Rogues to Lovers: Legend of the Blue Rose

by Laurel O'Donnell

  Thrice in the last year Briar Knoll had been searched whilst they were at church. Fearing Simon would find and destroy the agreement—the only thing forcing him to comply with the arrangement Walter Andrews had made with Mama—Eden had hidden the document away. That, in addition to his wife Candace’s constant complaints regarding the monies paid to Eden, made her suspect Simon had suffered a reverse in fortune of some sort.

  As much as Eden loathed accepting a shilling from Simon, her mother was entitled to the compensation and far more for what she’d endured. Maybe someday women would have recourse in similar situations, but current laws favored men. Eden knew full well Mama was fortunate to have any agreement at all. That she did revealed just how greatly Walter Andrews had wronged her and feared his actions exposed.

  “You recklessly tossed propriety aside and stayed the night at a man’s house, Eglantina.”

  Simon’s harsh accusation brought her crashing back to the present.

  She’d inadvertently provided him the excuse he’d been seeking to put her out, she realized with a start. Not only had she acted impulsively, she’d disregarded the clause in the agreement that stipulated she and Mama must not do anything that drew attention or notice.

  Simon even objected to them attending Sunday services. If he had his way, they’d never leave Briar Knoll Cottage.

  “You’ve brought this upon yourself. I cannot have my sons associating with a woman of questionable virtue. You are forbidden to see them anymore.”

  His words, sharp as thorns, elicited a wince and lanced straight to her heart.

  Not his name-calling.

  Simon and Candace had said worse to Eden over the years. But to deprive her of Timothy and Prentice’s precious company was truly painful to accept. The only affection the darlings received came from Eden and Mama. How could Simon punish his son’s just to spite Eden?

  The curtains shifted, revealing her mother’s pale, anxious face in the window.

  The raised voices had alerted her, no doubt.

  Each time Simon called, Mama experienced a setback that put her in bed for a week. Her frail constitution and weak heart couldn’t withstand any more shocks.

  Squaring her shoulders, Eden notched her chin higher yet.

  “I have done nothing wrong, Simon, and my conscious is clear. Now I must ask you to leave. You’re upsetting Mama.” She almost dared to say her nephews were welcome anytime, but feared he’d take a strap to them. “It would be best if you refrained from coming here in the future. Should you need to speak to me, send a missive and I shall come to Gablecrest.”

  Silence and a calculating look greeted her request.

  A hen squawked, followed by a rooster’s crow. Yet her brother remained silent, an enigmatic expression pulling the corners of his mouth downward. If he weren’t such a petulant pout all the time, he’d be a handsome man.

  “You heard her, Andrews. Be on your way, and unless you wish to earn more of my ill-favor, leave her and her mother alone.”

  Eden couldn’t prevent the grateful glance she sent his lordship or the miniscule upward tip of her mouth. It was rather wonderful to have someone speak on her behalf for a change. She’d been the advocate for the household since returning home from school, and truth to tell, few people listened to her, a woman with no champion, let alone supported her.

  Simon and Candace least of all.

  “I remind you, Sterling, you have no say regarding either of them. Why are you even here?”

  “None of your business.”

  Simon straightened his gaudy waistcoat, then fussed with his jacket lapel.

  “But I do wonder what transpired betwixt the two of you that you presume such boldness and familiarity on such a short acquaintance?” Simon said while assuring his neckcloth was yet stiff enough to hold a fully ripe pumpkin.

  Only a bufflehead could mistake his blatant innuendo.

  “I’m warning you for the last time. Just one more word, and I shall forget that I’m a gentleman and that when I returned home, I did so determined to end the squabble between our families.” Lord Sterling advanced, ire radiating off him in scorching waves.

  Was this typical behavior, or had Simon provoked this wrath?

  Lord Sterling flexed his hand, a hard smile playing around the edges of his firm mouth. “I think I’d rather enjoy rearranging your face.”

  “You could try.” An equally uncompromising glint shone in Simon’s eyes.

  Eden put a staying hand on Lord Sterling’s arm. “My lord. Don’t.”

