The Perfect Rose

by Diane Greenwood

  Rhionne shrugged. “I could have killed the pup. Nay, do not look so distraught, my dear. He will live to fight again. Maybe his next opponent will not be as lenient towards mercy. But this time he was lucky and the wound, while blood flows from it like water, is really quite shallow. He will soon be right as rain and eager to tryst with you in the gardens."

  With a slight tilt of his head he spoke past Torie to the form of Jacques who was awake though silent. “I consider the challenge satisfactorily concluded. I trust you will agree?"

  Jacques nodded.

  Rhionne turned back to Torie. “You may drive your champion back in the cart if it will ease your conscience."

  Torie could only glare at Rhionne's back as he walked off the field to his waiting horse, motioning for his groom acting as second to help load Jacques into the dogcart.

  Torie had the groom drive the cart on returning to Lairdscroft while she sat in the flatbed soothing Jacques. The gardener did not say much and Torie supposed his pride was bruised. After making sure the doctor was sent for and Jacques was as comfortable as possible in the partitioned stable loft where his room was located, along with other outdoor servants’ who would keep an eye on him, Torie went on to the house to change.

  Scarcely had she entered when the boys besieged her. Brodie shrieked and Justin was left to coherently ask, “Torie! What happened?"

  Apparently Rhionne had managed to avoid confrontation with his sons. Another point Torie found easy to hold against him. The poor boys were no doubt worried sick about the outcome. But with her first words of assurance: “It's all-right, your father is fine,” came the surprise answer, “Yes, we know. He spoke to us straight-away on his return.” Justin was staring at her as if she wore a frog on her head.

  It was Brodie that solved the mystery. Tears rolled down his face. “Oh Torie, you are badly hurt! Father! Come quick! Torie is bleeding!” His high-pitched voice carried down the hall and through the house before Torie could stifle him.

  She looked down at her muddied skirts and torn hem, where bits of dried grass clung tenaciously. Her eyes traveled up, shocked at the vision they encountered. Her bodice was completely covered with blood! Jacques’ blood. Some dried. Some fresh. There was so much of it the vivid color made her eyes swim and her head followed suit. She heard the echo of booted feet on marble, then felt herself falling. A pair of strong arms caught her. A white shirtsleeve stained with more blood made her gasp. She was trapped in a nightmare of blood!

  "I've got you, my love.” A deep, familiar voice soothed in her ear. But was it merely a redeeming facet of her nightmare?

  She murmured. “Hold me tight! Never let me go!"

  The arms tightened but the reply was from far off. She thought she heard. “Never willingly.” But darkness descended and even voices faded into silent blackness.

  Chapter Ten

  When Torie woke she was in her own bed, clad only in her thin chemise. It took her a few moments to remember what had happened. The sun shining high on her bed told her it was afternoon and she hadn't been out more than a few hours. She felt a missish fool! Imagine fainting at the sight of blood, no matter the quantity.

  Well, enough was enough! To be lying abed in the middle of the afternoon, what a disgraceful waste of time! She was out of bed and halfway to the wardrobe when a small scratching at the door announced Brodie. With typical child candor he did not wait for a reply but turned the knob. Torie had to make a dash for the concealing sanctuary of the bedcovers.

  Brodie peeked inside the door. “Oh, good, you're awake. I knocked softly in case you were still sleeping. Father said we were not to bother you, but I was worried so I thought I'd just sneak a look."

  "It's all right, Brodie. I'm fine now. I'm sorry I scared you."

  "Oh, I wasn't scared. Well, a little. But Justin was scareder!"

  "More scared is the correct phrase."

  "That too,” Brodie nodded.

  "You were very brave,” Torie assured him.

  "It's just there was so much blood. But Father said it wasn't yours, so everything's all right."

  Torie turned pale and shuddered.

  "Torie, are you all-right? Do you want Father?"

  "No, no! Go on downstairs. I'll be down shortly."

  "Maybe you should stay here and rest? Father's arm started bleeding when he carried you upstairs, so he had Justin help bind it and now he's resting.” Brodie added hastily. “Father, not Justin."

