Rogues to Lovers: Legend of the Blue Rose

by Laurel O'Donnell

“This is an unexpected surprise.” He braced the hoe against the vicarage. “Mrs. Bidwell, we’ll take tea on the terrace here, please.”

  He indicated a quaint wrought iron table and chairs beneath an arbor covered with small white roses.

  “If you’ve any of yesterday’s delicious Bara Brith bread, I’m sure Miss Eden would enjoy a slice or two.”

  If her nervous stomach wasn’t so wobbly, she might’ve. Bara Brith was a favorite indulgence, and only rarely did she have the opportunity to enjoy the treat.

  A hint of disapproval tightening her mouth, Mrs. Bidwell nodded. “Of course, Vicar.”

  Eden commanded her nerves into submission and summoned a warm smile before coughing again.

  “Pardon me.”

  After Mrs. Bidwell had disappeared inside, he waved Eden to one of the chairs, then collected his jacket and slipped it on.

  “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

  How did she approach something so delicate?

  It would help if her stomach wasn’t a gnarled lump and fever wasn’t hindering her ability to parse her thoughts together.

  Eden sank onto the chair and adjusted her shawl.

  “I’m not quite sure where to begin.”

  “I’ve found the beginning is always the best place.”

  He gave her an encouraging smile, the corners of his dark brown eyes crinkling, revealing he smiled often.

  Handsome and cheerful. She could do much worse.

  “I’m sure you’ve heard about my . . . our change in circumstances.”

  He leaned back into his chair and nodded, a tinge of wariness settling over him. His expression and posture didn’t change, but a guardedness she’d never seen before entered his eyes.

  “Yes, a few parishioners have mentioned your difficulty.”

  Of course they had.

  Felt it their Christian duty, no doubt, to apprise him of her reduced circumstances. Probably visited him en masse to make sure he knew every sordid detail, the judgmental chinwags. Nothing worse than a religious gossip. They never recognized their own sins for wont of pointing out others’ iniquities.

  She didn’t even scold herself for her uncharitable thoughts.

  It didn’t help that for the first time Vicar Wright sat there regarding her in a manner that bordered on censure. She’d never known him to be anything but affable and considerate.

  “I’ve been praying for you and your mother since I heard the news.”

  Well, that was something, but she needed much more from him.

  “Thank you.”

  A silted silence descended upon them.

  This was much harder than she’d anticipated. No sense beating around the bush.

  Eden cleared her throat, both to dispel the nerves constricting it and to alleviate the soreness.

  “I’ve carefully considered your offer and am pleased to say I accept.”

  Again, she forced her lips upward, husbanding a semblance of happiness.

  Eyes now hooded, he gazed blankly at her. Where he’d been relaxed and observant before, he now oozed strain.

  “My offer?”

  Good gracious, had he forgotten?

  It had only been six weeks.

  She swallowed against the soreness in her throat again and swept the area a quick glance. The last thing she needed was Mrs. Bidwell to overhear this awkwardness. As it was, the snoopy housekeeper was probably eavesdropping near the doorway.

  Dread scraped along her spine. Eden clasped her hands until her fingers ached and quietly said, “Yes, your marriage proposal of a few weeks ago. If memory serves me correctly, it was the fourth.”

  She wasn’t sure why she mentioned that tidbit. Maybe to reinforce the fact that he’d pursued her, not the reverse.

  His countenance remained benign for a moment, then he turned his profile to her and sighed. He scratched his temple whilst looking at his robust garden.

  “I regret I must retract my offer.”

  He’d heard.

  “I see.”

  Could one perish from mortification?

  He shook his head and finally met her eyes once more. His were full of compassion as well as accusation. “You see, I also learned you spent the night, unchaperoned, at Perygrim Park. After giving Lord Sterling a ride home. Also unchaperoned.”

  “What you say is true, but—” A fit of coughing interrupted her protest.

  “I’m sure you can appreciate that a man in my position, a shepherd to his flock, cannot take to wife a woman of questionable repute. Therefore, I’ve no choice but to withdraw my former proposal.”

