And for some reason, that supposition had caused him to wake up first thing this morning and pack all of her trunks.
Where was the sense in that?
She’d hoped he’d be happy.
Rose examined a display of metal drawer pulls on the wall. Emmett certainly had a knack for arranging things neatly. But as for ready explanations... She looked over at him, pointedly. He hadn’t answered as yet.
“I let Boston in,” he said tersely.
“And...?”
“And when I let him in, he pushed open the door. Quite forcefully.” Now he sounded defensive.
“But you didn’t just shut the door and leave, did you, Emmett?”
“Now hang on!” Emmett paced toward her, clearly agitated. “What exactly do you think happened?”
Also, he looked a mite guilty.
“I don’t know. I was sleeping.”
“Well, nothing happened.”
“You didn’t take my letters—off my person—and place them on the dresser?”
“Well, yes.”
“Can you explain that for me?” It wasn’t that Rose truly felt Emmett would have done anything untoward. Mostly, she wanted to know precisely what had happened while she was asleep, and why it had prompted Emmett to behave as he had this morning. She also felt the slightest urge to tease him. He looked so like a mouse caught with the cheese.
“You looked uncomfortable, Rose. I was merely trying to make you more comfortable.”
“And you didn’t think to wake me?”
“Didn’t think to wake you?” Emmett practically spluttered. “I tried to wake you several times. I knocked at least three times. I spoke your name to you, several times. Many times. I even placed my hand upon your shoulder.” He stopped. Again a flicker of guilt crossed his face.
For Rose, an almost alarming sensation of tipping sideways came over her. Not truly falling—she was standing upright, after all—but the world around her tipped askew.
How she wished she’d been awake. How she wished she’d felt Emmett’s hand upon her shoulder.
She could almost feel the warmth of his touch spreading through her now.
She’d missed it.
“You touched me while I was asleep?” She couldn’t keep the hurt out of her voice.
“I was only trying to wake you. Nothing untoward happened, I promise.”
“I don’t think anything untoward happened.”
“You don’t?”
She shook her head impatiently.
“Then what—?”
“Is there anything else?”
“I simply removed the letters and placed them on the dresser. That’s all.”
“That’s all,” she repeated, scanning his face. What wasn’t he telling her? “Why do I feel there’s something else? Something you don’t wish to tell me, but feel you must?”
The curse of an honorable man.
“Rose.” His voice was filled with an entire pitcherful of reluctance.
“Don’t I have a right to know?”
“I—” He ran a hand through his dark hair. “I simply kissed you goodbye. I mean, goodnight. It was...nothing.”
Rose all but felt the blood rush out of her face. “You kissed me?”
“It was nothing. A small peck on the forehead.”
Why would he do that? Such a tender action.
And then the next morning, what? Prepare to send her off. For that apparently was his plan. For whatever reason.
Goodbye, he’d said that first. Not goodnight. He’d meant to kiss her goodbye.
“Is that all then?” she asked softly, confused as ever.
“All right, there was one small, very small, other kiss.”
“Another kiss?”
He touched his mouth, then dropped his hand to his side.
Rose lifted her fingers to her mouth and rested them there. Her first kiss. Her first real kiss, from the man she’d newly realized was the man she loved. And she’d missed that too.
She wandered over to his worktable and sank onto his stool. Without even fully registering what she was doing, she settled upon the seat more fully, her feet dangling, toes not touching the floor.
“I didn’t mean anything by it, Rose. It wasn’t meant to...disadvantage you.”
What a curious choice of words. Perhaps a backwards way of saying he hadn’t intended to take advantage of her.
Emmett approached her side cautiously, but made no move to reach out to her. The cad, the coward. Touching her in her sleep. Kissing her. And now leaving her completely untouched and unkissed. Unknowing.
What had it been like?
“You think not?” she whispered, pained.
“It was the most innocent of kisses.”
“Why?” she demanded, perhaps a bit too softly for he bent his head forward.
“Why?” he repeated, as if only making certain he’d heard her properly.
“Why would you come into my room, and seeing me sleeping, give me my very first kiss, so that I was not even aware of it?”
“Your first kiss.” He froze, his expression arrested. Then that sliver of a frown appeared between his brows.
“Very first.” She addressed him fully, locking eyes with him. Surely he must understand. She had to make him realize the import.
“I’m sorry, Rose.” He dared then, apparently, to place his hand gently over hers. “I’m sorry your first kiss—your very first kiss—was with me. It seems I can’t do anything right by you.”
“What do you mean by that?” Couldn’t do anything right by her? What a truly puzzling thing to say, as if he believed... Well, she didn’t know what he believed, other than whatever it was, he was wrong.
Emmett lifted her hand and placed it against his chest. A slight wheeze set up in her lungs, at her hand being held like that, so tenderly.
“I know you’re miserable, Rose. I know you were—crying last night.”
He’d thought she was miserable last night. Not the lovesick girl mooning over his letters.
Rose was so stunned she couldn’t say anything.
