by Beth Elliot
By the time his glass was empty, Tom had made up his mind. Unlike his younger self he now had plenty of money, earned by his work for the government. And thanks to his grandmother, he owned a prosperous estate. He was certainly in a position to support a wife. He grimaced again. In fact he was obviously considered a good bargain, witness the ordeal he had been through this evening.
But whether he settled down in his new home or whether he set off abroad for more adventures would depend entirely on Rose. It was time to speak. Here, he checked. She would not be persuaded easily. At length, however, Tom snapped his fingers and grinned. Surely his plan would work.
Chapter Thirty-four
The ladies had been out paying morning visits. It was a crisp, dry day with a wind blowing, enough to make Rose long to be in the countryside. She thought wistfully that she would like to ride for miles and enjoy the last of the autumn colours in the fields and hedges.
Perhaps they would go down to Rivercourt soon. Surely everyone must be tired of this endless round of social visits and exhibitions by now? She smiled at the thought of returning to the dear old house with its striped frontage of black beams and white plaster. Such a pretty house but sadly in need of repair.
Now her uncle and aunt were home for a while, there would be a chance to undertake the maintenance. Inside as well, it was time for some redecoration. She followed Lady Westacote out of the carriage and into the hall, dreaming of fresh hangings for the drawing room at Rivercourt. She untied her bonnet and placed it on a side table.
Hudson was close by, holding out a silver tray. ‘Letter for you, ma’am.’ He was almost smiling.
Rose broke open the seal and unfolded the single sheet. She nodded and smiled as she read. ‘Sebastian,’ she said in answer to an enquiry from Helena. ‘All is well. By now they are already well down the Channel.’ She glanced at the letter again. ‘Aunt Emily, he sends his respectful greetings and says be sure to call on him if you happen to be in Constantinople.’
‘Indeed I will,’ said her aunt warmly. ‘That boy is such a treasure. Not that we plan to return to Constantinople but one never knows…’
‘What is that about Constantinople?’ Sir Philip had come out from his study. He was looking very cheerful. ‘No, never mind, I have such good news for everyone.’ He laughed as they all exclaimed. ‘Come into the drawing room.’
They skipped inside in anticipation.
He laughed again and looked fondly at them all. ‘My dear ladies. How pretty you all are. My news?’ His eyes shone with excitement. ‘Why, I refer of course to our next expedition.’ He took a deep breath and waved his arms excitedly, ‘we have another sponsor, Mr Pounteney, no less. He will make a very handsome donation on condition that all our finds are displayed in the British Museum. With this amount of money, we can return to Egypt very soon.’
His wife cast herself into his arms and Helena squealed with excitement. Rose felt her heart thud into her boots. She tried to keep a smile on her face. They were not looking at her anyway. She told herself that it was a great honour for Sir Philip to be entrusted with this mission. Her own drawings would also be part of the display and that was a matter of great pride to her. After all, she wanted to be independent. Yes, she did. It was just that -
Someone was speaking her name. She raised her head.
‘It will be a splendid opportunity,’ said Aunt Emily, ‘my dear Rose, you know we depend on you for so many things.’
They were all looking at her enquiringly. She swallowed. ‘I do congratulate you, Uncle Philip,’ she croaked. It was difficult to speak. She cleared her throat. ‘I am sensible of the great importance of this mission. Of course you are delighted.’
‘But you are not,’ Helena came to put an arm round her sister’s shoulders. ‘This time we will be better organised in Cairo – more servants, good protection…’
Rose nodded, remembering Kerim Pasha’s promise. ‘Yes.’ She forced a smile. ‘I am sure it will be safer this time.’
Hudson brought in the tea tray. Behind him Max appeared in the doorway. There was a chorus of voices as they all told him together of the new plans. Rose drifted quietly towards the window. She heard Sir Philip declare that tea would not do. He told Hudson to bring champagne.
The doorknocker sounded again. Shortly afterwards, Tom was shown into the room. He shook hands with Sir Philip, listened to the news and offered his congratulations.
‘Have you come with news of Count Varoshenyi?’ asked Helena saucily. ‘Sebastian was before you. We know all about them.’
