A Melody for Rose (The Wednesday Club Book 2)

by Sahara Kelly

  “At the end of the Season.” She pulled her knees up under her skirts and rested her chin on them. “It will come as no surprise of course.”

  “Sorry? I don’t understand.” Miles settled himself next to her.

  “I’m quite sure someone will find out soon about my problems. And once they do…well, that’s it then.”

  “What problems, Rose?”

  She sighed deeply. “I think I am going insane, Miles. That somewhere in my ancestry lies madness. And that taint renders me completely ineligible to someone of your standing, I’m sure you’ll agree.”

  *~~*~~*

  For some reason, he hadn’t jumped to his feet and made any sort of horrified denunciation. Rose blinked, unsure of what to expect now that the news was out. “Um, could you say something?”

  He looked up at the trees for a few moments, then back to her face. “What makes you think you are going insane? I’ve seen no signs, Rose…nothing untoward in your behaviour…” he leaned forward and dropped a light kiss on her lips. “Other than a tendency to be quite immodest in your desires, something which is not in the least bit insane, and which I find most admirable.”

  She shivered a little at the recollection of what he had just done to her. But reality crept back in on the heels of those delightful thoughts. “It has to do with my music,” she began.

  “And the colours you see when you play,” he nodded. “I understand.”

  For the following moments, Rose was bereft of speech, just staring at him with her mouth agape. Finally she recovered herself enough to speak. “What?” It was more of a squeak than a word, but he seemed amused by it.

  “My dearest girl, you have mentioned colours in passing several times, and in relation to your music. I’m a man who tends to remember odd things, and I like to discover and solve mysteries. Hence our ongoing pursuit of your manuscript and the questions that have arisen there.”

  “But…” She found she was still reduced to a monosyllabic utterance.

  “It is not common, I’ll grant you that. But it is also not a sign of insanity.”

  “How…you can’t know that for sure…”

  Her world spun, every bit as much as it had only moments before. But this time it wasn’t caused by any kind of physical release, but by extreme mental turmoil as Miles turned her world upside down. Again.

  “We seldom know anything for sure, my dear,” he said quietly. “But I have read extensively about your situation. And it might surprise you to know that I found mention of it around the late sixteen hundreds, by Sir Isaac Newton, of all people.”

  “Really?” Fascinated now, Rose couldn’t drag her eyes away from his face.

  “Indeed yes. Both Goethe and his contemporary Herr Doktor Sachs have touched upon this very topic. Apparently,” he settled himself as if to begin a lecture, “it doesn’t have to just be music. It can be connected to hearing, to movement, and also to reading. To words themselves. There are all kinds of theories about it, of course. Almost as many as there are scientists who think they’re the only ones to discover it. But believe it or not, the ancient Greeks knew of it, and questioned it in some of their philosophical treatises.”

  “Good God.”

  “So I hate to deflate your rather frightening theory, my sweet, but you’re as sane as the next person.” He half-laughed at himself. “Well, since we’re in London, I’m not sure that’s much of a recommendation, but let’s be clear about this, Rose…” reaching out he took both her hands in his. “There’ll be no talk of insanity or of crying off because of it. Is that understood?” He squeezed her hands. “Promise me. Promise me you believe me when I tell you that you are quite sane. If you want, I can show you the material I discovered and you can read it for yourself…”

  She shook her head, feeling moisture stinging her eyes. “No, Miles, no. I believe you. You wouldn’t lie to me about something this important.” She freed one hand and brushed away the tears. “It’s been so long since I’ve thought of myself as anything but an abnormality. And Mama…well, she placed a rather high value on my silence about it. I heard her speaking to my aunt when I was little…” She gulped at the memory. “They talked of me as though I was already half out of my mind. When I was young, I thought everyone could see what I saw in music. I soon learned to keep such things to myself.”

  “Now you can share them with me.” He grinned. “And although there are moments when I consider myself fairly sane, around you I seem to be slipping into a special kind of madness.” Once again he tugged her close and kissed her.

  Still awhirl, she kissed him back, trying to deal with all that he had told her.

  “Thank you.” It was all she could find to say.

  “For what?”

  She scrambled to her feet and looked around, feeling as if she was in a new world. He stood and joined her, sliding his arm naturally around her waist. “Talk to me, Rose.”

  “I…I don’t know what to say or how to say it.” Obeying an impulse she leaned against him and his other arm joined the first to hold her close. “For most of my life I carried this knowledge as…as a burden. For many years I’ve had to hide it, to try to ignore it and most of all, to never tell anyone about it.” She lifted her head. “Miles, you honoured me with your friendship, you trusted me with such a precious family ring…but what you have given me today—there are no words to describe it. You have freed me from a prison I never realised I was occupying.”