  Eden barely heard him. A fog descended over her mind, and she blinked several times to clear the haze floating before her.

  So much for his declarations of love and adoration these past two years.

  Withdraw my offer.

  Her last option.

  Except soiled dove or mistress.

  A stunning young woman came around the corner of the rectory just then, holding each of his daughters’ hands in hers. Wearing a smart pink and rose gown, the matching spencer edged in cobalt braid that just so happened to match the confection atop her perfectly coiffed golden curls, and her wide, pretty eyes, she gave him a winsome smile.

  The immediate light flaring in his eyes told Eden all she needed to know.

  He was not a man heartbroken. Not at all.

  “Ah, you ladies haven’t met yet.” He stood and waved the three closer. “Miss Lucy Taylor, this is Miss Eglantina Haverden.”

  Had to use her given name, didn’t he?

  Couldn’t even allow Eden a small degree of pride.

  “Miss Eglantina, this is Lucy Taylor. Her father purchased the confectionary and mercantile last month, but she only arrived in town a fortnight ago.”

  “Don’t forget the chocolate shop,” Miss Taylor reminded him with another upward turn of her perfect mouth whilst blinking her ridiculously full lashes.

  New to town and from a wealthy family. She’d replaced Eden in the vicar’s attentions. Who’d choose a drooping dandelion when a lush rose was available for the plucking? He’d seized Eden’s current bumblebroth to extract himself from his declaration.

  Seven-year-old Emma bounced on her toes and grinned, revealing a missing front tooth. “Lucy is going to be our new Mama, Miss Eden.”

  Eden managed to find her way out of the church, coughing the whole while. Humiliation taunted her every step. Vicar Wright might’ve called her name. She couldn’t be sure. It took every bit of her determination to remain upright and keep moving forward.

  Crumpling into a defeated, sobbing mass was not an option.

  Not in Newbury, leastways.

  So great was her chagrin, she’d never be able to set foot in St. Nicolas Priory again.

  Waves of burning heat then icy coldness engulfed her, over and over. She needed to get home. To lie down. To think of a solution.

  There is no solution.

  “Eden? Are you all right?”

  Bloody perfect.

  The cause of her downfall appeared before her, blurry and wavering. Right down to his immaculately polished Wellingtons.

  “I cannot be seen with you, my lord. I’m disgraced as it is.”

  A fat tear seeped from the corner of her eye and trickled down her cheek.

  He stepped nearer, and the smell that was him—masculine and intoxicating and dangerous for compromised spinsters—permeated the fog engulfing her.

  “Eden, what has happened?”

  “I beg you. Please go away.”

  She raised a shaky hand to her damp forehead. She was truly good and ill. And needed to sit at once.

  Mouth pulled into a grim line, he shook his head. “I shan’t—”

  Everything went blissfully black.

  A Rose for a Rogue

  Collette Cameron

  Another three afternoons later, Chester stood outside Eden’s bedchamber. Many were the times his feet—mayhap his heart?—had led him here since he’d brought h
er straight from Newbury. Most times, he’d summoned his waning diligence and discipline and walked on.

  Other times, he couldn’t resist seeing her.

  More than once, he’d found her sleeping, convalescing from influenza, and he’d drawn up a chair and watched her slumber. Whether that made him a man well on his way to becoming utterly besotted or a lunatic, he couldn’t say.

  Was there much difference? Both had lost all sense of reason.

  At his insistence, Dr. Chamberlain visited each day, and he’d assured Chester she didn’t ail from anything more dangerous than a severe case of ordinary grippe, made worse by her stressful circumstances, not enough to eat, and her unfortunate plunge into Black Beck.

  Two uniformed maids hurried past, offering friendly smiles over the tall stacks of linens each carried.

  Preparations for the house party were well underway. To Wynby’s credit, he took to the task as if he’d organized many such gatherings. Additional staff had been hired, food and drink ordered, entertainment planned, and chambers that hadn’t been used in years had received a thorough dusting and airing.

  Chester rapped his knuckles once on the door.

  “Come in.”