He let out a sigh and lowered his head. The picture of a man who’d just lost a race. The race.
“I knew then you’d made your choice,” he said. “I knew. You were going to tell me today that you’re going to leave—”
“—Stay,” Rose whispered, her word falling at precisely the same time as his.
“Stay?” The sliver of a frown was back.
“Stay,” she said firmly, then took in a breath for courage. “I realized something very important last night.”
He waited.
“I was already half in love with the man who wrote those letters.”
“Half?” His eyes brightened a bit. His dimples deepened, though he didn’t smile.
“I simply hadn’t realized. And then I realized something else...”
Again he waited.
She bit her lip. Why was this so difficult to say?
“Rose?” Emmett prompted, squeezing her hand. He must have been striving his utmost to appear trustworthy and true. A man she could entrust her heart with.
“I love you,” she admitted in a rush, not pausing even when she felt him draw in a breath. “All the rest of the way. Wholly. And completely. And now you’ve stolen the very first kiss of my life—with the man I love. Quite desperately, I fear. And I missed it. I missed every second of it.”
“You love me. That’s all I need to hear.” Emmett drew closer, cradling her hand between them. “I think I can repair the rest.”
“You can?” She could only manage a whisper.
“First, I kissed you here, like this.” He leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead. It truly was the gentlest little peck. Very like the goodnight kiss of a loving father dropped on his daughter’s forehead. Very sweet.
Sweet, but far too tepid.
A rich mahogany strand of hair had fallen over his forehead. She wished to brush it back and test its silkiness, but couldn�
��t quite bring herself to move.
“Very nice,” she told him primly, her lips twitching as she dared to tease him in this moment. In her chest, her heart was thundering. He was going to kiss her again, as he had last night. Wasn’t he? Now. On the lips. “And then?”
“Do you love me, Rose?”
“I said I did.”
He waited.
“And I meant it.” When he grimaced, clearly dissatisfied, she added, “I love you, Emmett Southerland.”
“Good. Because I love you. Now more than ever.” He leaned in again, angling his head slightly to one side, and formed his lips to hers. He pressed lightly—pure heaven, how could she not have known?—and pulled away. Leaving behind the faint taste of peppermint.
Rose was left gasping for breath. Only inwardly, she hoped, and not in any noticeable way.
“And that was all it was?” she asked, striving for composure. “Just one small chaste kiss, like that?”
“I promise.”
“Hmm.” She hopped off the stool, disentangling herself from Emmett’s delectable hold, and left him, heading for the stairs.
“Rose?” he practically shouted after her.
“Yes?” She paused briefly and glanced back, raising her brows in question.
“Where are you going?”
“Upstairs.”
He spread his hands in an inquiring fashion. “Why?”
“It’s time to make breakfast.” She spun away and raced up the steps, holding her skirts aside. At the top, she paused by the kitchen entrance, simply breathing. No, not the kitchen. Not now. She fled into her bedroom and pressed the door closed behind her, leaning back against it, letting her head fall with a dull thud against the wood.
He’d kissed her.
Softly and sweetly. Perfect, really.
The touch of his mouth against hers. The smooth heat of his lips, teasing hers ever so gently. It had set off tiny lightning bolts all over everywhere, of course. But Emmett didn’t need to know that. Not just yet. They still had a wedding to plan.
She had a dress to choose.
The rosy pink one?
Boston joined her at the door, standing in her periphery. He stared intently at her face, perhaps to discern if she were all right.
“I’m just fine—” Rose began, but quickly broke off. If the fluttery sensation in her stomach was anything to go by, things were never going to be the same.
“No, actually,” she corrected, touching her lips experimentally, “I don’t think I shall ever be ‘just fine’ again.”
Emmett took the stairs two at a time.
He barreled into the kitchen, fully prepared to demand some explanations from Rose—gently, of course, but primarily to determine if this meant they were to be married and when. Preferably this afternoon, as soon as the pastor arrived, but maybe that was improbable.
The kitchen was empty, save for his drying laundry, pinned to crisscrossing cords, strung about the room. He really needed to pull the clothes down as soon as they were dry—
“Rose?” He strode to her closed door and laid his hand flat on its surface.
“Yes?” Her voice sounded surprisingly near, though muffled, as if she were just on the other side of the door.
“What does this mean? Will you marry me?”
“Of course.” She said it as if it were a given.
He relaxed. “And your trunks?”
“Put them wherever you wish.”
“All right. I suppose the attic for now...” Up two flights of stairs, but at least they would be out of the way of his shop, where he needed to conduct business with clients. And later, he could help her sort and move items from up there, finding places for everything. Maybe he should get a couple of storage cabinets built for the attic space. Some shelves too.
“Emmett?”
“Yes?”
“Would you really have simply packed me off to leave?”
“I didn’t want to make you feel beholden to me.”
“So you weren’t going to say anything.” She stated it as a disappointing fact.
“Of course I was. I was going to tell you I love you. I was going to ask you to reconsider...and at least give me the full week. And...I thought about mentioning the idea of buying the Hammonds’ house—”
“The Hammonds’?”
