by Isabel Morin
She still couldn’t get enough of her new husband, and many were the times they made love rather than partake of the meal laid in the dining room. Fortunately, Mrs. Williamson was an amiable woman and without being asked always packed a basket of food for Luke to take back.
Boston was favored with a glorious October and Rose took full advantage of the clear bright days by reacquainting herself with the town. Ever since moving to the farm she’d feared her world would close in on her, getting smaller and smaller until it was so small nothing new would ever squeeze through. Now every day brought something new, not just in the places she saw but in the things she felt.
In the first few weeks of their marriage they went to a play or recital once or twice a week, but then a troubling thing began to happen. Though they continued to steer clear of any gatherings Charlotte attended, soon even that wasn’t enough to guarantee they were treated civilly. Just as Luke had predicted, the very people who had greeted them so warmly now said a stiff hello to Luke, if they said anything at all, and hardly acknowledged Rose.
“You remember my wife,” Luke said the first time it happened, his ferocious glare causing Mrs. Barrett to pale and her husband to stammer. But it happened again and again, until all the pleasure went out of the occasions.
Charlotte and Jonas had moved back to their dwelling in town, and clearly Charlotte was making good on her threats. Fortunately, she and Luke received invitations from people in the less elite echelons of society — well-to-do merchants and politicians, the occasional intellectual, as well as old acquaintances from Luke’s earlier days in Boston. But even they employed servants, and while friendlier to her, they still regarded her as either a curiosity or a threat. As much as Rose tried to enjoy herself, she was ever on guard, worried she’d say the wrong thing.
She despaired of making any new friends until one evening late in October, when she was pleasantly surprised to see Eliza Lynch.
“Mrs. Fletcher, how lovely to see you.”
Rose smiled with pleasure at Mrs. Lynch’s greeting. The two had met during an intermission at the playhouse in September and Rose had been taken with her bright laugh and engaging personality. A pretty blond woman perhaps ten years older than herself, Mrs. Lynch had seemed like she might one day be more than an acquaintance. Tonight’s supper was being given by Matthew Bishop, an old classmate of Luke’s, and Rose hadn’t expected to see anyone she knew.
“I didn’t expect to see you,” Rose said, taking a sip of punch.
“I know Mrs. Bishop through our charity work. I hadn’t realized you’d be here either, but I’m so glad you are. I’ve been wanting to get better acquainted with you for weeks now.”
“I thought the very same thing,” Rose said, smiling with delight.
“I hope Mr. Fletcher is easier to coax out of the house than Mr. Lynch. Whenever it rains Mr. Lynch needs to be dragged kicking and screaming out the door.”
“Mr. Fletcher was happy enough to come, though we stay in most nights.”
“It’s good to see him so happy,” Mrs. Lynch said, causing Rose to blush. “He was so distraught after Catherine’s loss. I’ve never seen a man more in love, so it was no surprise he had to leave town. A thing like that haunts a person for life.”
Rose looked down at the glass in her hands, unable to speak. The woman’s words seemed designed to cut her to the heart, and yet they were said with the warmth and compassion of a friend.
“Oh my dear, how thoughtless of me,” Mrs. Lynch cried, her hand flying to her bosom. “What a thing to say to a new bride. You mustn’t listen to me.”
It was rather too late for that, but Rose managed to smile and let Mrs. Lynch lead her to a group of gossiping matrons. Luke looked at her from across the room, his gaze taking her in from the tip of her gray satin slippers to the top of her head. A private smile spread across his face and his gaze turned heated. She smiled back, heartened just looking at him, but he must have sensed her low spirits, for he frowned and excused himself from the two men with whom he’d been conversing.
“Is everything all right, sweetheart?” he asked, his breath warm on her cheek. His big capable hand gripped her elbow, and even that simple touch flooded her with awareness.
She wouldn’t mention Eliza Lynch’s unsettling comment, especially not here. The last thing she wanted was to remind him of the worst period of his life.
