A Rose at Midnight

by Jacqueline Navin

  Thankfully, he did not seem to notice her inconvenient diversion. “It must be stated openly that though this is a marriage of convenience for both of us, there can be no question of separate bedrooms or continued chastity. Nor, until my death, shall there be any lovers, discreetly met or otherwise. Are you agreed?”

  She snapped her head up, focusing on his handsome face. Taking refuge in a haughty look, she answered, “Sir, I assure you I am well aware of the process by which babes are made. I would not have troubled you with my application in the first place if I were not prepared to submit to such doings, knowing as I do the importance of a child to be conceived before your death.”

  He eyed her speculatively. “You say you are knowledgeable about the act of sex. I must respectfully inquire if you are a virgin.”

  She bristled. “I said I was aware of the process, not an expert. Yes, my lord, I assure you I am a virgin.”

  “Good,” he asserted, “there can be no question of another man’s child precluding the conception of my seed. And now, I must inquire if you are in good health.”

  “I am.”

  “Is there any history of madness in your family?”

  “No, my lord.”

  “I will require a detailed accounting of your family history. Do not worry, I shall commission an agent to research it. I merely ask you to cooperate fully with him.”

  This was good news. She had much in her family heritage to recommend her. She just hoped he didn’t dig too deep and find out about James.

  He continued, “Again I must broach a delicate topic. Are females in your family prone to ill health? Are they typically fertile? Do you have what the doctors refer to as ‘childbearing’ hips?”

  Caroline did not blink. He had only inquired as to the health of the females of her family and so she could answer honestly, “No, yes. And.” Realization of his last query dawned. Had he actually inquired about her hips? “I-I do not know.” She paused, struggling with a hot flush of humiliation and an overwhelming urge to. She lost the battle. “Would you like to examine my teeth?”

  Good Lord, there was that smile again. Devastating. “Perhaps later,” he drawled.

  She had the notion she had impressed him favorably, this in spite of her many gaffes. He was staring at her again, with that same intent concentration. It was most disturbing, as was its potent effect on her. She found herself trembling, her body atingle, and her heart seemed not to want to beat a steady rhythm. She was acutely aware of him as a man.

  All of a sudden, she was very angry with herself. Why, she was behaving like an idiot! How well she knew the temperament of men, having been adequately acquainted with the dominant sex through the example of her father. At his knee she had learned of the callow nature of the male beast, his selfishness, his inability to allow another’s need to supersede his most capricious whim.

  Yet this man, with bald need and strangely pained eyes and soft mouth made her feel so strange, sparking to life something unidentifiable, yet not unpleasant. No, not unpleasant. But frightening all the same.

  “Well,” he said somewhat loudly, slapping his thighs and rising, “I must say, I am most pleased with our interview, Miss Wembly. May I have the references I requested? Ah, thank you. These appear to be in order. Yes, well, I shall be in contact with you as soon as the tasks are completed.”

  She rose, taking her cue to leave. The interview was over, and amazingly, he was telling her he would be proceeding to the next step.

  “Thank you for seeing me, my lord,” she said, moving to the door. As she did so, it was necessary to pass close to the earl, who seemed to be watching her with that unusual feral look he favored. As she did so, she caught a breath of his scent—a hint of soap from his morning shave and masculinely pleasant. It was then she was aware of a pressure at her waist as his large hands came to rest at the place where her skirts just started to swell. She jerked her head around, too shocked at first to protest. Firmly, he ran his hands down along the gentle flare of her hips.

  “Slim,” he murmured, his lips only inches from hers. “Hmm. I must speak to the doctors about this.”

  Outrage crept upon her as she realized he was groping her to feel if she had hips wide enough for birthing! Without thinking, she drew back her hand and let it fly, landing a smart slap upon his left cheek. His head snapped back, but otherwise he did not react.

  They both froze. Caroline was horrified by what she had done—what he had done, was still doing, in fact, for his hands remained on the sides of her derriere.