  She choked up, unable to continue, and felt his hands gently rubbing her shoulders. “Well, that’s a good thing, love.”

  “I’m not insane.”

  “That’s correct. You are not in the least bit insane.”

  She absorbed his words, smiling against his jacket. “Although when you touch me I might slide that way a little…” Daringly she giggled and rubbed her head against his shoulder.

  “That’s mutual madness then, because I think I might be a little insane during those moments as well,” his voice caressed her every bit as enticingly as his hands.

  “This is quite dreadful, isn’t it,” she sighed, content to be just where she was.

  “Yes. Truly awful,” he chuckled.

  The horse, clearly somewhat disgusted at having been ignored for so long, huffed out a loud whicker.

  “We should go, I suppose,” she sighed.

  “I’m afraid so,” he answered. “But…”

  “But?” She looked up.

  “Not without this—just once more.”

  The kiss was sweet, then deeper, and then the passion hit her like a violent wind in the middle of a thunderstorm. Plastered against him, their mouths clashed in an attempt to satisfy an endless hunger, and it took long moments for them to finally sate that hunger and ease themselves apart.

  “God, Rose,” muttered Miles, his eyes fixed on her face. “What you do to me…”

  “If I do, then it is payment for what you do to me,” she replied, sighing. “But don’t stop doing it…”

  He grinned, set his coat to rights and took her hand, leading her back to the Tilbury. “I don’t think I can, so have no worries on that score.”

  They mounted and he turned the horse, setting him on the path back to the main part of the park. “I do have questions, you know. About your colours and your music…”

  “Ask away,” she said with a cheerful smile.

  So he did, and the ensuing conversation kept them busy until they reached her front door.

  “I have some business meetings this afternoon, my dear, and I apologise. I’d much rather spend the time with you.”

  She sighed. “Of course I would like that as well. But my aunt has a couple of old friends coming for tea, so my time is not my own either.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Can you find the address of Lark Publishing?”

  “I can. And this time, young lady, you need a maid. It’s likely to be outside town and we may be gone all day.”

  Rose nodded as they pulled to a halt in front of B
eauchamp Place. “I’ll tell Mama we are going to visit a relative of yours. How does that sound?”

  He blinked and thought for a few seconds. “Yes. Of course. My Aunt Viola lives outside London. Viola Mountfort. Mention her name and your mother will doubtless all but shove you out the door.”

  “She is that important?” Rose watched the door open and the footman hurry out to help her out of the carriage.

  “All that and more,” grinned Miles. “If it’s insanity you want, Viola will deliver.”

  With a sunny smile, Rose stood on the pavement and turned back to him. “Thank you, my Lord, for a most delightful morning.”

  “It was my pleasure, Miss Glynde-Beauchamp.” He raised his hat. “Have a pleasant afternoon.”

  She dropped a polite curtsey and watched him drive off, all the while singing a silent refrain in her mind. “I’m not insane, I’m not insane…”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Are you sure about this, Rose?” Lydia asked the question over tea the following morning. “Going out of London with Miles? It will be an entire day’s trip by the sound of things.”

  “Yes, I expect so.” Rose sipped her tea tranquilly. “I shall be taking a maid, though. And Miles does have a comfortable carriage at his disposal, you know…”

  Lydia rolled her eyes. “Of course he does. I was speaking more of the fact that you’re going to have a difficult time getting back for the Rochester ball.”

  Rose pursed her lips. “Oh. That.”

  “Yes, that. It’s only one of the most important events of the Season so far. Surely you and Miles would wish to make an appearance?”

  “Well, to be honest, no. We wouldn’t wish to make an appearance.” She sighed. “Lydia, you’re aware that we’re waiting to hear from my Uncle before we can proceed with our engagement on any formal grounds. And neither Miles nor I would welcome intrusive questions or subtle snipes, many of which you know very well we’d be subject to from the minute we set foot inside the Rochester’s.”

  “Hmm, yes. There is that,” agreed Lydia.

  “I’ve already told Mama of our plans, and since Lady Mountfort lives outside town, she understands the situation.”

  “Ah.” Lydia’s tone spoke volumes.

  Rose winced. “Yes, you’re right in what you’re thinking. Mama will be thrilled to announce that her daughter is visiting the well-known and notorious former Incomparable, who happens to be related to Lord Miles Linfield, who is accompanying said daughter on the journey.”