“I’m perfectly well. I was surprised by something Mrs. Lynch said, but it’s of no consequence.”
“What do you say we make our goodbyes and I take you home and ravish you?”
“We just got here! We can’t leave yet.”
“Very well,” he said with an exaggerated sigh. “But I implore you not to make me stay above an hour.”
“You have a bargain,” she said, smiling at him. But she couldn’t help thinking about Mrs. Lynch’s comments. Her father had never gotten over the death of his wife. What if Luke never did either? What if everything she did fell short of his first wife?
Several days later Rose was sitting in front of her dressing table freshening up for supper when Luke returned home, entering their bedchamber with an expression so grim it set her heart racing.
“What’s wrong? Has something happened?” she asked, gripped by the notion that he’d found out about her.
Luke bent down and kissed her, instantly calming the worst of her fears.
“Nothing for you to worry about,” he said, taking up the necklace she held and clasping it around her neck. “It’s only that I have to leave you for a time. We’re planning a number of railroad lines over the next several years and I’ve been asked to survey a route to the north. I leave day after tomorrow.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“I’m not entirely certain, but I imagine it will be two to three weeks. The last thing I want is to leave you, but I’m afraid there’s no way around it. Every surveyor we’ve got is being sent out.”
“If you must go, then you must,” she said, turning around to smile brightly at him.
“You’ll be all right, won’t you? If there’s anything you need, I’ll take care of it before I go.”
“I’ll be perfectly fine. What could I possibly need?” she said, laughing off his worry.
“No doubt you’ll hardly notice I’m gone. You’ll be too busy visiting with Vivian, perhaps even Mrs. Lynch.”
“No doubt,” she said, matching his teasing grin with one of her own.
Two days later she found it more difficult to feign nonchalance. Her chest tightened as she watched him pack his things, and she kissed him goodbye through a haze of tears. As soon as he was gone she returned to her sitting room, the days until his return stretching out before her. She tried to read, to write a letter to Olivia, but couldn’t for the life of her seem to focus.
Giving up, she went instead to the March house, where Vivian’s sunny disposition was sure to lift her spirits.
“Oh Rose, I was just about to send you a note,” Vivian said at the sight of her. “We’ve had a letter from Aunt Harriet. She’s doing poorly and has no relations near, so I’m to go to Sudbury first thing tomorrow.”
Rose’s mouth opened but no sound came out. All she could think about was how alone she was going to be. Gathering her wits at last, she asked about Vivian’s travel plans and got further details of her aunt’s illness, but stayed only a few minutes more and then left Vivian to her preparations.
She took a roundabout way home, none too anxious to return to the quiet house, and when she arrived she stared about her, not sure what to do with herself.
“Is anything the matter, Mrs. Fletcher?” Mrs. Williamson asked, jolting Rose out of her troubled thoughts.
“I suppose I’m just out of sorts with Mr. Fletcher away, and now Vivian is leaving tomorrow as well.”
“That is a pity.”
“Shall I help you in the kitchen?” Rose asked, desperate for the company and something useful to do.
“Heavens, no. Everything is perf
ectly under control. Dinner will be ready in under an hour.”
Not wanting to appear desperate, Rose retreated upstairs where she read for the rest of the day, stopping only for meals. But where once she would have luxuriated in all the time to herself, now it felt more like a burden.
Several more days passed this way, and then a note was delivered to the house inviting her and Luke to an evening of music at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Lacey. Mr. Lacey was a dry goods merchant with whom Luke was friendly, and Rose had found his wife pleasant, though they had spoken little the one time they’d met.
After much deliberation, Rose sent a note accepting on her own behalf. It would be good for her to be less dependent on Luke and Vivian for all her entertainment. Besides, she had always loved musical evenings.
Buoyed by this boldness, she decided to take matters into her own hands and sent a note inviting Eliza Lynch for tea.