Tom looked at her down his nose. ‘I know you know.’ He grinned at her surprise. ‘Seb left that letter with me to deliver when he and the Count were safely on their way.’
‘And are you going abroad again, Mr Hawkesleigh?’ Lady Westacote asked him smilingly.
Tom looked grave. ‘I do not know, ma’am.’ He glanced at Sir Philip. ‘I have come at the wrong time. I will not presume to stay now.’
‘Oh, please do,’ she urged him as the doorknocker sounded again. ‘If I am not mistaken, we are going to celebrate. You really must join in.’
A couple of the gentlemen sponsors and their wives were ushered into the drawing room. The atmosphere became very party like, especially when the champagne began to flow. Everyone seemed to be rejoicing. Rose felt stifled. She had hoped it would take much longer to raise the necessary funds for another journey to Egypt. Unfortunately for her, the Orient seemed to be immensely popular. Wealthy people were almost queuing up to participate in some way in the thirst for more exhibits and more knowledge of this ancient culture. And in this new fashion, her aunt and uncle were celebrities. Certainly this afternoon, half the ton were calling to offer congratulations.
Nobody would notice if she slipped out for a few moments. She needed a place to scream. Just as she reached the hall the footman was admitting some more visitors. Rose simply could not make polite conversation at this moment. She darted into the study and closed the door with a sigh of relief. At once she gave vent to her feelings in a long growl then stamped over to the sofa and pummelled the cushions with all her strength.
‘No winter at Rivercourt-’ thump, thump, ‘-just more sand-’ thump, ‘scorpions,’ thump, thump, ‘-and heat.’ She gave another exasperated growl and flung the cushion across the room.
‘If you need a fight, I will oblige you,’ said a deep voice behind her. She whirled round. Tom was lounging against the door, grinning at her. ‘I promise I will fight back,’ he added, a definite laugh in his voice.
Rose drew herself up, quivering with temper. ‘Is it not obvious I wish to be alone?’ she demanded. ‘Please leave, sir.’
‘I was Tom last time,’ he reminded her. He was still grinning.
Rose felt the rage and frustration overwhelming her. ‘Out!’ She indicated the door.
Without a word he turned and went out. She gulped. Why did she feel disappointed? But her misery overtook her again. And now, when she had finally accepted she loved him, Tom had gone! Maybe he was already engaged to Julia Delamere. Her nostrils flared and she turned back to the sofa cushions. She drove her fists into them – One-two! One-two!
‘I have a better use for them than that.’ Tom had come back without her realising. ‘Besides,’ he added, ‘you are creasing that charming pink gown you are wearing. And your hair is…’ He looked admiringly at it, coming loose from its pins and falling over her shoulders. ‘Mmm, delicious. It’s as tidy as mine.’
Rose glared. ‘I told you to -’ She broke off. He was holding a bottle of champagne and two glasses. ‘Where did you get those?’
‘Hudson. A good butler always understands these things.’ He set them down on the desk and began to open the bottle. He whistled tunelessly.
‘I cannot see what you have to be so merry about.’ she snapped.
He glanced at her, raised his eyebrows and eased the cork out of the bottle. There was a loud pop. ‘Ah!’ his voice betrayed satisfaction.
‘You can join
the rest of the party if you wish to drink champagne.’ Her voice sounded pettish, even to herself but it was his fault for invading her private room. She turned her back on him and stamped over to the bookshelves. Now she was more angry than miserable. It felt just as awful. Behind her Tom cleared his throat loudly. She gave a huff but looked round.
He was holding out a brimming glass. Rose shook her head. There was a silence. The sound of voices and laughter came from the other side of the hall. Tom looked steadily at her. Rose held his gaze. Whatever she saw there brought the colour to her cheeks. She put up a hand to smooth her hair. A smile curved Tom’s lips. Then his face changed as he watched her.
‘I know why you are in such distress,’ his voice was deep and gentle. ‘I understand, Rose. You’re not drawn to a wandering way of life.’ He held out a hand to her. ‘Let us say no more about the events that separated us when we were young and powerless. I know we’ve both suffered in the years since. But now, Rose, I beg you to do me the honour of accepting my hand in marriage.’