  Through gritted teeth, she snapped, “I am afraid I will not permit a trial tumble, my lord. I come to you a virgin, and will remain so until properly wed.”

  His breath fanned her face as he laughed softly. “I expected a fiery answer, and you do not disappoint me. Quite right, a proper mother of the future Earl of Rutherford should never allow a man to handle her so.” This said, he stepped back, releasing her. “Still, those hips are quite narrow. Ah, I shall speak to the authorities on these matters and decide. Until then, I trust you will be well taken care of at the inn.”

  Every nerve screamed to unleash another blow and wipe that infuriating look off his face. Instead she calmly met his eye. “As you wish, my lord.”

  He laughed at her docility, seeing it for the act it was. “You are a spitfire, Miss Wembly, and I think you could give me a fine, spirited boy.” He reached out and picked up a small bell from the table beside her and rang it.

  “Arthur will show you out. I look forward to our next encounter, Miss Wembly.” He bowed. “Until then.”

  Arthur materialized in the doorway and waited for his charge.

  “Thank you, my lord,” Caroline said and followed the manservant out of the room.

  And there it was, all so very correct. A perfectly respectable farewell. Who would have thought they had just discussed her virtue, bandied about the topic of lovemaking and suffered through gropes and blows?

  As Arthur arranged for the carriage to be brought round, Caroline cast a look about her. The magnificence of Hawking Park no longer daunted her, for it could not hold a candle to the man who owned it.

  Chapter Two

  When the earl’s phaeton dropped her at the door of the Barrister’s Ordinary, Caroline headed straight through the common room and up the stairs. She knew her mother and brother would be anxious for her return.

  The Earl of Rutherford had arranged for a suite of rooms for Caroline’s use. The parlor and two bedrooms were welcoming and infinitely pleasant after the crowded place where they had been living in London’s meanest section.

  Inside the room, Caroline only glanced at the small, thin woman by the window before moving quickly to the bed. James was sitting up, propped with a half-dozen goose down pillows behind him. His blue eyes sparkled with ex- citement. The splash of color from his auburn curls was beautiful against the crisp white linen. Every tense line of his small body spoke of his anticipation, as did the brilliant smile he gave her when she entered. From her spot by the window, Caroline’s mother took a step forward, as if to intercept her daughter, then stopped. Her hands grasped one another under her breasts as she looked her over.

  Avoiding her mother’s assessing gaze, Caroline sat on the bed. “Well, how are you doing?” she said cheerfully as she took the seven-year-old’s hands in hers. “You look wonderful. Did you eat today?”

  “I felt grand today. I ate a whole bowl of porridge and even some cheese,” James answered. He was exuberant, a state which delighted Caroline. His small face had a flush of color and the dark circles under his eyes had faded considerably. “I think it was all the excitement. It made me hungry. Now, please Cara, tell me what happened. Are you going to be a countess?”

  Feigning a lighthearted laugh, Caroline gave her brother’s hands a reassuring squeeze. “It went well, James.” She darted a glance up at her mother, who still stood motionless, before she continued. “Very well indeed. The earl said he wanted to examine our family and contact the refe
rences I gave him, but otherwise I believe he was favorably impressed.”

  Audrae Wembly gasped and turned away, her short steps clicking loudly on the bare floor. James glanced over, then leveled a wizened look at his sister. “She doesn’t know if she should be happy or sad,” he explained solemnly. “She doesn’t want you to have to marry him, but we need the money.”

  A feeling so powerful it was almost blinding came over Caroline—pure love, exquisitely bittersweet. It actually hurt.

  They often teased James about being an “old soul,” for he had wisdom and perception beyond his years. Perhaps it came from so many years of illness, or from the unhappiness in their home when Father was alive. However he had accomplished such uncanny maturity, it never ceased to amaze and humble his sister. It frightened her as well, for she could not help but think—only at night and when she was feeling particularly anxious—that a child as unique and wondrous as James was too unearthly, too perfect, too precious to dwell long in this world.