  In truth, the men were well-matched in size and weight.

  Simon and his lordship must not come to blows, for undoubtedly a duel would follow. Timothy and Prentice needed their father, even if he was an intolerable man, and his grace needed his son too. Despite Lord Sterling and the duke refusing to acknowledge that truth.

  “Simon is goading you. It’s what he does. He enjoys poking and harassing until he gets a reaction, and then acts like he’s the victim.”

  How many times had Eden seen him take this tactic? Most often with her. Unfortunately, more often than not, she eventually lost her patience and reacted, just as he’d hoped she would.

  “And you’ll what, Sterling? Call me out?”

  Simon’s derisive laugh rang harshly in the peaceful surroundings.

  “Do you think I’m afraid? You’re as big a coward as your sniveling brother was. He pissed himself before the poltroon tried to flee the field. You just stood there, watching it all, and now you dare defend this tart?”

  Haughty and full of self-importance, Simon pointed his aquiline nose in the air.

  It did rather look like a bird’s beak. A parrot’s or a cockatoo’s in particular.

  “You may hold a title, Sterling, but neither you nor your kin know a modicum about gentlemanly honor or pride.”

  Before Eden could blink, Simon lay upon his back, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. He spat into the dirt as Mama, leaning on Mattie’s arm, shuffled from the house.

  “Eglantina? What goes on here?” Mama called. “Why did that young man strike Simon?”

  Bother and rot.

  Eden didn’t dare let her regard stray from Simon’s infuriated countenance. She made a shooing motion behind her.

  “Mama, go back into the house, please. Mattie, take her inside and make her tea. I’ll be in shortly and explain.”

  To her knowledge, Simon had never been humiliated like this before, and God only knew how he might respond. His puffed-up pride knew no end, and he put tremendous import on appearances. Plus, he truly did think himself superior, and Lord Sterling had neatly knocked him down a peg.

  From the corner of her eye, she covertly scanned the area for a weapon. A garden hoe or a shovel would do. Even a fist-sized rock would suffice, should he be rash enough to attack his lordship.

  A flash of heat engulfed her, and she swallowed against the prickly sensations tickling her throat.

  Could she actually strike Simon? Her own brother?

  By jingle, to defend his lordship she could.

  That revelation would have to be dissected later when she could ponder exactly why.

  Besides, Simon had never acted the least bit brotherly toward her. Ever.

  “I demand satisfaction.” Simon could barely get the words past his clenched jaw.

  Of course he did, dash it to ribbons.

  Simon spat again whilst sitting up, and after wiping the blood away with his handkerchief, brushed the dirt from his over-bright trousers and coat.

  “Name your second, Sterling.”

  “No. There will be no duel, Andrews. You insulted a lady and got what you deserved for your insolence. And to think I was going to persuade Father to invite you and your wife to the house party he’s having. More fool I.”

  Lord Sterling, a muscle ticking in his jaw, paced away as if he didn’t trust himself to remain near Simon. His long legs, encased in biscuit-colored pantaloons, ate up the ground as he stalked toward the co
nservatory. Shoulders rising and falling in his agitation, he raked a hand through his mahogany colored hair. Several ruffled strands remained poking upright in what might’ve been an endearing fashion if the situation weren’t so volatile.

  A rush of relief so strong swept Eden that she closed her eyes and pulled in a long gulp of air. At least Lord Sterling had kept his head as far as a duel went. She’d never forgive herself if he, too, were shot because he felt the need to defend her honor.

  “Too cowardly to meet me, are you?” Derision accented every terse syllable Simon sneered.

  Why wouldn’t he let it go? Was he really so blood-thirsty? So reckless?

  So blasted foolish?

  He was addressing a peer of the realm, a future duke. Had he lost his senses entirely? The Andrews might be landed gentry, but Lord Sterling claimed generations of blueblood. The DeCourcys were powerful and influential. Commoners such as Simon, even wealthy landowners, ought to tread carefully before recklessly overstepping the bounds.

  One glance at his tension-lined features revealed the answer.

  Absolutely, he would.