Mrs. Lynch had not yet replied when the evening of the recital arrived. Rose sat nervously at her dressing table while Martha deftly pinned her hair. After standing before her wardrobe for close to an hour, she’d finally chosen an elegant but understated long-sleeved gown of brown silk embroidered with yellow flowers. If she recalled correctly, Madame Beauchamp had specifically told her it would suit this very sort of occasion.
Jeremy escorted her to the house and then went round to the rear entrance to join the other servants. Rose’s heart beat with a combination of anxiety and anticipation as she entered the house, and it didn’t escape her that she was nearly as nervous approaching the Lacey household for a social engagement as she’d been when first arriving at Cider Hill.
Making her way to the ballroom, she smiled and said hello to several people she recognized. All of them were cool to her and none stopped to talk. A feeling of dread overtook her, but still she tried to convince herself it was all in her head.
Then she saw Mrs. Lacey. The hostess was speaking to an older couple, her expression animated as she laughed at something one of them said. When they moved away her gaze lit on Rose and her expression changed to one of outright displeasure. It took her only a moment to school her features, but in that time Rose saw the truth. She wasn’t welcome there, not without her husband. Perhaps not even with him.
Mortified by the realization even as she stood facing Mrs. Lacey, she forced herself through all the usual pleasantries. She thanked the woman for the invitation and told her she looked forward to a wonderful evening, all the while calculating how soon she could leave without looking foolish.
She endured an agonizing hour during which she stood alone, sipping punch and trying to look as if she were enjoying herself. No one approached her. After what seemed like ages a quartet began to play and everyone took their seats. Rose kept her eyes on the musicians and tried to appreciate the music, but it was no use. At the first break in the program she slipped out and asked one of the maids to fetch Jeremy.
“Did you have a good time, Mrs. Fletcher?” Jeremy asked as they walked home. “I could hear the music from the servants’ hall. It sounded real pretty.”
“Yes, it was. Very pretty,” she said, and then words failed her.
The thought that she’d been attending soirees where she wasn’t welcome made her feel physically ill, and the idea of having to tell Luke what had happened that night filled her with hot shame. Of course they’d both known this could happen, but actually being a pariah was far different from thinking about it in the abstract, in the warm aftermath of a passionate kiss.
Defeated, Rose returned home and went directly to her bedchamber. There she stood looking at her reflection in the mirror, a woman who even in the finest clothes would forever be known as a servant. She had an entire wardrobe of gowns meant for occasions like tonight, all of them a waste of money and effort.
Feeling numb, she stepped out of her dress and undergarments, leaving behind a crumpled pile of silk on the floor. What did it matter if her dress was wrinkled when she would likely never wear it again?. She pulled on the simplest cotton nightgown she owned and climbed into the big empty bed, wishing with all her heart that Luke was there to comfort her.
Rose stayed in bed uncharacteristically late the next morning. What reason did she have to rise? There was nothing for her to do, no one to see. When she went downstairs mid-morning, it was to find that Eliza Lynch had finally sent her reply. She thanked Rose for the invitation but wrote that she had another engagement on the very same day. The fact that she didn’t suggest an alternate day or extend an invitation herself could not be ignored.
Had she misjudged Mrs. Lynch’s attitude toward her as well?
Rose left the house only for her solitary walks after that, or to take the phaeton out in order to exercise the horses. She spoke to no one outside of Jeremy, Martha and Mrs. Williamson. The housekeeper, perhaps taking pity on her, finally relented and allowed Rose to help her in the kitchen.
Now that her world had shrunk to that of the house, she turned her attention to the rooms she had yet to decorate. The drawing room was particularly in need of help, as it had been used almost as a storage area, with several crates stacked one on top of the other. Bending over she tried to lift the top crate, only to discover it was far too heavy for her.
She stood with her hands on her hips, staring down at them in annoyance. Jeremy was at school, else she’d have asked him to help her. Perhaps she’d simply move them a little bit at a time.
