He hadn’t slept at all, yet he felt bursting with energy. He felt—was it? Could it be happiness? It was a strange sensation and a very pleasant one.
As he ate his breakfast eggs, he studied his brother across the table. Everyone else was still in bed or enjoying the clear, sunny morning with the last of the snow, and they were alone, as they had so often been as children. Unlike himself, his brother did not look as if he was filled with lightness and hope. Charles’s face was pale, his hair rumpled and he nursed a strong cup of tea with only uneaten toast on his plate. Harry frowned with a new worry. He needed Charles’s help if the future was to work as he hoped. He wanted his brother to find such happiness, too.
‘I suppose I do feel in fine fettle this morning,’ Harry said. ‘But you look exhausted.’
Charles shrugged. ‘It’s nothing at all. Just a surfeit of Christmas.’
Harry nodded. It had been a delightful holiday at Barton, filled with music and laughter and games, with friends all around. Surely it was the perfect setting to find unexpected love. But also to indulge in too much wine. He hoped that was all it was for Charles.
‘What would you think if I went into the army again this year?’ he asked as he buttered his toast.
Charles’s eyes widened and he sat up straight in surprise. ‘The army, Harry? Whatever for?’
‘It is only an idea,’ Harry said. And perhaps the only idea that would work for now. He could make some money in the army, to send home, and Charles could look after Hilltop. With Rose as Harry’s wife, she would also have a home there, a place as its mistress. Harry had seen how kind she was with his tenants, how she shared his vision of a prosperous estate for them all. It would not be as quick a solution as Charles’s idea of marrying an heiress, but it was something of a plan. A beginning for them all.
He wondered what Rose would think of it and could only hope she would agree. That she would take him despite everything.
‘I know I can’t fight any longer,’ he said. ‘A one-eyed, scarred officer is no good on a battlefield. But I have much experience with strategy, too, and with the logistics of moving armies. I am sure such experience could be valuable.’
‘But why would you want to do that?’
‘To earn an income, of course.’
Charles shook his head, as if he could not believe what he was hearing. ‘What of marrying well?’
‘I do plan to marry well,’ he answered carefully. ‘But she has no great fortune.’
‘You mean—you are betrothed? But to whom?’ Charles asked. ‘To Miss Parker?’
Harry glanced at the door to make sure they were still alone. ‘Yes, though I have not formally asked her yet. You must keep it to yourself for the moment.’
‘Of course. I do like Miss Parker and she would suit you very well. Yet—’ He broke off and shook his head.
‘Yet what, Charlie?’
‘What about Helen?’
‘Oh, Charlie. Any chance Helen and I might have had was gone long ago and that is for the best. We would never have done well together.’
Charles nodded, but it looked as if his thoughts were very far away. ‘So to marry Miss Parker you would go into the army again?’
‘If I have to. I would have to leave someone to look after Hilltop, though.’
‘You don’t mean me?’ Charles said, obviously aghast.
‘Who else? You know the estate as well as I do and you care about it as much.’
‘But—I can’t run an estate! I don’t know about farming and such.’
‘You know as much as I do. We can learn together.’ He suddenly realised how very concerned Charles had looked as he mentioned Helen. More than the concern of an old friend, mayhap? ‘Or you could marry an heiress.’
Charles gave a humourless laugh. ‘I doubt she would have me. You know I will help you however I can, though. No one deserves to find happiness as much as you, Harry.’
‘I hoped you would say that.’
‘Now you must persuade Miss Parker to marry you.’ Charles smiled, a true smile this time. ‘That poor lady.’
Harry laughed. ‘I’m going to ride over to Hilltop this morning and fetch Mother’s ring. Then we shall see.’ He finished his breakfast and called for his horse, more filled with hope than he had ever been before.
* * *
‘Miss Parker, are you unwell?’ Lady Eleanor asked in a worried little voice. She went to Rose’s side, where Rose was looking out the window of the nursery to the drive below, and slipped her small hand into Rose’s. ‘You look sad.’
Rose gave the little girl a smile that she hoped looked merry and reassuring, hiding the melancholy thoughts that invaded her mind. ‘Not at all. I think I just danced too late last night and am now tired.’
Eleanor sighed. She looked so much like Jane in that moment it made Rose laugh. ‘That’s why Mama and Aunt Emma said they can’t be disturbed until this afternoon.’
Rose laughed again. ‘Too much Christmas will do that, I’m afraid.’ She thought of her own Christmas, the night that meant she would never be the same again. She was a fallen woman and yet she did not feel ‘fallen’ in the least—she wanted to do it all over again. The one thing she knew could never be.
She glanced out the window, where she had seen Harry ride away from Barton only moments ago. Was he leaving for good? She had not been able to see his face, to read his expression.
Part of her feared never to see him again more than anything. And part of her was terrified of seeing him again. What would she say? What would she do? She was sure to make a fool out of herself no matter what happened. She had been unable to sleep at all last night when the dance was over, staring into the darkness of her bedroom, going over every single moment of her time with Harry, savouring every kiss, every touch, so she would always remember it.