  "I'm fine. Go on with you."

  In the back of Torie's mind was concern for Jacques. When she was dressed in one of her old cast-offs, an outdated black and white silk mantua of the last century, she headed for the stables, Brodie in tow. “Where’ s Justin?"

  Brodie shrugged. “He offered to read to Father while he rested."

  Torie halted. “Your father is ill?"

  "Naw, just tired. He said he lost some blood and would be fine by supper."

  Torie breathed a sigh of relief. She was further comforted when she saw Jacques, his ruddy color back, sitting up eating broth spooned by a buxom serving wench. Torie did not want to interrupt, as there seemed to be a comfortable agreement between the two. It would appear Jacques was no longer suffering from bruised pride. This was salve to Torie's conscience and she actually skipped a few steps back to the house with Brodie's small hand tucked in her own.

  Her lighthearted mood lasted making her look forward to supper. This might have had something to do with the fact she had not eaten a thing since last eve. But whatever the reason, she gingerly picked out the gown of white lawn with the fitted velvet over-bodice, the exact shade of her green eyes. It was fortuitous she had not been wearing her white kid slippers that morning at the meadow, for the half boots she had worn were pitifully muddy.

  Torie put thoughts of the morning's event from her mind. It still had the ability to make her shudder. Her hair required full attention to pile it up in the semblance of fashion that was all the rage. With a satisfied pat, she thought she had well succeeded and was out the door and down the stairs, when she felt it begin to fall. Too late to turn back, she would let it go as it would. She had no way of knowing the majority of its golden curls were still pinned, while the tresses that dangled gave her a becoming devil-may-care flirtatiousness.

  From the dining chamber came the sound of laughter and it was not all childish. Torie hated to interrupt but her stomach would brook no manners and demanded she sup. She entered tentatively. For a woman of Torie's beauty it was impossible for her to make an unobtrusive entrance into a crowded room. With just three dining occupants and two footmen she was as obvious as a swan among roosters. Both footmen scrambled to pull out her chair. They compromised by one pulling it out, then the other, and after Torie had been seated, delicately pushing it to the table.

  Rhionne McLairdin and his offspring remained standing till Torie was comfortably ensconced. It was then that the footmen realized they had forgotten to unfold Torie's napkin. They made such a rush to the table they bumped into each other, almost knocking one another down in their haste. Impatiently, Rhionne waved them back. Torie watched his face for some sign of disgust, chiefly aimed at her, but rather his lips were turned up at the corners as if in secret amusement.

  The boys stifled giggles. Torie was further surprised when Rhionne himself approached, unfolded her napkin and settled it on her lap. His crisp white shirt, fresh cravat, superbly cut jacket of blue superfine and fitted breeches, delivered the picture of perfect health but it was then Torie realized he only used one arm. She reached out and touched the sleeve of the unused limb, then remembering herself, she drew back her hand as if burned.

  His dark blue eyes met her green ones searchingly, but his actions were staunch as he returned to his seat and rang the bell signaling the first course to be served. This proved to be a simmering tureen of turtle, followed by venison in mushroom sauce. Conversation was kept light with Torie remarking how fine the boys looked in their new suits.

  Rhionne took thi
s opportunity to volunteer, “By the by, I took the liberty of having the gown you wore this morning disposed of. It was quite unsalvageable even as a hand-me down to one of the maids. As was your chemise."

  Tories eyes flew to his face. “You must be mistaken. I ... I had on my chemise when I woke.” She couldn't control the nervous stammer in her voice.

  "I beg to differ. You had on a chemise. I took another liberty while you were sleeping and provided a fresh one."

  "How could you do that without...” Torie gasped and blushed.

  As if commenting on something as mundane as the weather his lordship reached for sweet jelly to flavor his venison and replied. “Don't worry, I did not take further liberties."

  Torie found her voice faint. “I suppose I should thank you."

  The dark-blue eyes gleamed roguishly. “No, quite unnecessary. The pleasure was all mine."

