Rogues to Lovers: Legend of the Blue Rose

by Laurel O'Donnell

  People would no doubt twitter and gossip.

  His friends, particularly the Duke of Harcourt and Alex Wimpleton, would claim he’d lost all reason, but if Eden was amendable to the suggestion, what did it matter?

  If his father wanted him to consider settling down, he must compromise as well. This would be the first battle. Maybe not the first. Last night’s skirmish fit that description. For what Chester was about to propose, he might need full body armor when he next faced his sire.

  He took her hand again, turning it over so her palm faced upward. She had a small, healing blister on the middle finger of her right hand.

  She didn’t object, just regarded him curiously.

  “Eden, I have need of a secretary. The position is yours if you want it. You’d have a suite of rooms at Perygrim and a house or apartment in London. Your mother may, of course, live with you, as well as a nurse to help care for her.”

  Eden regarded him as if he’d sprouted another head. A very grotesque head.

  “My lord, forgive my frankness, but I do not know of a single female secretary. What you’re suggesting is scandalous. It’s impossible.”

  “Well, it’s time that was changed. Females are every bit as capable as males, and you’ve proven you have a good head for business. Why, someday I suspect you’ll see women doing many of the things only men are permitted to do. You can read and write and, I assume, calculate sums. What do you say? At least consider it.”

  A slow smile bent her bowed lips. “Very well. I’ll consider it, but later. I’ve had a trying last four and twenty hours, and in truth, I’m feeling a bit done in.”

  At least she hadn’t refused outright.

  “Fine. I’ll call in a day or two and you can give me your answer.” Was tomorrow too soon? “I can also arrange to have Perygrim’s staff assist you with your move.”

  “That’s very generous of you.” A mischievous twinkle appeared in her eyes. “I don’t suppose you have any need for a flock of chickens or bee hives?”

  Crossing his ankle over his knee, Chester laid his arm across the back of the bench. Eden’s hair was right there; all he had to do was move his fingers an inch.

  “I don’t see why not. We’ve land enough for certain. And we haven’t either chickens or bees.”

  “What about my pets? Acorn didn’t make the best impression a bit ago. I’m quite sure her crust of bread is somewhere inside your shirt.”

  “They’ll come with you, naturally.” He patted his waist, offering a wry grin. “As for her snack, it’s right here.

  She chuckled then, genuinely amused, and he couldn’t prevent the upward tug of his lips.

  “I cannot see his grace accepting a squirrel racing about the mansion. Acorn hides her treats everywhere. In the draperies, behind pillows and cushions, atop shelves. And she’s not always discrete when she tends to her baser needs.”

  Ah, he hadn’t considered that particular.

  “I’m sure we can work something out. I did mention you’ll have an entire suite of rooms to yourself, didn’t I?” He put his finger to his chin. “Probably ought to give you access to the carriage, and I suppose a modest wardrobe befitting your position is also in order.”

  “I haven’t accepted the position.” She brushed at her gown before meeting his eyes. “You do realize how impetuous you’re being? I wouldn’t have taken you for the rash sort.”

  “I’m not, generally.” Ever, really. Except with her. “But only this morning I became aware of the need for a new secretary.” Best see to giving Dockery his congé at once. “And it was pure happenstance that I was here when your brother put you out.”

  Rubbing Mr. Wiggles’s head, she gave him a tired half-smile. “What if I decline, which is the practical and proper thing to do?”

  Chester stood. He really needed to be off. If he cut through the oak copse and skirted the lake, he could be home in half an hour.

  “Well then, my dear Miss Eglantina Eden Haverden, I shall make the offer so appealing you simply cannot refuse. I shall brook no refusal.”

  A Rose for a Rogue

  Collette Cameron

  Three evenings later, Eden sat in a rocking chair outside the cottage entrance. Eyes shut and hands folded in her lap, she sighed and slowly tipped the chair back and forth. The rhythm had always calmed her. Mama said it was so even when she’d been an infant.

  Weary to her marrow, she slowly opened her eyes.