  “Yes, perhaps,” she replied, “but had you seen Hawking Park, James, you would know there is no cause for any such reservation.”

  “Is it very beautiful?” he asked excitedly. “More beautiful than here?”

  “Yes, it is. It is the most grand place I have ever seen. Why, it is like a palace.” She told him all about it, the towering columns and marble floors and beautiful objets d’art wherever you looked. She even told him about the unclothed nymphs, which made him gasp in shock and clamp a small hand over his mouth. Delighted giggles escaped just the same, warming Caroline’s heart.

  If she had any misgivings about today’s business, they were gone now that she was in the company of her brother. He listened with rapt attention, asking only the occasional question as he digested all of the details as if it were some fantastic fairy tale come true.

  Caroline noticed he was most keenly interested in the character of the earl himself.

  “I wonder why he does not appear ill,” he mused, his brow furrowed. “You did not discuss his sickness?”

  With a start, Caroline realized she did not even know the nature of the malady which afflicted the earl. “You know, I didn’t think to. I suspect I was a bit overwhelmed. It is a good thing I have you to remind me. I shall ask him the next time we meet.”

  His little chest puffed up, so pleased was he that he had been of service. “When will that be?” he inquired.

  She could see from the heaviness of his eyelids James was starting to tire. She tousled his hair. “He told me he will review my references, and I suppose there is the family to be looked into. When these things are accomplished, he will send for me.”

  “Oh, Cara! How can you wait? I wish to know right now if we are going to live in a palace!”

  Caroline glanced nervously at her mother, who looked away. She had not mentioned James to the earl, and with very good reason. In order to make the best appearance possible, she had decided that the earl should not know about him. Oh, certainly his inquiries would reveal that she had a brother, but it was almost impossible for him to learn of James’ consumption. It was imperative that he not know of it. Not only did she fear that if her possible future husband thought her encumbered with such a heavy family obligation as a sick child, he would look disfavorably on her, thinking perhaps that she would not be able to devote herself completely to her own child, but there was also the question of James’ illness tainting the purity of her heredity.

  “You are tiring,” Caroline said. “I’ll wager you did not nap all day, did you? Now, rest, my darling, and when you wake, we’ll talk more.”

  Yawning, James protested. “But I’m not tired at all.”

  “No? Hmm. Perhaps I was wrong then. Well, settle back and I shall tell you more.” Caroline smiled, softly speaking of the sleek phaeton and the other wonders of the day as she rubbed gentle circles at his temple. It was an old trick discovered when James was a babe. He could never seem to keep his eyes open for long when sleepy and the featherlight touch was applied to the side of his face. Within minutes, his eyes drifted shut and his breathing slowed, deepened, as he slipped into sleep.

  “Thank goodness,” Audrae whispered beside her. “He refused to rest. He was so determined to be awake when you returned.”

  “I’m glad he was able to do it. They are so important to him, these little victories.”

  The two women exchanged a long look. Without speaking, Audrae turned to leave. Caroline lingered, gazing at the angelic face of her brother. His cheeks were flushed, his small mouth like a tiny rosebud. His lashes were dark where they lay like small fans against his cheek. She frowned as she fingered his red-gold curls. His hair was too long. She must see about cutting it for him.

  Her fingers froze and she withdrew her hand. A pain that was jagged and familiar lanced through her body. Her eyes blurred, obscuring the vision of James cradled in slumber, such an innocent, so very precious and fragile-she had to marry the earl. They needed the money so desperately!

  Blinking away the moisture from her eyes, Caroline followed her mother into the other room.

  “Now,” Audrae said definitively as she closed the door, “tell me about him.”

  Caroline drew in a deep breath. Her mother was a good five inches shorter, and slight of frame, yet she held herself with an air of uncompromising authority that brooked no hesitation. She had been a beauty of renown in her day, whose looks had weathered a disastrous marriage well, but not unscathed. Her once fiery hair was now almost gray and lines of worry had been etched across her brow and around her mouth. Still a handsome woman, strong and sharp, she nevertheless wore the burdens of her unhappy life.

