by Bree Wolf
“From what I heard he returned to England for his brother’s wedding and has spent the last few months at his family’s estate.” She met Rose’s eyes then, deep pain only too visible in them. “He has been in London these two weeks past.”
Rose looked at her cousin through narrowed eyes, and what she saw whipped the air from her lungs. Despite everything that had happened, Diana still cared for the man who had broken her heart. If he were to call on her, she would not be able to send him away.
Rose shivered at the thought.
A baby’s cries echoed through the halls, and Diana squeezed her eyes shut. “He has been doing this all night!”
“He needs you,” Rose reminded her, feeling her own heart go out to the helpless infant. Why was it that Diana was immune to the needs of her own son? “You are his mother. Go to him.”
“I have a nursemaid for that,” Diana objected, shaking her head determinedly.
“You need him, too,” Rose insisted. “He is the only one who can heal your heart.”
Diana snorted. “Puh! He is his father’s son. And such an awful name…Benedict.” She shook herself as though ill. “That silly family tradition of giving the first born son his father’s middle name. Ugh! He will never find a wife with that name. Just like his father, there is nothing appealing about him. Despite his fortune, no woman in her right mind would ever have agreed to marry him.” Closing her eyes, Diana sighed. “Neither would I. Only I didn’t have a choice.”
“Come outside with me,” Rose urged her. “It is not good for you to spend all your time indoors, regretting what was.” A tentative smile came to Diana’s face. “I promised my father to go to the British Museum today; come with me!”
Diana slumped back in her chair. “Go without me. The last thing I need right now is a stuffy museum. In all honesty, I cannot understand what makes you enjoy it so.” Closing her eyes, she draped the handkerchief back over her eyes while her son’s cries echoed from the second floor.
Chapter Three − A Kindred Soul
Ascending the first two stairs to Montagu House, Rose lifted her head and gazed up at the stately manor that housed the British Museum. Under its roof, large collections of artefacts had found their final resting place, and whenever Rose set foot over its threshold, a chill went down her back as though these artefacts were not soulless objects but filled with the spirits of times past, eager to share their secrets with her.
“Ah! There it is,” her father exclaimed, and Rose turned her head to look at him.
“There is what?”
“The glowing smile that rivals the sun,” he said, his eyes sweeping over her in unadulterated happiness. “I shall be back shortly. Enjoy yourself! However, I have no doubt that you will.”
“Thank you, Father, for not saying I told you so.”
Suppressing a grin, he nodded. “I would never dream of it.”
After being admitted, she ventured through the lower floor, awed by the large library, its rows upon rows of books filling the walls on all sides of her. If she only had the time to read them all! She mused, What would it feel like to possess the knowledge gathered in these volumes? What wisdom would they bring?
Heading upstairs, Rose ran her eyes over the various modern works of art located on the upper floor, and while she appreciated their unique essence, her feet were irrevocably drawn to the gallery.
Not once did her gaze travel to the other visitors, who were engrossed in the artefacts on display just as much as her. Their hushed voices and quiet footsteps mingled into a soft melody that soothed her rattled mind and comforted her aching heart.
Approaching the gallery, everything fell away, and for one pure moment, Rose felt liberated of the burdens that plagued her.
Feasting her eyes on the sight before her, Rose sighed. The gallery was by far her most favourite place in the world!
Beautifully crafted terra cottas, drawings and engravings lined the walls, and Greek and Roman sculptures decorated the room, hinting at societies long gone while Sir William Hamilton’s collection of Greek vases allowed for a rare view of ancient life.
“Beautiful,” Rose whispered as her mind absorbed the small details of various illustrations, guessing at their importance, at their meaning for the world today.
Lost in her own musings, Rose suddenly found herself standing in the one spot that held her heart. Without conscious thought, her feet would always direct her here as though it called to her. Lifting her head, she gazed almost lovingly at the Rosetta Stone.
A large, black granite rock, it held a decree issued in the times of the Pharaohs in Ancient Egypt. What was unusual was that the decree was written in three scripts: Ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs, Demotic script and Ancient Greek. However, so far no one had been able to decipher every last one of the words written there; the Ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs posed a problem.
Marvelling at the fine line between knowing and not knowing, Rose smiled, whispering her father’s favourite Greek quote, “Εν οίδα ότι ουδέν οίδα.” It seemed appropriate considering the vastness of yet undiscovered knowledge.
“I know one thing that I know nothing,” a deep and rather surprised sounding voice spoke out behind her, and Rose spun around, startled.
Wide-eyed, she jerked up her head and stared at the tall man standing before her as his eyes shifted from the stone to meet hers, a delighted twinkle in them. Strong with broad shoulders, he towered above her. His gentle features, though, spoke of a kind and honest man, and Rose exhaled the breath she had been holding.
His gaze held hers, and an enchanting smile curled up his lips. “I have never before met a woman who could quote Socrates and in Ancient Greek, too.”
As the honest admiration in his words resonated within her, Rose found herself swept away by his deep hazel eyes which looked into hers as though she herself were a rare artefact.