  Eden’s lilting voice carried through the stout panel, sounding much more robust than she had yesterday when he’d checked on her.

  He entered her chamber, mindful to keep the door ajar to prevent further gossip.

  Newbury had fairly crackled with conjecture and on dit his last visit. What was more, at least a dozen people had witnessed him carrying an insensate Eden to his coach.

  Chester didn’t even want to contemplate what the tattle-mongers were spreading about now.

  Propped against pale pink sheets, a prim night robe buttoned to her chin and that mass of honey-toned hair flowing around her shoulders, Eden was speaking softly with her mother. Mr. Wiggles lay at the foot of her bed, and he gave Chester a single welcoming thud of his tail before shutting his eyes and resuming his slumber.

  Today, he sported a purple ribbon about his scruffy neck.

  Of Acorn there was no sign, but rustling in the adjoining sitting room suggested she was up to mischief of some sort. Luckily, on the day of the move from Briar Knoll, Chester had found her asleep in the sewing table. Several loops about the lid with a rope assured she’d remain in her nest until they reached Perygrim. That was not to say Acorn went without creating a ruckus. Her outraged scolds and frantic clawing didn’t cease until he released her in Eden’s bedchamber.

  Miss Haverden patted her daughter’s hand and acknowledged Chester’s entrance with a slight angling of her head. Her somber pecan brown eyes shimmered with gratitude.

  “Your lordship, Eglantina’s much improved. Thank you again for everything. You’ve been exceedingly kind, and we are grateful.”

  “You are most welcome.”

  His attention shifted back to Eden.

  A touch more color brushed her gently sloping cheeks, and her eyes, now bright and focused, had lost the dull haze of fever. Indeed, she seemed far, far better than when she’d collapsed outside St. Nicolas Priory. He’d barely caught her in time to keep her from hitting her head upon the cobblestones.

  “I hope you are improved as well, Miss Haverden.”

  “I am feeling immensely better, thanks to Dr. Chamberlain’s ministrations and treatment of my ill humors,” Miss Haverden said whilst adjusting her shawl more securely around her frail shoulders. Life’s difficulties had etched fine lines at the outer edges of her eyes and framed her mouth, but she was an attractive woman not even fifty years old yet.

  According to Dr. Chamberlain, while Miss Haverden didn’t boast a robust constitution, neither was she at death’s door, as Chester had feared. She did possess delicate, easily frayed nerves, however.

  Chester’s disgust at learning Dr. Munson had cheated Eden and her mother had him struggling mightily with his ruthless inclinations. In addition to laudanum, the charlatan prescribed worthless nostrums and tonics and had the nerve to overcharge for what he’d termed specialized medicines, composed of ingredients that actually contributed to Miss Haverden’s ill health.

  Nonetheless, she’d rebounded remarkably in a short time, and a hint of healthy color now replaced her previous pallor. How much of that was due to the glass of sherry prescribed before bed each night, or the knowledge they were no longer indebted to Simon Andrews?

  Or might her renewed vigor be due to his cantankerous father joining her in the solarium for tea these past two afternoons? Fully dressed to boot? Father preferred coffee, so his venture into socializing had a motive.

  But what?

  Chester had yet to determine what his sire was about, for he never did anything without purpose. On the other hand, to his relief, he and the duke had reached a truce of sorts. Much to his amazement—a tad of consternation too—Father hadn’t objected to their unexpected guests either. Extraordinary considering his treatment of Eden the other night, and with the house party happening in mere days. Perhaps he’d taken seriously Chester’s threat to leave and not return if he didn’t make an effort to be more agreeable.

  Yesterday, he’d moved back into his rooms at Perygrim. He couldn’t very well leave the Haverdens to fumble about the place until Eden could be persuaded to become his secretary.

  At least Dockery had taken his leave. Jervis too, the quisling. Not a doubt remained that the former bailiff had lined his and Dockery’s pockets with Perygrim’s profits during Father’s decline in health.