  It was providential the next course was served at that moment saving Torie the painful task of making an inept reply. This aromatic platter proved to be roast duck served on a bed of French beans and green peas. As a servant carved the duck and dished, he served up a generous portion of the vegetables to each diner. It was at this point that Torie noticed Rhionne did not touch his greens. “You do not care for the legumes, milord?"

  Brodie piped up; “They're yucky!"

  "They’ re quite tender and delicious.” Torie reprimanded him gently. “If you’ d try them you might agree. Justin eats his."

  "Justin's yucky too,” Brodie giggled.

  Justin's answer was to kick him in the shin. One look from their father was enough to quell any further rough-housing. Brodie stuck his bottom lip out in a pout. “I'll eat them if Father eats his."

  Three sets of eyes were turned on Rhionne. Torie had never seen him look discomfited but now there was a decidedly testy air about him as he reached for his water goblet. It took her a moment to realize the cause. Other than when he had placed her napkin, she had not been observing his movements as he ate. But now, watching him; she realized he was using his opposite hand. Of course! Spooning the delicate legumes would be beyond his capabilities with the injured arm and his other limb was incapable of precision movements. For a man of his pride it would be quite vexing in front of his sons!

  Torie took up a petite forkful of peas and put it to her mouth. “Oh!"

  "What is it, Torie?” Justin's brow wrinkled in perfect imitation of his sire's.

  "I was wrong. Some of these green's are quite bitter.” Torie fibbed convincingly.

  Rhionne motioned for the offending platter to be removed. “I will speak to Cook about tasting the dishes prior to serving.” No one looked too remorseful over the removal and another dish quickly replaced the disgraced platter. The rest of the meal went well and the lighthearted cajoling mood returned to lift everyone's spirits.

  * * * *

  Torie was not sure where her life was headed, but one thing was certain: she could not marry Jonathan Pickwick. When she headed to the rectory the very next day to cry off, her protestations fell on deaf ears. For such a quiet unassuming parson, Jonathan Pickwick was steadfastly adamant in one thing—his love for Torie. It blinded him of all else. She had agreed to marry him and he was not about to let her cry craven. It was just maidenly nerves he assured her, pressing her into accepting tea with him and his father.

  Torie could not make him see differently. No matter what reason she gave he simply smiled blithely and nodded his head. No, the parson was not one to listen to reason. The only hope was for him to withdraw the offer, and how could that take place when he saw Torie as an angel that could do no wrong?

  She pondered the enigma on the ride back to Lairdscroft in the dogcart, accompanied by a groom riding behind. She lit on a solution. The good parson would have to see Torie was no angel. To prove this he would have to see her with his own eyes do something so unforgivably unconventional as to be shocking!

  But what? What could make a man do a complete turnabout concerning a woman’ s character? Only one situation, old as time; being caught in an affaire de coeur' with another man! Who? It had to be someone jaded enough they would not go over the top. It wouldn't do to jump from one vexing situation to another, more desperate one.

  There was only one obvious choice and Torie could not very well ask Rhionne McLairdin's permission. He'd never approve and he was her only hope! It would have to be on Sunday when the clergymen came for dinner and somehow Torie would have to lure Rhionne into a compromising position at just the right time. Later she would explain it to him and it would all be a great lark she was sure. But how to capture Rhionne's interest and provoke an incident? This was a new situation for Torie. Always before she had done her best to avoid catching a man's eye, now she wanted one in her arms!

  When Sunday arrived she attended church with the boys as usual. But after the service, Jonathan Pickwick directed several significant glances her way till Torie was embarrassed others would notice. Torie wasted no time in dallying about conversing with the parson, but hurried back to Lairdscroft.

  This was no day for timid demurity. She wanted to take time and care, making the most of what nature had bequeathed her. With only a little qualm she drew from her wardrobe the tight-waisted, red velvet gown and pinned on the gold brooch the Duke of Gaunlin had insisted she keep. She knew this would incense Rhionne in itself, but for added measure she did not bother to disguise the daring neckline with a modesty piece, but displayed her charms in a way that could only be labeled as, ‘brazen'.