Feeling suddenly flustered, Rose averted her gaze; after all, it was not proper to stare at a stranger. “It is my father’s favourite saying,” she explained, grateful to have something to say. “He feels the lack of knowledge is its own greatest asset as it motivates us to understand what we do not know.”
His brows rose into arches as he nodded his head. “I suppose few people would consider lack of knowledge a desirable state. However, I do see the wisdom in your father’s words. He, himself, must be a man of great knowledge to have come to that conclusion.”
Rose chuckled, “I do believe so. However, my father would not agree with your judgement of him.”
Instead of surprise, understanding curled up the corners of his mouth. “He would not? Would you say it is modesty which keeps him from admitting to the wisdom he possesses? Or rather the desire to lower the expectations of others?”
Feeling herself smile up at him openly, Rose cleared her throat. “While my father claims that he does not know nearly enough to be called wise, in my opinion, he is merely afraid to disappoint, yes.” Delighted with their conversation, Rose searched her mind for something else to say. Never before had a man besides her father spoken to her as though her mind was equal to his.
As she looked at this stranger, who had appeared out of nowhere, she saw no hint of superiority or condescension in his eyes. Instead, she saw the same desire to understand, to gain knowledge and to see the world for all its possibilities.
Where had this man been all her life?
***
As his feet carried him up the stairs and toward the gallery, Charles felt as though he were coming home. Although the museum had acquired new artefacts since the last time he had visited, the Rosetta Stone called to him.
When his father had taken him to London that first summer, the visit to the British Museum had marked Charles’s first steps into the historical societies that had been his home these past ten years. Back then, it had been this ancient stone, newly arrived from Egypt, that had drawn visitors from far and near, and to this day, to Charles, it was the embodiment of the possibilities of ancient k
nowledge.
However, as he approached the stone, he found his usual spot occupied by a young woman of medium height. Her golden-red hair rested softly on her slender shoulders as her eyes swept almost lovingly over the finely chiselled inscriptions. Something about the way she held her head slightly bowed, her hands linked as though in prayer, spoke to him, and he drew near.
Debating what to do, he stood behind her right shoulder for a short while as his eyes went back and forth between her and the stone.
Then a soft smile touched her lips, and she drew a deep breath before whispering, “Εν οίδα ότι ουδέν οίδα.”
Like a punch to the gut, her words knocked the air from his lungs. It was as though she had whispered a secret password, one that identified her as a kindred soul, and Charles knew that he could not stand back and allow her to disappear from his life. He knew he ought not to address her. However, the need to reveal himself to her was stronger than anything he had ever experienced, so he opened his mouth and answered her unintentional call, “I know one thing that I know nothing.”
Instantly, her shoulders tensed, and she spun around, round emerald eyes staring up into his.
Cursing himself, Charles smiled at her reassuringly, hoping that he had not just destroyed any chance of gaining her favour. “I have never before met a woman who could quote Socrates−and in Ancient Greek, too,” he said, trying to express the emotions that raged through his heart.
Here, before him, was a like-minded soul, and he desperately wished to speak to her, hear her opinions and learn her thoughts with regard to the many questions that remained still unanswered despite the many secrets already uncovered.
And while his mind marvelled at the wonderful coincidence that had brought them both here this day, his heart whispered that the soft glow in her dark green eyes was unlike any other he had ever seen.
A gentle flush rose to her cheeks, and for a moment, she bowed her head. “It is my father’s favourite saying,” she replied, meeting his eyes once again, and he saw in her own the same surprise he felt in his heart. “He feels the lack of knowledge is its own greatest asset as it motivates us to understand what we do not know.”
Delighted with the depth of their conversation, Charles nodded his head. “I suppose few people would consider lack of knowledge a desirable state.” Meeting her eyes, he smiled. “However, I do see the wisdom in your father’s words. He, himself, must be a man of great knowledge to have come to that conclusion.”
A soft chuckle escaped her rosy lips, and the sound echoed through his heart with such tenderness that Charles had to draw a deep breath to steady himself. “I do believe so,” she replied, deep affection ringing in her voice. “However, my father would not agree with your judgement of him.”
Remembering his own father’s thoughts that everything learnt could always be surpassed, that around the next corner waited another mind ready to challenge what he thought he knew to be true and possible, Charles nodded. “He would not? Would you say it is modesty which keeps him from admitting to the wisdom he possesses? Or rather the desire to lower the expectations of others?”
Another soft smile curled up the corners of her mouth. “While my father claims that he does not know nearly enough to be called wise, in my opinion, he is merely afraid to disappoint, yes.”
Returning her smile, Charles said, “I suppose only truly wise men will ever refute any such claim. They know that wisdom is nothing to be truly gained and thus possessed for it is a futile state, always subject to change.”
A gentle frown came to her face, and for a moment she seemed unsure whether or not to express what was on her mind. When she finally spoke, Charles’ heart skipped a beat. “Would you restrict such a statement to men alone?”
Seeing the serious expression in her eyes, Charles understood the struggles she had faced in being recognised for the beautiful and frankly capable mind she possessed. “Not at all,” he assured her. “Forgive me for my poor choice of words. Wisdom and knowledge do not differentiate between men and women; they see them as equals.”