  A cough rattled in her chest, and she covered her mouth with her handkerchief lest Mama hear.

  She’d not felt well since her tumble into the stream, and today, she’d been alarmed to realize she burned with fever. There was no time to be sick. No funds to hire a doctor either.

  The black pepper and honey tea she’d been drinking seemed to help a bit, as did the thyme tea she’d brewed.

  Three days of sorting and packing, only taking what was essential had proved more difficult than she’d imagined. Daily trips to Newberry seeking employment had proved futile and a sense of panic assailed her, knotting her stomach and keeping her awake at night.

  Jane had tearfully explained she couldn’t afford to hire Eden, but she’d offered to let her and Mama a small chamber for a fraction of what they generally charged. Even so, there was food to buy and Mama’s medicine, and without a source of income, Eden would soon run through her small savings. Jane wouldn’t permit pets either.

  If Eden had to give up her beloved Mr. Wiggles and Acorn too, she very well might fracture.

  Each business she’d approached had given her the same answer. She offered no real skills or talents, and their pitying smiles or averted glances shredded her remaining pride. On the trek home yesterday, she’d burst into tears and cried, great gasping, heartbroken sobs into Peony’s sturdy warm, wonderfully horsey-smelling neck.

  Eden couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried like that.

  Yes, she could.

  When she’d been sent off to boarding school.

  The same helplessness enshrouded her now.

  She put a hand to her forehead where a headache had nagged for days.

  She stopped rocking.

  Lord Sterling had not put in his promised appearance.

  She told herself to stop listening for a carriage or horse, to cease glancing out the window a hundred times a day. And yet, a tiny ridiculous hope remained that he’d come.

  Her unlikely knight to the rescue.

  She shouldn’t feel this intense disappointment.

  He’d made the impractical, gallant offer out of pity. Once home, he’d no doubt realized the impossibility of retaining her as his secretary. Hopefully he planned to hire Mattie and Old Ronald. And to move the chickens and bees to Perygrim. She also meant to ask him if he would consider taking Peony. She wasn’t a beautiful high stepper, but she was sweet and gentle.

  A flush of embarrassment infused her. She’d imposed upon him more than she had any right to, given their short association. Perchance that was the reason for his absence—she’d overstepped. Another wave of hot humiliation bathed her.

  She had been reduced to beggary.

  Just as Simon and Candace had accused her.

  Eyes brimming once more, Eden scanned the peaceful horizon as she dashed away the moisture blurring her vision and coughed again.

  This might be her last chance to appreciate the view she’d known since birth. As it did each day, the sun had bid the day adieu and the fiery orb would rise on the morrow as if nothing had changed.

  Except she and her mother were a day closer to homelessness.

  What would Simon do if they refused to leave?

  Call the magistrate? Burn their belongings while they watched?

  Neither was farfetched.

  A full moon lit the heavens, so luminous it blanketed the earth in a silvery light.

  The call of the redwings echoed across the night sky, a sound she once would’ve delighted in. Instead, she strained to hear if Mama had stopped weeping. Her mother had
put on a brave front for Lord Sterling the other day, but when Eden had entered the cottage after his departure, she found her mother inconsolable.

  Mama had been in that state since, crying herself to sleep every night.

  For once, Eden couldn’t dredge up assurances that they would be all right. She couldn’t promise Mama anything.

  Restless, tense, unresolved about what she was going to do, Eden rose. Across the way, Lake Blackton shimmered under the rising fairy moon. The cool air felt wonderful on her flushed face. No destination in mind, she wandered the path through the orchard, then continued on toward the lake. She rarely came this far anymore—hadn’t in years—but this evening, something drew her onward.

  It might’ve only been the desire to escape the melancholy that had settled on the cottage—a thick, stifling shroud of despair.

  Such anger toward Simon roiled within, the hostility alarmed her. Made her loathe herself for the ugly thoughts invading her brain. She wanted to shout at the injustice. Throw dishes across the room. Slap his smug face. She could do none of those things, so she walked, swiftly and mindlessly to expend her frustrated energy and expel the demons taunting her.