She felt the blood drain from her cheeks. He was sorry for her. That had to be the reason for this declaration. Or else he still felt guilty. Despair flooded in and made her shake uncontrollably. She stood there, clasping and unclasping her hands. There was a muffled noise in her ears as if she were underwater. No coherent ideas would form in her mind, other than the one thought that Tom did not love her.
Tom watched with his head on one side. His expression went from puzzled to exasperated to alarmed. Suddenly she felt his big hands taking hold of her arms, guiding her to sit on the sofa. Her knees were shaking so much she was glad to obey.
‘Here, drink this.’
A glass was thrust into her hand and obediently she swallowed. The sensation of bubbles in her throat broke the spell. She frowned. ‘Tom, this is champagne.’
He refilled the glass. ‘Yes, sweetheart. You need something at once and it is all I have to give you. Come on, drink up. You are still very white.’
Rose put a hand to her head. ‘Tom, I- I thank you for your kind offer but I cannot accept.’
Silence. She held her breath. He did not move. At last she looked up. He was standing just in front of her, watching intently.
‘That’s not good enough,’ he said when her eyes met his. ‘Dash it, Rose, why not?’
Rose bent her head down hastily. ‘I have no desire to be married again,’ she mumbled to her shoes. Her jaw was clenched. Tom was a kind man but that was not a good enough reason to accept. It would be intolerable to love him as she did when he was only offering marriage to help her out of her difficulties. It would be as bad as her dismal marriage to Hugh. She gripped the edge of the sofa so tightly her knuckles went white.
Tom said nothing. Rose kept her head down but gave him a hasty glance under her lashes. He was such a splendid figure of a man, and as always, she was acutely sensitive to the mysterious pull of attraction between them. Yet it was just his kind heart that made him want to help her. Her pride told her it was better to go back to Egypt and make her own way in life. She gulped.
Then a hand came down in front of her face, slid under her chin and gently tilted her head up.
‘At least look at a man when you refuse his offer of marriage.’
His dark eyes were glowing, his face was softened. As usual, she noticed, his hair was lifting into curls and falling over his forehead. A lump grew in her throat. She loved him so much, not because he was dashing and handsome and strong but because he was Tom, the man she had loved since she first saw him. The man she felt was the other half of herself.
His eyes widened and he bent his head closer. ‘Rose…?’ His voice was the veriest murmur, whispering over her nerves like velvet.
She jerked back as if scalded. Tom’s hand dropped. He straightened up. There was another silence while he studied her face. ‘Are you too proud to accept my offer?’
She shook her head vehemently.
Silence.
‘What then?’
She felt rather than saw Tom dash a hand through his hair. She heard the angry intake of his breath. She saw his glossy boots move away. He strode over to the window, thumped his fist into the wall and strode back.
‘I cannot, I cannot…’ the words burst from her. She jumped to her feet and twisted round towards him. ‘You do not know… I-I…I prefer my freedom to anything.’ She hid her face in her hands.
A second later, she felt Tom’s arms go round her. He guided her head against his shoulder and pressed his lips against her hair. Rose let out a shuddering sigh. Her hands were clenched by her sides and she was as rigid as a board.
‘I understand,’ murmured Tom. ‘Your marriage was not the marriage you wanted, your husband was not the man you wanted-’
A tremor ran through her. Tom rubbed his large hand gently across her shoulders. ‘You should not judge all marriage by that unhappy one, sweetheart. When the love is mutual, it can be so very wonderful.’ He was still caressing her back. She could hear the beat of his heart, firm and steady, and feel his mighty chest rise and fall gently.
Gradually Rose relaxed. Her hands unclenched, she leaned against him, moulding herself against his powerful torso.
‘I would never harm you or force myself upon you,’ he said at length. ‘But I want you, Rose. I always have. Not just for your beauty, although that enchants me. We belong together and I know you feel that too.’