  “He was very forthright, Mother. He conducted the interview like any for a position for hire, asking me pertinent questions and offering some explanations as to his own character.” She recalled some of those questions, then went on quickly, “He explained his need to foster an heir, as he has had no issue. He was polite overall, if a bit challenging at times. I have no idea how many women he has interviewed, but I believe I did well. He even said so.”

  Her mother’s shrewd eyes missed nothing. “Why did you blush just now?”

  Caroline silently groaned. By nature a private person, she could however never keep a thing from her mother. Except one secret. The darkest secret of all she had kept in utter solitude for ten years.

  “I am afraid the position of wife—or more precisely mother of his future heir—did necessitate some unorthodox topics of conversation.”

  Her mother’s eyes snapped wide. “Did he make untoward suggestions?”

  “No, no, nothing like that, Mother. He did ask some. unconventional questions regarding.well, my virtue.” At her mother’s incensed look, Caroline rushed, “Which was completely understandable, given I could be a woman who found herself in an inconvenient condition, and saw this as an excellent way to salvage her name and bring legitimacy to her unborn babe.”

  Audrae narrowed her eyes. “What other improprieties did he commit?”

  Caroline waved her hand ineffectually in the air, trying to appear casual. “He wanted to know about my hips.”

  “You. your. he. hips?”

  “You know, for birthing the babe,” Caroline explained, attempting for all the world to sound as if this were the most natural curiosity for any prospective husband.

  Her mother was still sputtering when Caroline let her shoulders slump and gave up. “Oh, all right, if you must know it was wretched. But Mother, what does it matter? It could have been far worse, and still I cannot regret it. We have been given a marvelous opportunity. And the earl was not bad, not at all. A tad arrogant, perhaps, and more than a little imperious, but had he been a demon I would still wed him and gladly.”

  Audrae controlled her trembling lip with a quick sniff. She held her hands out for her daughter. Caroline moved into the embrace. It was familiar and soothing. She lay her head upon the slight shoulder, remembering the comfort that coveted place had afforded her through the years
. Yet, now it seemed so small.

  Audrae smoothed the silken strands of Caroline’s hair and sighed. “Ah, my beautiful child. I wanted so much for you, so much more than this.”

  “Hush, Mother,” Caroline said bravely, pulling away with back straight and chin held high. “We are blessed to have this chance to save James. So, don’t think of it as any hardship for me. Think upon how wonderful it all is.”

  Her mother gazed at her with eyes shining. She opened her mouth to speak, then thought better of it and simply smiled, nodding, then turning away. “I have waited luncheon for you, Cara.”

  “Very good.” In truth, Caroline was not the least bit desirous of food. What she wanted more than anything was to be by herself. To think. To ingest what had happened this morning at Hawking Park, let it settle in her brain. To reflect on the enigmatic and incorrigible man who just might become her husband.

  Hawking Park was dark when the midnight hour struck, save for a miserly gas lamp in the library which was turned way down low. Magnus prowled among the shadows, traveling the length of the book-lined shelves, rounding, then heading back to his desk. The remains of his meal were littered among an untidy scatter of papers. He picked up a particular document, brushed off some crumbs and fingered it thoughtfully. Miss Wembly’s preliminary history, he saw. He had read it already, twice in fact. Tossing it back onto the desk, he watched dispassionately as it fluttered onto the mess of documents like a feather settling after a brisk ride on the wind.

  He sighed, turned away and refilled his glass with three fingers of whiskey. It burned its way down to his stomach, warming him.

  Miss Wembly. Just a girl, really. Only twenty and two, she had said. Not so very young, then, but making him feel, at three and thirty, like he was robbing the cradle.

  Well, he thought as he threw back the last drops of his drink, turnabout is fair play. After all, she is robbing the grave!