Romancing His English Rose (Entangled Scandalous)

by Hemmerling, Catherine

  “Thank you for coming over so quickly.”

  “If this is how you will greet me, I promise you that I will fly over here at every available opportunity.” Simon grinned devilishly and Rose blushed even more, if such a thing were possible, and swatted at him.

  “I was just excited,” Rose said by way of explanation.

  “As was I,” Simon readily agreed.

  Rose giggled. “No, what I meant was I discovered something of importance today and I was eager to see— I mean, ah, tell you. Oh dear…”

  Simon thought Rose was the cutest thing he had ever seen. Clearly her enthusiastic greeting had flustered her. Of course, his teasing probably hadn’t helped any, but really, how could he not revel in their newfound camaraderie just a little bit? It was such a surprising thing, really.

  “Rose,” Simon began, reaching up to remove her hands from her face, “why don’t you tell me what is going on in that pretty little head of yours.”

  Rose looked up and smiled. “Yes, that is an excellent idea.” Taking Simon’s hand in her own, she led him to the window seat and they sat down.

  Tucking her legs up under her, Rose began to speak animatedly. “Well, Sarah and I were out shopping today and we happened to stop in front of a jewelry store…”

  Simon went very still. Surely Rose wasn’t going to tell him about an engagement ring or something. Yes, he was no longer completely dreading marriage, but he wasn’t quite sure he was ready to take such an official step.

  “…and I saw an ornate ring in the window…”

  Oh, hell, Simon swore to himself. How was he going to handle this? His mind began racing through all the possible scenarios, none of which ended well.

  “…and that’s when it hit me.”

  At which point Simon began mentally banging his head against the nearest imaginary wall.

  “Caleb was wearing a similar ring the night of the party!”

  Caleb? He stopped his mental abuse for a moment because clearly he had just missed something very important.

  “Did you hear me, Simon? Caleb was wearing a poison ring the night of the dinner party!”

  “A…poison ring?” Simon said slowly, his brain still trying to make the leap from Rose to Caleb.

  “Yes, one of those rings that flips open to reveal a small compartment inside. Historically they were used to carry perfume, locks of hair, or—in many cases—poison. They have become quite the collectable item these days.”

  “Wait, are you talking about those big jeweled things that Caleb is always wearing on some finger or another?” Simon asked, suddenly realizing Rose was not going on about an engagement ring, but rather a clue to Frederick’s murder.

  “Well, I didn’t know he always wears one, but he certainly was the night of the dinner party, for I commented on it. He responded rather oddly to my interest, too, now that I think about it—kind of shifty and secretive. He changed the subject quite quickly and then avoided me the rest of the night. I remember thinking it was all very peculiar.”

  “Rose, I believe you may be onto something here…Caleb is a huge collector. Daggers, snuff boxes, historic relics…”

  “So he could have a whole collection of these special rings?”

  “If he remains true to form, yes. Not that I have seen them personally,” Simon admitted, “but he is always wearing one such thing or another. I don’t normally pay attention to adornments, but jewelry on a man is somewhat out of style these days.”

  “Hmmm, well it would have been much easier to find if he had only one,” Rose acknowledged, “but if he is a collector, it is also more plausible that he is familiar with the history of the rings…including the various types of poisons people used with them.”

  “That certainly is a possibility,” Simon agreed. “And you say you saw him wearing one the night Frederick fell ill?”

  “Yes, as I said, I commented on it. It was unique. It was silver and jeweled, shaped like a tree or possibly a bush.”

  Simon’s blood suddenly ran cold. “Shrewsbury, of course.”

  “What is it, Simon?”

  Simon looked up at her in consternation. “The literal meaning of Shrewsbury is ‘a place of shrubs or small trees.’ For centuries the Shrewsbury men have associated themselves with the strength and longevity of trees.”

  “And we think Caleb might have used a tree-shaped ring to poison his brother,” Rose whispered.