“Claire’s house.”
“Oh.”
“I wonder if she may be planning to move.” He waited for Rose to make some response. Maybe she didn’t like the idea of living in another woman’s house, especially when she’d had some—completely unfounded—feelings of jealousy toward the woman. “Did you like the house?”
The hall clock ticked off the seconds.
“It’s a nice house,” Rose finally said. “It’s close to the foundry here, practically across the street. And Boston might like that long covered porch in the summer.”
Emmett leaned his forehead against the door and smiled broadly. His Rose was truly remarkable. In all the world, no woman could possibly match him as well as she. This was only one small proof.
“There’s a dining room,” he said.
“Is there? I did see the parlor.”
“Did you like it?”
“Very much.”
“Rose?”
“Yes...?”
“Why won’t you come out?” He heard a familiar snuffling noise at the foot of the door. Saw a shadow there. “I’m sure Boston would like to come out.”
The door opened, without even giving Emmett the briefest glimpse of Rose, and Boston wedged himself through. Just as quickly, the door shut. Boston stood there, looking up at Emmett pathetically, as only an old dog could. He probably needed to go out. He definitely wanted his food.
“Hey, old boy. I’ll get you fed in a minute.” Emmett scratched Boston’s head, causing him to wag his whole body, head to tail.
“You said the pastor and his wife will arrive this afternoon?” Rose asked from the other side of the door.
“Walt brought word first thing.”
“Then I best pack my carpetbag.”
“That can’t possibly take more than ten minutes.”
“I have clothes to wash as well. And I’d like to take a full bath. I’ll need my shampoo... Can you put some buckets of water on the stove for me?”
“Of course. But what about breakfast?”
“What do you think about the color pink? A deep pink.”
The change in topic made Emmett’s head spin. This was impossible. He couldn’t even see her sweet face.
“Rose, open the door.”
An eternity seemed to pass.
There was only a small rustling sound within that he couldn’t place.
Finally, she opened the door and stood there. So prim and proper, so sweetly lovely. He had no idea, looking at her, what had taken her so long to open the door.
He held out his hand, palm extended.
“What?” She looked at his hand, her brow knitted in hesitation, as if she’d never seen a man’s hand extended to her before.
“Take it, Rose. Come here. I want to hold you.”
“I’m not sure that’s wise. We have a wedding to plan first.”
But she did take his hand and didn’t protest when he pulled her into his arms. In fact, she rested her head quite comfortably against his chest and let out a little sigh, like a homecoming. It was delightful. The sigh, and having her in his arms. Evidently, his Rose wasn’t ready for any full-blown kisses that left them gasping for air. He smiled to himself and kissed the top of her head. All in good time.
“It’s not like I’m going to ravish you,” he murmured into her hair, a host of tender feelings sweeping over him.
He could almost feel her blush in her silence.
“Not yet, anyway,” he added.
“Emmett!”
“Rose!” he teased.
“I was thinking Christmas Eve.”
“For what?” She couldn’t possibly mean for ravishing. Not his Rose. Tho
ugh it did bring up a rather intoxicating kaleidoscope of images, flickering through his head. “The wedding? Absolutely not. That’s nearly two weeks away.”
“That’s not so terribly long.”
“An eternity.”
“All right then... How about the twenty-third?”
He sighed in defeat. This afternoon was obviously not an idea she’d entertain.
“Why precisely can’t we simply be wed this Sunday?” he asked. “We’ll be in church anyway. We can ask the pastor if he could perform the ceremony right after service. You’d like something simple?” She’d said so in one of her letters. He felt her nod against his shirt. “And you could meet the folks from town.”
He attempted to make it sound as practical as taking their next breath.
His Rose liked practical, after all.
She took in a breath, then paused. Contemplating, no doubt. “Well, I suppose we could. That does sound most practical… About the dress?”
“I adore you in pink.”
She sighed happily.
Chapter 17
On Sunday morning, Rose puttered around the quaint little room she’d been given in the pastor’s house beside the church. His wife, Agatha Stone—Aggie—had already been in earlier. She and Rose had been up at dawn, giggling like schoolgirls as they pressed her pink suit dress. It had become quite creased in Rose’s trunk, despite being carefully packed in tissue paper.
If Rose had been thinking properly, she wouldn’t have placed the dress near the bottom of her clothing trunk. But, as Aggie had said, that was “neither here nor there.”
They’d steamed and brushed the dress yesterday to freshen it. Now it was fully pressed. Rose had already donned her many layers of undergarments. Aggie had excused herself for a moment, leaving Rose to pace about the room in her flannel wrapper. Until now, her approaching wedding day had seemed almost a dream, far off. But now all that was left was for her to put on her dress.
For her wedding.
Later this morning.
Was Emmett awake already? Likely. He was an early riser. He’d be sipping a steaming mug of coffee in the kitchen, perhaps, sitting there companionably with Boston. Or perhaps he was standing at his washstand, shaving...
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