Sifting through the crates to decide where all the items ought to go, she found herself staring at two sheaves of letters tied together with string. Without meaning to she read the first lines of the topmost letter.
My dearest Catherine,
Every day I wake up, amazed anew that we are to be married. If only it were tomorrow, as I do not know how I’ll survive two more months without holding you in my arms.
Her breath came fast and light and her pulse thundered in her ears.
One bundle contained messages from Luke to Catherine, the other from Catherine to Luke. Standing up, she put everything back where it was, wishing she’d never laid eyes on it.
But she had, and now she had to live with the very words Luke had sent to his betrothed, and know that it was but a fraction of what the letters contained. She’d purposefully not allowed herself to dwell on thoughts of his first wife, but now she was forced to consider what he’d felt for her all those years ago.
Mrs. Lynch’ words came back to her, and all at once she felt ill. The day Luke came upon her at the pond he’d told her he didn’t have more to offer her than life as his mistress. What if what he’d meant was that he’d never stopped loving Catherine?
Rose spent the rest of the day in her sitting room, staring out the window. Her whole life seemed balanced on the edge of a knife. She’d risked so much, had staked everything on her love for him, and on the hope that he would one day love her enough to forgive her betrayal. But one needed the kind of love that outlived death to forgive someone of that. A man didn’t feel that but once in his lifetime.
A letter from Luke arrived the next day to let her know he’d be returning in a week’s time. She did little in the intervening days but help in the kitchen and take her solitary walks and drives. The crates stayed where they were, and her efforts at decorating came to a halt. Mrs. Williamson urged her to eat more, saying that Rose had lost weight and Mr. Fletcher would think she wasn’t doing her job.
Luke returned home shortly after nightfall a week later, entering through the kitchen with a rush of chill air. Startled, Rose looked up from the pie she was making and stared at him.
“Did you miss me?” Luke asked, dropping his saddlebags in order to pick her up and swing her round in a circle, nearly upending her pie.
Mrs. Williamson let out a relieved sigh when nothing fell and turned back to the goose she was basting.
“You know I did,” Rose said, her heart singing with joy at the ardent way he was looking at her. Once again her hopes surged. “You’d better have missed me, too.”
“I can spare her. Supper will be ready in an hour, Mr. Fletcher, if that suits you.”
Luke’s hand grasped hers and tugged her through the kitchen and up the stairs until they were in their bedchamber.
He closed the door and stood with his back to it, eyeing her like a sultry predator. Rose stood uncertainly by the bed, her heat racing with excitement. She wanted his hands on her, stroking her until all her doubts and fears evaporated.
Luke came to her, wrapping his arms around her as his mouth took hers, lips sliding over hers with increasing hunger. Then his tongue slipped between her lips and they moaned in unison.
Luke’s hand covered her breast, only to find the stiff fabric of her corset.
“These blasted clothes. It’ll take me a good ten minutes just to get you naked.”
“Please, hurry,” she said, already breathless and impatient.
His eyes went dark and a flush stole over his cheekbones. Picking her up, he laid her on the bed. Once again he kissed her until her breath was ragged, hitching in and out. She tried to widen her legs for him but her heavy skirts hampered all movement.
“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you,” he whispered, moving down her body until he was by her feet.
Cool air swept up her stockinged legs as he pushed her skirts up to her hips and settled between her thighs. His hand stroked up her leg and he smiled at her, as if he had a secret he was about to tell. Then he ducked his head.
“What—”
But she said nothing more. Her breath caught at the feel of his fingers spreading her open, his tongue licking over her like a flame. Her hips lifted off the bed, greedy for him. Soon she was writhing, beyond the boundaries of her own body. There was just Luke and his heavenly mouth, the hands that held her hips as his tongue slid over her, oh so slowly, until the ache built to a need so desperate she thought she might die of it. Her fingers were rigid in his hair when he slid his tongue inside her, his own moans joining hers when at last she broke apart beneath him.