  As the coup de grace she added long white gloves and her white kid slippers. For once she was glad of her hair's willful tendencies and pinned it up, letting it fall as it may, in spiraling curls that lent a picture of planned disarray.

  Even with the extra care she took she was ready early. It was just as well; when it came to collecting the boys Torie never knew what she would find. She could hear them bickering from the hall, running between the rooms even now. But when she appeared in the doorway of their room it was to hear Justin shush Brodie and to see Brodie make a dive for his bed.

  Torie knew better than to behave the muttonhead and demand an explanation. Instead she took slow, deliberate steps, carefully picking her way over discarded clothes and castaway toys, until she reached the side of the bed where Brodie lay, now pretending to be asleep.

  Justin spoke from across the room. “Torie, you look positively smashing! But I'm afraid Brodie is not himself."

  The corners of Torie's mouth lifted in a lopsided smile. “Thank you for your approval ... and I believe Brodie is quite himself.” Her skepticism must have communicated itself to Brodie as one gray eye opened just a slit.

  Justin spoke a bit too high-pitched to be natural. “He said he was tired and coughed when we played tag."

  Torie took off a glove and felt Brodie's forehead just to be certain. It was cool to the touch. “I see ... And I suppose he won't feel well enough to attend the church dinner?"

  Justin shook his head. “No. And I had better stay up here and keep watch over him. Nanny Ada is not as young as she used to be, you know."

  "I see."

  Justin knew she did and resorted to his secret weapon. He smiled winningly. “You know how these dinners run on. If we attend tonight I swear we will be ill! Did I mention how beautiful you look?"

  "Like a fairy princess!” Brodie peeped from the bed.

  "Well, not quite a fairy princess.” Justin looked over her gown and swallowed. “More like a king's high flyer."

  "Justin!” Torie feigned shock. “Just for that, young man, you and your brother will remain confined to your room tonight.” She pretended to march haughtily to the door, then softened her tone. “I'll have your dinners sent up.” She smiled as she left the room. Those boys!

  On her way downstairs it occurred to Torie, Rhionne had not actually asked her to be present at the dinner. She had not foreseen this in her plan but it was of little consequence, as once she was present he could not very well ask her to leave
!

  It suited Torie to be first in the Long Drawing room. Even the footmen had not arrived at their vigilant posts. She perused the room, looking for the best location to strike an alluring pose. If his lordship titled her a siren, then siren she would become! At least she hoped so. She tried several locations, near the door, next to the windows. Then realizing how silly she must look flitting here and there like a bird-witted debutante on the prowl, she took a firm stance at the end of the room.

  She had no way of knowing it was the focal point of the chamber, in direct line of vision of where the guests, or in this case the host, entered. Torie turned about, pretending to innocently peruse the carved figurines that sat on display on shelves nearby, as the footmen arrived to take their posts by the double doors leading to the dining chamber. They were older servants, who knew their place and did not bat an eye at Torie's presence, though their loyal eyes widened at the ambrosial vision in red.

  When Torie heard the telltale clip of boots on marble she knew Rhionne had arrived with his guests. Torie gave them time enough to enter, then swung about, a smile of welcome on her full lips. It was indeed Lord Lairdscroft with the two Pickwicks. The superbly fitted double-breasted, dark hued jacket and white satin breeches Rhionne wore so casually, made the other two men in their indifferently cut coarse coats and trousers, drab by comparison.

  At the sight of Torie in all her glory, all three men halted in their steps. The elder Pickwick, in a rare nod to fashion, wore a monocle and therefore got a clear picture of his intended daughter-in-law. In awe he forgot to breathe and therefore began hacking straightway. The younger parson could only stare dumb-struck and it was left to Rhionne to put the vision in perspective with an uttered, “My God!” before remembering his manners and coming forward to greet Torie, with a kiss not quite chaste on the back of her gloved hand.

  Torie took this opportunity to inform Rhionne his sons would not be joining them. “Brodie has a case of the sniffles."

  His lordship's attention was momentarily diverted. “Nothing serious?"