It had made her feel so giddy with happiness. Being a fallen woman felt so wonderful that she wasn’t surprised everyone preached against it so strenuously! If every lady knew how good it was, they would be clamouring to fall. She did not regret it.
But in the clear, cold light of day there was also a terrible sadness. Her time with Harry, even time just to see him or talk with him, was growing ever shorter. How could she steel herself to give that up? To go back to what she’d had before? Even knowing that she loved him and that she would always carry that love even if it was a secret in the deepest chamber of her heart.
Yet she knew that her love was exactly why she had to give him up. He needed so much more in his life than she could give him. He needed a fortune for his home, a society lady for his name. She would never have those.
‘Shall we practise some of your music?’ she said to Eleanor. She smiled down at the girl, trying not to think too much about how she would miss the children. How much joy they had brought her in her time with them. How lovely it would be to have her own little ones to teach music to, listen to their childish laughter and shrieks as they played their nursery games.
‘It’s Boxing Day!’ William cried. ‘Surely we deserve one day to play with our new toys.’ He pushed his little carriage across the carpet, running it much faster than she hoped he would do eventually in real life. The others gathered close by, with their new dolls and tops and hoops.
‘I’d like to play the pianoforte, Miss Parker,’ Eleanor said. Rose smiled and led her over to the instrument where all their new sheet music was scattered.
‘What would you like to play, then?’ Rose asked. ‘Whatever is your choice.’
‘Something quite happy,’ Eleanor said. ‘I want to play something jolly while Mama gives out the gifts.’
Rose sorted through the songs until she found one she thought might suit, a lively reel that was well within Eleanor’s skills. ‘Perhaps this one? It’s a bit harder than what we have tried so far, but you have made s
o much progress I’m sure you can play it very well indeed.’
‘Oh, yes, I’m sure I can!’ Eleanor exclaimed, her eyes shining with new confidence. ‘Who will teach me once you leave, Miss Parker?’
Rose hugged her close, trying not to cry. ‘I’m sure your mother will find you an excellent teacher, one much better than me.’
‘But it won’t be the same,’ Eleanor whispered.
‘Must you go, then, Miss Parker?’ William said, forgetting about his carriage for the moment. ‘We like you teaching us music.’
Rose bit her lip against those threatening tears. It would never do to cry in front of them, not on Boxing Day. ‘And I love teaching you, very much. But I already have a job I must do.’
Eleanor wrinkled her little nose. ‘With Aunt Sylvia?’
Rose nodded, trying not to contrast the reality of life with her aunt and the dream she had known last night. That way could only lie sorrow and regret, and she wanted none of those. ‘Yes, with Aunt Sylvia. She needs my help just as you do.’
‘But what if you had another job?’ Eleanor said. ‘Something where you could stay with us?’
Rose hugged the little girl close. ‘I would like that so much. Yet sometimes I think life does not arrange things as we would like.’
Eleanor frowned. ‘Then maybe life needs persuasion.’
Rose laughed. ‘Maybe. Yet for now we have music to practise. Your mama will be handing around the Boxing Day gifts very soon.’
* * *
The rest of the morning was spent most pleasantly, playing at the pianoforte and building castles out of a new set of blocks. Rose forgot her worries about the future, all her doubts, as she laughed with the children. All too soon, though, the nursemaid came to fetch them and get them ready to go downstairs.
Rose went to her own chamber to change her dress and tidy her hair. As she put on one of her sensible frocks, a pale grey trimmed with blue, she glimpsed her lovely ballgown draped over the chair where she had left it last night. She picked it up and held it carefully, as if it might shatter as easily as the dreams she had let herself grasp all too briefly. The silk felt cool and light in her hands. She carefully folded it and tucked it into her travelling trunk. She might never wear it again, but she would always keep it.
She found her shawl and wrapped it over her shoulders, glancing in the looking glance to make sure her hair was neatly pinned. Luckily she showed little sign of her late night except some faint shadows under her eyes and paler than usual cheeks. She looked as she always did—practical, sensible Rose.
She left her chamber to make her way downstairs for tea with the other guests. She could hear Jane presenting the Barton servants with their gifts in the library and the sound of happy laughter. Rose knew that then the staff would depart for their day off and everyone at Barton would have tea and a cold supper, and then perhaps cards or charades. One more burst of merriment before the winter set in.
And tomorrow—tomorrow she would probably leave with Aunt Sylvia and the Barton Christmas would be only a memory.
Rose smiled despite the sad pang of such thoughts. It would only be a memory, yes, but what a grand one! She had never expected to have such a time in her life at all. It had been the best holiday gift.
She started down the stairs, which were deserted. Everyone seemed to be gathered in the drawing room or the library, not hurrying about as they usually were. But at the foot of the stairs she found she was not alone after all. Harry was in the hall, pacing back and forth, his brow furrowed as if he was in deep thought. She almost missed her step as she saw him, looking so handsome and strong in the daylight, and clutched at the banister.
Rose had thought she would encounter him again in a crowd, where they would have no chance of a private word and where she could prepare herself beforehand. Where, if she was lucky and her acting skills were up to the challenge, she could just keep smiling and remain composed.