  “Thereby securing a branch for himself,” Simon growled. “That is the most disgusting, disrespectful… Arrghhh!” Simon abruptly stood up and began pacing back and forth, ranting to himself.

  How could a brother do something like that? Simon would have given anything to have a sibling. In his mind, a brother or sister would have been like having a guaranteed best friend. Even when David or Alex complained about their siblings it was clear that there was an unconditional love there and always an undying loyalty. And to know that Caleb just threw his away, in the most egregious of ways…

  It was appalling.

  “Simon?” Rose said softly, and then again more loudly when he didn’t answer her.

  “What!?” he practically snarled at her.

  Rose recoiled from his sharp tone and immediately Simon felt horrible. Forcing himself to calm down, he walked over and sat beside her again. Taking her hands in his, he said, “I apologize, Rose. I am…” He broke off and just shook his head. He didn’t know what he was.

  “You are angry—furious even—and sad…and probably feeling a little bit guilty,” Rose finished for him gently.

  Simon looked at her in complete desolation. That was it…guilt. That was the ugliness he was feeling beneath all the rage and sorrow. He felt the most agonizing guilt.

  For years he had (half) jokingly believed that Caleb was evil, but he never really admitted to himself that beneath that derision was an element of truth. Perhaps if he had taken the time to determine where that feeling came from—the feeling that there was something truly twisted in Caleb—he could have spoken to Frederick about it, perhaps warned him in some way.

  How was it that Rose understood the shame and guilt he felt before he could even articulate it? Was he that transparent or did she just know him that well?

  “This isn’t your fault, Simon. No one knew how sick Caleb was. Not truly,” Rose said. “Not his father, not his brother, certainly not you.”

  Simon looked up sharply and was about to speak when Rose put her fingers over his lips. “No, Simon. You may have suspected he was a little off, but you did not know Caleb was capable of murder.”

  Simon reached up and drew Rose’s fingers away from his mouth, but not before pressing a kiss into her palm. “How do you know that?” he said, staring at her in wonderment.

  “Know what?” Rose whispered.

  “Know exactly what I am thinking, feeling…before I am even aware of it myself?”

  “I don’t know,” Rose admitted, shaking her head. “I just…do. At least I do lately.”

  “Have I told you recently just how amazing I think you are?”

  “Ah, no…not recently…or otherwise, for that matter,” Rose replied honestly.

  “Well then, it is well past due. You, my dear Rose, are amazing.”

  Rose appeared stunned for a moment before breaking into a radiant smile. “Thank you, Simon. I think you are rather remarkable, too.”

  Although it was typical for one of polite society to return a compliment with a compliment, Simon got the distinct impression that Rose meant hers. Simon felt his chest puff out slightly with pride before remembering his earlier fear when the subject of rings came up. This mutual admiration had to stop.

  Simon cleared his throat and handily changed the subject back to the investigation. “Now then, thanks to another stroke of brilliance on your part, it appears we need to come up with a plan to find Caleb’s rings.”

  “Oh, yes! Do you have any idea where they may be?” Rose asked, warming to the subject quickly.

  “No, I don’t,
” Simon confessed. “The truth is I haven’t been to Shrewsbury Manse since Frederick died and even before that, I didn’t frequent it much. You are aware that my father and grandfather were not speaking?”

  Rose nodded.

  “Well, as a result,” Simon continued, “my family was not invited to visit overly much. My grandparents never extended the feud to include me and my uncle and father remained quite close, but my father never felt welcome in that house while my grandfather was alive and I suppose I felt uncomfortable there as well, mostly on his behalf.”

  “That is completely understandable,” Rose assured him.

  “Yes, but not particularly helpful, in this case,” Simon said wryly. “However, I do know that Caleb kept much of his collection in the second library. Frederick used to complain about the waste of time, space, and money it all was. But, for the life of me, I don’t recall seeing any rings there.”

  “Perhaps if the collection is small enough, he would keep them in a jewelry box or something?”