  Four more days.

  That’s all they had.

  A decision must be made.

  A decision had been made.

  One born of utter hopelessness and despair.

  A numbing calmness cloaked her, dispelling her anxiety and quieting her tumultuous musings. And also, effectively nullifying any foolish romantic notions she’d entertained.

  As generous as Lord Sterling’s offer of service had been, to accept meant crossing several boundaries. Gossip and rumors would run rampant. Worse, though, would be residing in the same house as The Duke of DeCourcy.

  Perhaps if his lordship had offered her use of The Lake House, she might’ve seriously considered his generous proposal despite the impropriety. But exposing Mama to the duke’s enmity was inconceivable. She’d endured too much unhappiness already, and her remaining years should be spent in comfort. Not the target of a contemptible ill-tempered brute.

  Besides, Mama couldn’t live in London part of the year. She couldn’t tolerate the sooty, polluted air, and leaving her at Perygrim—anywhere for that matter—was out of the question. You didn’t abandon an ailing parent.

  With no other viable options, practicality, combined with a great deal of desperation, had finally convinced Eden of what she must do.

  “I can do it. I must,” she muttered to herself as she strode the path.

  Faithful as always, Mr. Wiggles trotted beside her.

  A rueful smile bent her mouth.

  At least with this solution, she wouldn’t have to give up her pets along with everything else.

  Tomorrow, she’d go into Newbury and accept Vicar Wright’s proposal.

  There was nothing else for it.

  Throat tight, she swallowed and angrily dashed at the tears tracking over her cheeks. She’d be a good wife to Jedidiah. She would. She was frugal and kind. Patient most of the time. A decent cook, and she could sew a straight seam. She’d try to be a loving mother to his daughters, seven-year-old Emma and ten-year-old Dorothy.

  As if her subconscious mind knew her ponderings all along, she found herself at the small lake’s edge. The Lake Cottage, also painted white like Briar Knoll except it was considerably bigger, glowed bright in the moonlight. Bright because lights shone in the windows that had been dark for years.

  Who was in residence?

  A visitor?

  Lord Sterling?

  Where the lawn tapered downward, a dock extended into the lake, much like the landing on this side. There floated the small pier where she’d fallen into the lake and almost drowned.

  She did remember, vividly, how terrified she’d been.

  Eden picked up a handful of blackish stones, then as she walked the shoreline, tossed them into the water, watching until each ripple disappeared before throwing another in. She lifted her hand to send the last smooth rock sailing into the peaceful water, when a big splash drew her attention to the dock.

  Had someone jumped off?

  In a moment, a form bobbed to the surface and began lazily swimming on his back toward her.

  She froze, curious and yet wary.

  Who was it?

  After a few minutes, he turned around and swam back to the dock, and she relaxed.

  Until he climbed out, and she saw his naked bum. His very taut, very muscular naked bum, thighs, and back. And for the life of her, she couldn’t look away.

  She swallowed a sudden rush of . . . Whatever this feeling was heating her blood that prevented her from tearing her rapt gaze off his beautifully sculpted form. The Adonis grabbed a towel from a chair and wrapped the length about his waist before turning in her direction.

  He gave a cocky wave.

  “Eden, do you always lurk about the shore at night? Or were you spying on me?”

  The next morning, Eden left the cottage before Mama awoke. She hadn’t even taken the time to drink a cup of tea or eat a piece of toast.

  Wearing her nicest frock, a jonquil and ivory empire-waisted morning gown, years out of fashion but quite lovely, she drove the dogcart down the deserted lane. She’d even donned her bonnet, its emerald ribbon tied in a jaunty bow to the left side of her chin, and wore her only pair of gloves. Her crocheted shawl lay on the seat where Mr. Wiggles usually sat.

  She couldn’t risk becoming covered in his hair. Her task was too important, and she must present herself as a lady. Perhaps not in the first tulip of fashion, but neat and poised. Respectable and modest. Qualities pastor’s wives must master.

  That peculiar tranquility that had overcome her last evening had abandoned her.