He pulled back and looked earnestly at her. She gazed at him in wonder. A smile trembled on her lips. He did love her. But could he not say the words? His eyelids seemed to have grown heavier. He moved close again and put his hands on her shoulders. She raised her head, ready now to be kissed.
His lips were warm and sweet against her own. He was very gentle, holding her shoulders in a light clasp and soon breaking the kiss to lean his forehead against hers. ‘There,’ he whispered, ‘that was not so terrifying, was it?’
Rose smiled and rested her forehead against his. Taking this for agreement, Tom kissed her again. There was more pressure from his mouth this time but Rose responded eagerly.
Shortly afterwards, Tom poured more champagne and drew her to sit down beside him on the sofa. ‘Do you agree with me that this is very pleasant?’ he asked, his eyes sparkling. He took her free hand in his own, raised it to his lips and turned it over, pressing a long kiss on her palm. Rose reached up and ruffled his hair.
‘Hey,’ he protested, ‘if you knew how long it takes to make it neat.’
She laughed – and laughed again with sheer delight. Why had she resisted for so long? Such ridiculous fears. She leaned against Tom’s shoulder and at once he caught her close and angled his head for another kiss.
For a while they were lost to the world. It was an unpleasant shock to realise suddenly that someone was standing over them as they lay against the sofa cushions, kissing passionately.
Tom sat up. Rose struggled onto one elbow and looked up into her sister-in-law’s outraged face.
‘Augusta! Whatever-?’
‘It is all of a piece,’ announced Augusta in awful tones. ‘Both you and Helena are so undutiful. Your sister gets engaged without any reference to her father and brother. I had to learn of it from my friend, Lady Benson. She also wrote that you were being very free with your favours and I see it is true.’ Her bosom swelled with wrath. ‘Just look at the state you are in. Your hair is tumbling down your back. Your bosom is nearly out of your dress…’ She choked. ‘However shall I tell your father?’
‘It is of no consequence what you tell him,’ said Tom, rising to his feet. He scowled at her and advanced menacingly. His eyes were like flint. ‘If you were a man, I would knock you down for this intrusion. You meddlesome female.’
‘Oh,’ Augusta quavered, quite unused to any contradiction. ‘Keep your distance. I am here to defend my family honour.’
‘Honour be damned!’ growled Tom. He clenched his fists and took another step towards her. ‘You caused us enough misery four years ago. And I wager
your meddling stretched to intercepting all the letters I sent to Rose. Well, now, woman, you can go or you can stay but we are going to proceed from where we were when you so rudely intruded.’
He gave Augusta one more burning look, then turned his back on her, bent over Rose and slid the sleeve of her dress down her shoulder. Slowly he moved until his mouth was about to touch the soft white skin he had revealed.
‘How dare you!’ shrieked Augusta. ‘Shame on you… Oh!’
Rose had tilted her head back. She drew in a slow, audible breath. At that point Augusta gave a little scream. Rose opened her heavy eyes and saw her sister-in-law rushing out of the room.
Tom looked over his shoulder. ‘Good riddance!’ he muttered. He pressed Rose back against the cushions and took two long strides over to the door. He turned the key.
‘And now, my darling…’ His wonderful mouth curved in a smile.
‘Tom, I have not said I will marry you.’
He walked closer. His eyes were glowing. ‘Well, say it, my love. We’re not going to spend any more of our lives apart.’ Suddenly he became serious. He pulled her to a seated position and went down on one knee in front of her. He took both her hands and clasped them firmly.
‘Rose, for four years I tried to forget you. When you didn’t reply to my letters I was so full of anger that I took on any dangerous mission in any dangerous foreign land. Then chance brought us face to face. When I saw you again, I knew how much I still loved you. Please, my darling, say you will share your life with me.’ He kissed one hand and then the other. His unruly hair flopped forward over her hands.
Rose was caught between laughter and tears. Her heart was soaring with love and joy. She pulled her hands free and took his face between them. She traced his cheekbones and the line of his strong nose, then smoothed back the blond streaked hair from his forehead.
‘Yes,’ she said at last. The laughter bubbled up, ‘Oh, Tom, yes. I have been desolate since we parted all those years ago.’