  “Perhaps,” Simon said, “but I think it is more likely he has them in the hidden room.”

  “I’m sorry,” Rose said, clearly taken aback. “Did you say ‘hidden room’?”

  Simon nodded. “Yes, when I was little, Caleb used to taunt me about a secret room that only true Collicotts knew about. Myself being a Trumbull, of course, I wasn’t privy to the location. It used to make me feel like an outsider among my own family. God, Caleb is such an ass.”

  Rose squeezed his hand. “Do you think this room really exists?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do. Frederick actually mentioned it once in passing. I think he just assumed I knew all about it—”

  “Hmph! Probably because you are, in fact, a Collicott!” Rose retorted.

  Simon found himself grinning at her outburst. There was something rather nice about having Rose so very much on his side. “And I gathered from his comment that Caleb spent a great deal of time in the room.”

  “So the room probably does exist, but you don’t have any idea where it may be.”

  “Er, yes.”

  “That does present a problem, you realize,” Rose said, giving Simon a long sideways glance.

  “We know where the murder weapon—so to speak—probably is, but we don’t know how to find it?”

  “Precisely.”

  Simon and Rose sat quietly for a moment, both lost in their own thoughts, when Simon suddenly had an idea. “William!” he exclaimed.

  “No, Rose,” Rose said drily, pointing to herself.

  Simon gave her a withering look and Rose just grinned.

  Shaking his head, Simon continued. “No, William, the Earl of Pembroke…he visited Frederick at the house quite regularly. I doubt Frederick would have told him where the hidden room was, but I am willing to bet that between the two of us, he and I could come up with a pretty accurate floor plan of the interior of the house.”

  “That makes sense, but if neither one of you knows the location of the room, what good is a floor plan going to do us?” Rose wondered.

  “On its own, not much, but what if I were to take a walk around the outside of the mansion and create a general outline of the external plan—”

  “Then compare the two and see where there are any discrepancies!” Rose finished. “That is positively inspired, Simon!”

  Simon actually felt a blush rise to his cheeks. There was something about a compliment from Rose that affected him like no other. Perhaps it was because he felt she was in possession of such intellect herself, that she would be able to recognize it in others so much more readily than anyone else of his acquaintance.

  “I think we should meet with Lord Pembroke as soon as possible. We are running out of time. Dr. Orfila will only be here for eleven more days.”

  “Perhaps it would be more time-efficient if I met with Pembroke at his house alone. He and I could develop the internal floor plan and then later I could stroll leisurely past the Shrewsbury mansion a few times and take some surreptitious notes about the layout.”

  “I suppose that would work.”

  “Perfect! I will arrange to meet with Pembroke tomorrow. The day after that I will take the outside measurements and meet you back here, all right?” Simon said as he stood to leave.

  “All right,” Rose agreed.

  “I’ll see myself out, sweetling,” Simon announced cheerfully. “And I will be by to see you around noon the day after tomorrow.” With that, he whistled his way out of the library, out the front door, and down the front steps.

  Chapter Ten

  The course of true love never runs smoothly.

  —The Duke of Lancaster

  Rose sat in the front parlor room anxiously awaiting the arrival of Simon. He was due to be there any minute and honestly she didn’t think she would survive if he were even a second late.

  It had been an entire day since she had seen him, and while she told herself that her anxiety was due to her desire to see the plan he and William had drawn up, deep down she knew that she just really wanted to see him again.

  How funny was it that she went from going days, even weeks, between seeing him with nary a thought and now she suddenly couldn’t go even twenty-four hours without missing him? Even funnier was that it seemed he was feeling much the same way. She still had serious concerns about his sincerity, but in her weaker moments she found herself actually daydreaming about being married to Simon. Shaking her head, she told herself she was a fool.

  Yet, she looked at the clock again for what must have been the fourth time that minute.

  Where is he already?

  …

  Simon was standing in the hallway just outside of Rose’s line of sight.

