grin Charlie produced a bible given him by his mother.

  Charlie was an eager student and Rose found that she possessed an endless amount of patience when it came to teaching. She didn’t mind if it took ten minutes for him to get through a single paragraph, and she recited passages for him to copy, repeating herself as many times as was necessary.

  Word of their lessons spread, and within two weeks several of the farmhands who worked at Cider Hill had approached her and asked if they might join them. Delighted, Rose agreed and soon had eight students she met throughout the week for lessons.

  In the evenings, when not reading with Lydia, she read and re-read letters Vivian had given her from Aunt Olivia and Will. Her aunt wrote of how well the crops were growing, a runaway cow that had managed to travel ten miles before being caught, and the new schoolhouse that would be raised within the month. She had always loved the parties for raising buildings, when people from miles around ate and drank and danced after the walls went up. She missed laughing.

  It was at just such an event that she met Will. He came from a good family with a thriving farm, was shy but not afraid to approach her. She enjoyed his company, found him sincere and comfortable to talk to. But whereas his eyes lit up every time he caught sight of her, she was never more than pleased to see him.

  He was handsome and kind, with a gentle manner, and he genuinely wanted to know what she thought. Only she somehow could never talk to hi
m about the things that mattered to her. When she spoke of her former life in Boston he seemed at a loss, puzzled and worried that her life did not already contain all she could want. The way he spoke of his farm she knew he loved the land, and she envied him the certainty he had of his place in the world.

  When Will suggested they might one day marry, Rose went home to talk to her father. She found him in the barn, sitting on a bale of hay and mending a piece of tack in the sunlight from the open door. Though it was a story she knew well, she asked him how he and her mother had fallen in love, something she hadn’t done since she was a little girl. But she listened now with a woman’s heart and wondered if she would be giving up on that kind of happiness. And if so, would she find another kind in return?

  “Everyone has to decide for themselves what they want, Rose,” her father had said in that quiet, thoughtful way of his. “You’ll know it when you find it, and it may not be the same as what your mother and I had. You may need to be brave enough to see it for what it is.”

  All she’d wanted at that moment was to remain in the warmth and safety of her father’s presence, breathing in the sweet smell of hay as the goats shuffled in a nearby pen and cows lowed in the field below. But life did not stand still. Everyone had to grow up and make their choices.

  Perhaps growing up meant giving up on childish ideas of love. Few people had what her parents had. They were lucky, luckier than most, but wasn’t she lucky to have found a man like Will? Maybe it was foolish to expect more than that.

  A couple of women told her she’d be a fool to pass him by, and that one day she’d regret it. She even overheard one woman say that Rose thought she was too good to be a farmer's wife, coming as she did from Boston with her city manners, her Latin and French. Rose didn’t think she was too good for Will, but she wondered if maybe she had gotten foolish ideas in her head. She wasn’t so special, and she could do a lot worse than marry him. But three weeks later her father was dead, and Rose asked Will to wait.

  The questions she’d struggled with then loomed even larger now that she knew what she was missing. But Will loved her and was ready to share his life, whereas Luke Fletcher was an impossibility. Comparing the two men was ludicrous, and yet she couldn’t seem to help herself.