  Only the knowledge that Jervis and Dockery had families with young children prevented Chester from reporting them. Their children shouldn’t have to suffer for their father’s sins. The few pounds he offered in severance as well as a threat to notify the magistrate of their thievery encouraged them to leave peaceably.

  “Mattie said you asked to see me?” He advanced farther into the room.

  “Yes. I need to speak with you. Mama, I’d like a few minutes alone with his lordship, please.”

  “Of course, dear. I’m feeling a bit done in. I think I’ll have a short lie down before dinner.” She bent and kissed Eden’s forehead and smoothed her hair. “I’m so glad you’re feeling better. I was quite worried.”

  “I know, Mama. I truly am recovered.”

  Just a few days ago, their situations had been reversed, with Miss Haverden abed and Eden fussing over her. In both instances, their love for one another was obvious.

  Something, perhaps sadness or regret, maybe even envy, tugged at his heartstrings. He didn’t know how to overcome the frigid antagonism between the duke and him. Entrenched habits were not easily broken, especially when each was convinced the other was in the wrong.

  Eden tugged the silk coverings higher on her lap as Chester approached the foot of the bed.

  He’d have put her in the blue guest room.

  The shades of cream, cobalt, and azure suited her color better than more vivid rose and plum hues of this chamber.

  “I’ll check in on you before I retire, darling,” her mother said before sweeping from the room.

  A full minute passed in silence after her departure, Eden staring into the corridor the whole while.

  What troubled her?

  With a deep breath, she directed her attention to him.

  “Mama tells me you’ve moved the entire household to Perygrim, including our belongings, the chickens, bees, and Peony.”

  She sounded neither pleased nor angry.

  Leaning a shoulder against the bedpost he nodded.

  “I did. Even those special brocade or velvet or whatever they were rose bushes. It may have been presumptuous of me, but you were indisposed. Your mother as well as Mattie and Old Ronald were distraught when I called upon them to inform them you’d collapsed in the village.”

  In front of the church.

  Why had she been there?

  “You dug up the Blue Damask roses?”

  When she looked at him like that, like he was her hero, her eyes soft and promis
ing, he was hard put not to sweep her into his arms and profess his devotion.

  “Indeed, I did.” Because the confounded things were about to bloom, and he’d be buggered if he didn’t do his part to make that legend of enemies becoming lovers a reality.

  Specifically, this enemy.

  “Old Ronald planted them in Mother’s rose garden. He assures me they’re thriving, and we can expect blossoms very soon.”

  “Thank you. That was very thoughtful.” She seemed to collect herself, and her manner became more formal. “I’m sure you remember, tomorrow is the deadline for us to vacate Briar Knoll. There’s something there I must retrieve.”

  “I would be happy to collect it for you.”

  He came ’round the side of the bed, then after a slight hesitation, sat by her hip. She’d lost weight. Not a lot, but enough to make her delicate features more pronounced.

  “Honestly, I don’t think you could find it.”

  “Very well, when you’re fully recovered, we’ll go together.”

  Her mouth twitched. “I’m well now, but Mama insisted I rest one more day. She’s terrified of something happening to me.”

  He picked up one of her small hands. She didn’t object but did slide a furtive peek toward the doorway. Cupping her hand, he brushed his thumb over the back.

  “Unless I miss my mark, you were distressed when you came bolting out of the church the other day.”

  But why?

  The question had simmered in the back of his mind for three days. If Pastor Perfect was Bible over bum in love with Eden, wouldn’t he have called by now?

  Her dainty fingers lying so comfortably in his palm went rigid, and she withdrew her hand.

  “I hardly bolted, and as you know, I was ill. That’s why you believed I was distraught.”

  “Why were you there?”

  Preposterous to think this sickly feeling was jealousy.

  Ridiculous he should dread her answer.

  Ludicrous to deny he’d fallen in love with the vixen. That during the house party’s ball, he yearned to announce that Eden was to become his wife before whisking her onto the ballroom floor for their first of many waltzes.

  “That’s none of your business, your lordship.”

  If she were a porcupine, she’d have shot him full of quills. “But since you’re intent on prying, I sought his council on a position.”