  He could see her reflection in one of the mirrors on the wall and had to smile when he saw her check the clock one more time. He supposed he should have made his presence known when he first arrived a few minutes earlier, but he couldn’t resist the opportunity to just look at her.

  She really was such a pretty little thing sitting rather impatiently in the overcrowded parlor.

  Simon had to shake his head at the outrageous, and yet so characteristic, handling of the room’s decoration. Ironically, though, Simon found some level of comfort in the incongruence. It really wouldn’t be Warren House if the decorating were sensible and orderly.

  Deciding that he had left Rose to wait long enough, Simon squared his shoulders and confidently strolled into the room.

  “Simon!” Rose exclaimed, jumping up to greet him. “You’re here!”

  “Of course I am here,” Simon replied. Then he leaned in as if imparting some deep secret and whispered, “Where else would I be?”

  Rose simply stared at Simon as he handed her a beautiful arrangement of late winter flowers and kissed her softly. He was rewarded for his romantic efforts by a sweet blush that bloomed across her cheeks.

  “These are lovely, Simon. Thank you.”

  Simon smiled. He wasn’t sure what had possessed him to buy Rose flowers, but when he saw them he had thought of her and just couldn’t help himself. Really, he was going to have to start distancing himself from the chit. Her smiles were beginning to mean too much to him. “Er…let me, ah,” she began. “Water…yes, I must put these in water.”

  Rose nodded once, as if confirming to herself that it was a good idea, and then she practically ran from the room, flowers in hand.

  …

  Rose stopped in the hallway outside the parlor and leaned weakly against the wall. What was the matter with her? Flowers and a chaste kiss should not be this disturbing to her senses. One would think she was in love. In love…with Simon.

  Good heavens! Rose thought. She couldn’t be in love with Simon. No, he was just playing with her feelings like always. He probably thought making her blush was great fun. Although lately, he seemed almost sincere in the way he looked at her.

  Rose remembered how he’d smiled at her when he handed her the flowers. Again her stomach flipped over. What was
the matter with her? The worst thing she could do would be to develop a tendre for Simon Trumbull!

  Mine, she thought fleetingly and nostalgically.

  “Miss?” a voice said, startling Rose out of her reverie.

  Her head snapped up to see her butler, Chauncy, standing there with absolutely no expression on his face, yet at the same time it was clear he was confused by her presence in the hallway…sagging against a wall with flowers clutched to her chest.

  “Yes, Chauncy. Hello,” Rose said, pushing up from the wall and smoothing her skirts with one hand.

  Chauncy responded with just the barest raising of an eyebrow.

  “Ah, I am, ah, glad to see you,” Rose stammered, looking around wildly for some reason for her to be loitering in the hall, when her eyes landed on the flowers in her hand. “Yes, I…need you to put these in water for me, please.”

  “Certainly, Miss,” the butler said, taking the flowers from her.

  “Thank you,” Rose replied.

  The butler nodded and turned to head down the hall toward the kitchens. Once he was out of sight, Rose smacked herself on the forehead. She really needed to get herself together. So she was beginning to truly care for Simon. What of it? It was not as if he returned the feelings.

  Oh, Rose was sure that he liked her. Probably even more than he had originally planned. But his loving her was highly unlikely. And the question was, could she live with that? Could she spend her life with him knowing that she might someday love him and that he would never return the sentiment?

  Honestly, she didn’t have much of a choice. She had always known they would marry and when she didn’t harbor any feelings for him it hadn’t really mattered that he wouldn’t hold any for her either, but now…Rose sighed. Now things would be infinitely harder.

  Well, she supposed she could do worse than to marry a man who thought highly of her, rather liked her, and would willingly support her in the manner to which she was accustomed. It was far better than many women had in their marriages. And, really, she had known for a long time that hers was not a love match. How could it be, considering the match was arranged when she and Simon were but children? Infants even, in her case.