Now she had no chance to prepare herself at all. He glanced up and saw her there, staring at him open-mouthed like a starry-eyed, besotted schoolgirl.
She snapped her mouth shut and tried to smile carelessly, as if she did this sort of thing all the time. She remembered Lady Fallon, her perfect, half-bored mask, and tried to copy it.
She feared it was a terrible failure. So many emotions were flooding through her, all the things she had pressed down so hard for so many years, racing free. Hope, joy, laughter, despair. And she feared it all showed on her face.
‘Rose,’ he said, his voice eager as he made his way to the foot of the stairs. ‘I’ve been waiting for you.’
‘Have you?’ Rose forced herself to keep walking down the stairs, holding tight to the gilded banister as if it could keep her from turning and fleeing back to her chamber. ‘I’ve been at lessons with the children.’
‘We have to talk,’ he said.
Rose swallowed hard past a throat gone suddenly dry. Her stomach gave a nervous flutter. ‘Yes, I know.’
‘Shall we...?’ He gestured towards the door to the small sitting room where they had first kissed.
She didn’t want to be alone with him there, as she remembered all too well what had happened the last time. Close to him there, in the half-light, she was afraid she couldn’t resist him again. Yet she knew there was nowhere else they could be alone. She nodded and hurried into the room ahead of him before she could indeed turn and run away.
Once she was alone with him there, she knew it was a mistake. He was too close, too warm, the smell of him all around her. She longed to throw her arms around him and never let go.
She sat down on the sofa and tightly folded her hands in her lap.
‘Rose, I—’ he began, then broke off with a wry laugh, shaking his head. ‘I fear I am no good at such things.’
Such things as breaking her heart? No, he had never done that. She had done it to herself, reaching for what she knew could never be hers. ‘Oh, Harry,’ she said. ‘You need not say anything at all, I promise. I know how things must be. I would never presume anything, or cause your life any trouble. We part as good friends, always.’
‘Part?’ he said, frowning. He sat down beside her and reached for her hand. She dared to let him, dared to feel his touch one more time. ‘Rose, no. That isn’t what I want at all.’
She was confused, half-hoping for—what? She didn’t even know. ‘Then—what do you want?’
He smiled and squeezed her hand. ‘I told you I am terrible at this sort of thing. I really should have read some of those romantic novels Jane has scattered around, but there was no time.’ He reached inside his coat and took out a tiny box.
As Rose watched, unable to breathe at all, he opened it to reveal a beautiful ring, a round ruby surrounded by tiny pearls. It gleamed and twinkled at her, enticing her with all it promised.
‘Rose, will you do me the great honour of agreeing to be my wife?’ he said, a small smile hovering around his lips. But his voice sounded uncertain. ‘I know I have little to offer you, but you would have a home at Hilltop and there would be the income when I return to the army...’
‘The army?’ Rose gasped. To go back to battle, when he had already nearly died there? ‘No, Harry, you can’t do that. Hilltop needs you and I’ve seen how much you love your home. You belong there now.’
‘I do love it. That is why I will return to my commission. To earn what I can.’
‘And that is why I can’t let you do this.’ Rose reached out and gently closed the box, unable to look at it any longer without being tempted. Tempted to throw her better judgement to the winds and run into his arms. ‘Your duty is to restore your home and I have no fortune to help you do that. I have nothing to offer you at all.’
He shook his head. ‘Rose, you know that is not true. You have yourself. You’re the kindest, bravest lady I have ever known. I need you by m
y side. And after what happened last night...’
‘I won’t use that to tie you down to something you will come to regret,’ she protested. ‘You cannot go back into the army. You must find a wife who can be all that you deserve and it’s not me. You would despise me one day.’
‘I never could do that!’ he protested vehemently. His hand tightened on hers. ‘Rose, please. I need you.’
Unable to bear being close to him a moment longer without giving in, she snatched away her hand and jumped to her feet. ‘Please, Harry, I can’t be the anchor that ties you down. I—I care about you too much.’ She bit her tongue to keep from blurting out what she really wanted to say—that she loved him. She loved him with a force and fire she had never believed was possible. And that was why she had to let him go.
Before she could change her mind, she threw open the sitting room door and ran out. The laughter from the drawing room was even louder now, but she knew she couldn’t go in there yet. Not until she could compose herself. Half-blinded by tears, she dashed up the stairs to her chamber.
At the top of the staircase, she dared to glance back. Harry stood in the sitting room doorway, watching her with a desolate look on his face. She had not expected that, that he would want her to stay with him, and it broke her heart all over again.
She forced herself to turn away and walk to her bedchamber. Only once she was alone did she let herself fall to the floor, and cry out all her sadness and regret.
* * *
‘What are you doing, Eleanor? Nanny will be so angry if she sees you there, when we’re supposed to go downstairs soon,’ William said.
‘Hush!’ Eleanor hissed at her brother. One could always trust William to ruin a covert session of eavesdropping. And without eavesdropping, how would she ever learn anything? Grown-ups never told children anything interesting. She pressed her ear closer to the door of Miss Parker’s chamber and waved her brother closer.
The Wallflower's Mistletoe Wedding Page 17