A radiant smile came to her face, and Charles suddenly felt the desire to cup his hand to her soft cheek. “Would you consider knowledge to be the same as wisdom?” she enquired next, and Charles felt as though he was being weighed.
“Not at all,” he assured her once more, glad to see relief flash over her face. “Many people possess knowledge without the wisdom to understand and use it properly. Wisdom, however, exists away from knowledge and is far more difficult to acquire than knowledge.”
“I do agree,” she said, and her eyes shone with pure, unadulterated joy, the same joy that pulsed through his own veins. “I suppose wisdom is gained through deep reflection and careful consideration and by learning from others.” Her eyes shifted to the Rosetta Stone, and a rueful smile curled up her lips.
“I assume you come here frequently,” Charles observed, and she turned back to look at him, “for you seem quite familiar with this artefact.”
She nodded eagerly. “I am. My father spent years of his life studying it, believing it to be the key to understanding Egyptian hieroglyphs. When he first heard of its discovery, he wept with joy for it was the day I was born, and he believed it to be a sign from the heavens.” She smiled up at him, and her eyes met his openly. “I am named for this stone.”
“Rose,” Charles whispered, staring at her in awe before she nodded her head, a shy smile illuminating her beautiful face. Clearing his throat, Charles said, “It is a beautiful name, indeed.”
Suddenly remembering his manners, he stepped forward and inclined his head to her. “I apologise. I should have introduced myself earlier.” Deep down, he knew that he should never have spoken to her; however, he could not bring himself to regret his actions. “Robert Dashwood, at your service.” Relieved to hear himself give his brother’s name, Charles smiled at her.
The eyes that looked into his suddenly changed. The soft twinkle that he had seen there only a moment ago disappeared as her mouth opened, and she mumbled, “Robert Dashwood. You are…?”
Swallowing, she stepped back, her features hardening as she glared at him with what could only be described as hatred and disgust mixed into an emotion so deep and so absolute that it froze the blood in his veins.
The smile slid off his face then, and he stared back at her, desperately hoping that it had all been a mirage, that somehow his eyes had deceived him.
However, they had not.
“Is something wrong?” Charles asked as he helplessly watched the connection between them dissolve as though it had never existed; worse even for instead of indifference, he found himself fixed with a hateful glare, an abyss impossible to bridge.
All colour left her face, and the beautiful curl of her full lips thinned into a tight line. “I need to leave,” she snapped, rushing past him.
Spinning around, Charles stared after her as she hastened toward the large staircase. His soul screamed at him to stop her; however, deep down, he knew that there was nothing in his power that could persuade her to stay.
As her footsteps echoed through the high-ceilinged room, Charles felt his spirits sink even lower than the day he had realised how isolated he suddenly was, even in a large city as London. Meeting her here today by chance, had been the ray of sunshine fighting its way through a dark overcast sky, touching the earth in but a single spot, allowing the dying flower to bloom again.
Sighing, Charles closed his eyes. What had changed? Why had she run from him? His name. He realised. She had only run from him after he had given her his name. No, not his name, but his brother’s name. Had she known Robert? What reason could she possibly have to despise him the way she clearly did?
Well-aware of his brother’s scandalous reputation, Charles groaned. Although he had never asked Robert for details, Charles had always allowed himself to believe that his brother would never take advantage of a young girl as sweet and innocent as Rose.
But what if he had been wrong?
Chapter Four − The Good & the Bad
That night, still shaking from her encounter at the museum, Rose sank onto the settee in the drawing room of her father’s townhouse, clumsily ripping the gloves off her hands.
So many emotions coursed through her heart that Rose hardly knew how she felt.
One moment, her hands froze in shock, her mind too stunned to process what had happened. Then her small frame trembled when anger seized her, anger about having been duped into feeling for the man who had ruined her cousin’s life. After all, was it not her familial obligation to despise him? Did her own common sense not advise her to keep her distance lest she fall prey to his charms as well?
And yet, despite knowing all that, excited chills rushed up and down her body when she remembered the way his eyes had gazed into hers. Warm and soft, they had made her feel safe, safe to express herself without restraint, and his reaction to her mind’s ideas had been so welcoming that Rose even now longed for his presence.
These delicious tingles, however, were quickly replaced by a sense of guilt when Diana’s face floated into her mind.
Rose groaned, disgusted with herself. How could she feel for a man who was without a doubt lacking character?
Nevertheless, Rose did have doubts. Despite everything that she knew, her heart had seen a different man. A generous and kind man. A man who would listen and not judge her by the fact that she was a woman but only by the thoughts she expressed. A man who had treated her as an equal.
However, he had to be amiable, did he not? If he were not, young girls would hardly allow themselves to be misled by his charms. Young girls like Diana, Rose thought, and for the first time she could understand how one could make a choice one knew not to be wise.
Closing her eyes, Rose shook her head, unable to believe the situation she suddenly found herself in.
What situation? Her mind whispered, and Rose realised that although their encounter had rattled her, it had been a chance meeting after all. What were the odds of them meeting again?