  Lord Sterling laughed, a cutting humorless explosion, as he swung around to face them.

  “Not cowardice, Andrews. It’s called common sense and reason. Both of which you’d do well to employ more frequently. Unlike you, I’m thinking of your two young sons who need their father. For make no mistake.” He waved a careless finger toward Simon the way one waves an annoying fly away from a pastry. “You would not walk away from a match with me. I am not my brother, and you would not be the first or second or even the seventh man I’ve faced on a field of honor. I, however, have always finished unscathed.”

  Simon’s bravado slipped, and his face assumed an ashen hue. He dabbed his sweaty, receding hairline with his bloodied handkerchief.

  Eden’s jaw sagged, and she blinked twice in disbelief.

  Had Lord Sterling said seven?

  He’d fought that many duels?

  Over what?

  She wasn’t altogether certain she wanted to know.

  Just what kind of man was he?

  This angry, intimidating man with a temper easily triggered, or the charming, good-natured scamp she’d sat beside yesterday? Likely two sides of the same coin, for didn’t everyone harbor a bit of darkness, even if they hid it well?

  For certain she did.

  A charged silence ensued, Simon and his lordship glaring daggers at each other. In the end, Simon averted his gaze first.

  “I shall not countenance it, I tell you, Eglantina.” Shaking his head, cruel satisfaction hardening the lines of his already lean face, Simon staggered to his feet. “You’ve brought disgrace upon me, my family, and our good name.”

  No, Simon, your father did that when he despoiled my mother.

  “Regardless of the embarrassment, I’ve endured you and your mother’s presence for far longer than I should’ve out of respect for my father’s wishes. I’ve paid the taxes on Briar Knoll and delivered your monthly allowances without complaint.”

  Hardly without complaint: always grudgingly and demeaningly. Making certain Eden and Mama knew how beholding they were.

  “But no more.” He stuffed his stained handkerchief in his pocket and slashed an unsympathetic glance to Mama, hovering with Mattie near the roses.

  “I want you all gone from Briar Knoll within the week.”

  Mama, her face as white as the knitted shawl about her frail shoulders, let out a distressed cry and clutched at Mattie’s arm.

  “No.”

  Tears glistened in the servant’s eyes as she tried to console Mama.

  Eden gasped and wrenched her attention to his gloating face.

  “You’ve no right to evict us. There’s an agreement—”

  Simon smirked as he flicked a fleck of dirt off his elbow. “Have your solicitor contact mine. But we both know it will take months before the matter reaches the courts, and I’ll make public your indiscretion. As landlord, I have the right to evict tenants without notice. I’m sure acting the part of a strumpet violates a portion of the contract.”

  “Of all the unconscionable, despicable blackguards.” Lord Sterling swore beneath his breath, his face all harsh planes and angles.

  “You know full well I cannot afford a solicitor, and we’re not tenants.” Simon might have her on the indiscretion bit though. She’d need to review the document.

  Eden swallowed and shook her head to dispel the wave of dizziness and sudden heat battering her. Why had she ever agreed to stay at Perygrim? This entire fiasco would’ve been avoided had she not been impulsive and foolish. Not given in to a ridiculous whim to spend another few minutes with Lord Sterling.

  A man far beyond her reach, and now she’d destroyed everything.

  “One week, Eglantina.” Simon cast a disinterested gaze about the yard. “Everything and everyone. Anything left behind I’ll order burned.”

  She suspected this had been coming for some time, but the reality stole her breath. Casting a frantic glance around, she scoured her mind for a solution.

  What would become of Mama? Old Ronald or Mattie? Acorn and Mr. Wiggles? The chickens? Her bees?

  Where would they go? They had no one—no one—whom they could impose upon.

  Her small savings wouldn’t go far, and without the income from the produce and eggs, she’d never be able to take Mama to Bath for the waters now. That had been a desperate woman’s dream.

  Unable to stand the pity deepening Lord Sterling’s eyes or the despair filling Mama’s and Mattie’s, Eden hugged her shoulders and, eyes brimming, chin tucked to her chest, whispered, “What will we do?”