  There’d been no remnant of calm composure as she’d dashed home, Lord Sterling’s laughter pealing in her ears. She had not gone to the lake to spy on him, the conceited knave.

  Even now, if she closed her eyes, she could see his magnificent form outlined in the moonlight. She’d unabashedly looked her fill too, until he recognized her.

  More fool she, thinking he might’ve been called up to London and that’s why he hadn’t returned as he said he would. He’d been lazing about at the Lake House, uncaring of her plight.

  Why did she feel such disappointment? Almost as if he’d betrayed her?

  He owed her nothing. Had promised nothing.

  Well, her petulant side, the side she usually kept subdued, complained, if he hadn’t insisted you stay at Perygrim Park, you wouldn’t be in this awful situation.

  Not fair, her unbiased and logical side denied.

  You could have asserted yourself. Refused to stay. You wanted to stay.

  And there was the truth of it.

  Eden had brought this catastrophe upon herself. She’d been weak. Had been beguiled by a pair of gray-green eyes and an unforgettable masculine face.

  An unforgettable body too.

  A flash of him standing in the moonlight, a glistening marble sculpture, plunged into her recriminations.

  The miles passed quickly as she ruminated. She knew from the times she’d volunteered at the parish, handing out food and clothing to the poor, Vicar Wright rose early. Like she, he enjoyed gardening and usually spent an hour in his vegetable patch after breaking his fast. Four times he’d asked her to marry him since assuming the rectorship of St. Nicolas Priory two years ago. Every time she’d polity refused, and he’d given her a tender smile, vowing to persevere until she said yes.

  Parking the dogcart before the church, she raised her eyes to the bell tower. This would be her life now. Not altogether unpleasant. Just not what she’d wanted.

  In a few moments, Mrs. Bidwell, the parish’s housekeeper, had shown Eden inside. Attired all in black with her hair pulled back into a severe, no nonsense knot, she marched along the dark corridor.

  “Gracious, Miss Eden, you’re out and about early today.”

  Too polite to ask directly, Mrs. Bidwell wore a mantle o
f curiosity as obvious as Vicar Wright’s purple lent stole.

  “Yes, I have errands to run and cannot be away from home too long. Mama’s not well, so I left before she awoke.”

  Eden pulled her shawl firmer around her arms. The church was always cold inside. She supposed she’d get accustomed to that. She coughed into her handkerchief, fighting a wave of dizziness.

  I cannot be sick.

  “That cough sounds nasty, Miss Eden. You should be home in bed yourself.” Mrs. Bidwell turned her gray-haired head, asking over her shoulder as she led the way to the small terrace at the rear of the rectory. “Is the Vicar expecting you?”

  A bit of censure there. She knew he wasn’t.

  “No. I came about an urgent personal matter.”

  That sent the housekeeper’s bristly eyebrows scurrying up her forehead. “Regarding your impending eviction, I presume?”

  That halted Eden mid-step.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “It’s hardly a secret, dear. Everyone in Newbury knows.”

  No surprise really, but it still stung. Bitterly.

  Either Simon or Lord Sterling had lost no time in spreading the news. If she had a crown to wager, she’d bet her brother had made certain her circumstances were made public. His lordship didn’t seem the gossipy type.

  What else had Simon blathered about?

  Pray God not her foolhardy decision to spend the night at Perygrim.

  Why, oh why, was I so rash?

  Come to think of it, that might be why no one would consider her for a position. She’d ventured too close to the edge of ruin, and in the townspeople’s view, she was a fallen woman.

  Stupid. Stupid. Stupid Eden.

  She’d destroyed everything on a feminine whim.

  If only she’d never run into Lord Sterling.

  “Vicar, Miss Eden is here to see you,” Mrs. Bidwell announced at the terrace doorway.

  Vicar Wright, a straw hat on his sandy brown hair, looked up from the row he’d been hoeing and gave a welcoming smile.

  He really was an attractive man.

  Even if he’d been as ugly as a hog, and as rotund and smelly as one as well, Eden would’ve accepted his offer.