  “I truly care not.” Simon gave a snide laugh and cut his lordship a challenging look. “Perhaps Sterling will accommodate you, since he seems so concerned with your well-being.”

  She commanded her clamoring thoughts and raging pulse to calm. Overwrought, she was of no use to anyone. Biting her pointer fingernail, she pursed her lips and sucked in a lengthy, steadying breath.

  After Simon’s pronouncement, he stomped up the path his sons had disappeared down minutes before.

  No one said a word.

  Even the chickens ceased cackling.

  A moment later, Mama collapsed.

  A Rose for a Rogue

  Collette Cameron

  “I’ll carry her inside. Quickly, prepare her bed,” Chester instructed the middling-aged servant crouched over Eden’s insensate mother.

  Eden held her mother’s hand and patted her pallid cheeks.

  “Mattie, do as he asks, and get cold water from the well.”

  “Of course, Miss Eden.” Mattie, swiping at her round, wet face with her apron, rushed to do Eden’s bidding.

  “Should I go for the physician, Miss?” Old Ronald hovered just outside the entrance to the barn, his face crumpled into deep grooves.

  Mr. Wiggles walked in circles around Eden and her mother, whining low in his throat.

  “No, not yet. She has medicine. She’s just suffered a shock, I think.” Eden brushed her mother’s cheek with her bent index finger. “Mama, wake up.”

  “Allow me.” Chester lifted the frail woman—she hardly weighed more than a sack of grain—then hurried into the humble cottage. Easy to see where Eden had acquired her petite form.

  The instant they entered the cottage, a red squirrel scampered off a shelf and just as quickly darted up Eden’s gown to sit atop her shoulder, chirping happily and fiddling with her hair.

  “Not now, Acorn. Mama’s not well. You’ll have to wait to play. I’m sorry, sweet girl.”

  She kissed the squirrel’s head, then placed the creature on the back of the divan where it sat on its haunches. Tiny black-nailed paws in the air and nose twitching, she nervously stared at Chester.

  “This way, m’lord.” Eden indicated a narrow, open door off the tidy main room beyond which Mattie plumped pillows for her mistress.

  He nodded and wended his way through the tattered f
urnishings and across the nearly worn through rag rugs. Had she picked the flowers in the vase centered on the table? Perhaps knitted the throw dangling over the sagging armchair beside the unlit fireplace?

  Humble, but homey. And filled with love. That was how the cottage struck him. He preferred it over Perygrim’s cold, dispassionate grandeur.

  After he settled Eden’s mother atop the bed and Eden and Mattie rushed to make the now conscious but befuddled woman comfortable, Chester cleared his throat.

  “May I speak with you outside, Miss Eden?”

  The servant tossed him a curious glance as she crossed to a dressing table, its mirror foggy from age. Three cobalt blue medicine bottles stood side by side atop the table, along with a spoon, a pitcher, and a glass on a simple pewter tray.

  Eden hesitated, but after sweeping a glance over her wan mother, gave a short nod. She kissed her mother’s forehead, brushing her gray-threaded hair away from her thin face.

  “I’ll be right back. Don’t do anything foolish while I’m gone.” She winked and squeezed her mother’s hand. “I don’t want Mattie telling me you were attempting cartwheels or back flips again.”

  Miss Haverden offered a feeble smile and peered pointedly at Chester. “I believe an introduction is in order first, my dear.”

  “Oh, of course. Forgive me my poor manners.”

  The merest hint of color blossomed across Eden’s cheeks as she removed her cloak, revealing her figure to him for the first time.

  What she lacked in stature she made up for in lush form, for no one could doubt she was a woman fully grown and deliciously rounded in all the places that mattered: the places a man enjoyed curving his hands around. Her serviceable gown showed signs of repeated wear: frayed hem, worn elbows—and if he wasn’t mistaken, a few skillful mends—and yet the unassuming garment didn’t detract from her loveliness.

  She bent over her mother again, straightening the coverlet. A team of draft horses couldn’t have pried his appreciative gaze from the delightful view her upturned bottom provided. She straightened, and holding her mother’s hand, indicated him.