  There was silence over the teacups for a few moments.

  “Mostly I hate Society,” frowned Lydia.

  “Me too,” agreed Rose. She grinned at her friend. “But perhaps Mowbray will be there as proxy for his brother. And you can share another waltz?”

  Lydia shook her head. “Could you believe that? I don’t think I’ve been that surprised since…well, I don’t think I’ve ever been that surprised.”

  “He was good, wasn’t he?”

  “He was extraordinary,” replied Lydia. “To say he took my breath away is an understatement. I probably forgot to breathe for most of the dance.”

  “I wonder what other talents lie hidden beneath his clumsy exterior,” mused Rose. “Have you thought about that? Perhaps he…oh I don’t know…perhaps he sings better than anyone, or paints magnificent portraits.” She waved a hand. “Perhaps he cooks…”

  Lydia’s laugh erupted. “Cooks?”

  “Well who knows?”

  “He does, I’m sure,” Lydia was still laughing, clutching at her stomach, doubled over.

  Rose laughed along with her. “I have to admit the Linfield family is full of surprises.”

  Across the table, Lydia took a breath and wiped the tears from her eyes. “They do manage to make us smile too.” She shot Rose a quick glance. “What’s it like being engaged to one of ‘em?”

  “I…er…” Rose stuttered, knowing that her cheeks were warming beneath her friend’s astute gaze.

  “Thought so,” smirked Lydia. “Good kissers, are they?”

  “Lydia.” Rose feigned shock.

  “Rose.” Lydia grinned back.

  “The best,” sighed Rose, surrendering. “The very very, most incredible, best.”

  Lydia blinked. “That good? Really?”

  “Really.” Rose left it there. “And now, my dearest, I must go and get ready. Miles is arriving just before noon.”

  Her friend stood, with a sigh. “I envy you, you know. First Judith, now you. My friends are falling into marriage like flies into a honeypot.”

  Rose walked around the table and gave Lydia a hug. “And nothing has changed Judith’s friendship, or mine. You know that.”

  “I do. But I still envy you both all the things you’ll be learning. And the things Judith already has learned…” She raised an eyebrow. “If you take my meaning.”

  A slight shiver coursed over Rose’s skin as she remembered the feel of Miles’s hands on her body. “Um, yes. Yes, I do.”

  Lydia shrugged. “Anyway, I’m still considering an affair. And since Fiona’s Duke doesn’t really appeal to me, I’ve decided I might run the notion past Mowbray.”

  Rose nearly tripped over her own feet. “Mowbray? Our Mowbray?” She gulped. “Darling, you can’t be serious.”

  “Why ever not?” Lydia, quite composed, linked arms with her friend and walked them both across the room. “If he makes love like he dances, I should imagine it would be an amazing experience.”

  Struck dumb by this statement, Rose could only follow along into the hall and attempt to recover her senses while Lydia donned cloak and bonnet. Finally she managed to clear her throat, aware of the servant holding the door. “Thank you for coming, dearest girl.”

  “I had to make sure all was well with you. And a nice cup of tea is always welcome. I would have brought Ivy, but her mama had another dress fitting set up,” she rolled her eyes. “I swear that poor girl has so many dresses. And not all of them flatter her, either.”

  “Mothers,” sympathised Rose. “Tell Ivy we’ll get together again soon, hopefully before the next Wednesday Club. I want to know how she is.”

  Lydia smiled. “I will. Perhaps we’ll try to arrange something for Monday or Tuesday?”

  “Send me a note,” nodded Lydia.

  “I will. And you enjoy your trip today.”

  Rose smiled and watched her walk down the steps to her carriage. She waved as Lydia turned to nod and a gust of wind nearly blew her bonnet off. Clutching it, Lydia waved back, and then clambered inside, rolling away to another brisk gust.

  “Windy day, Miss,” observed the servant holding the door. “Looks like there might be a bit of weather on the way.”

  “Oh don’t say that, Chalmers. I have a journey planned.” She wrinkled her nose. “Let’s hope for sunshine, shall we?”

  “Yes, Miss,” Chalmers bowed. “I’ll keep me fingers crossed.”

  “Me too.”

  *~~*~~*

  It would be at least a couple of hour’s drive to reach the address he’d been given, realised Miles. The stiff breeze would keep the air on the cold side, and he was glad he didn’t have to take the reins himself. Plus there was the added attraction of travelling with Rose. She was an entertaining companion and he looked forward to the trip, even though he knew her maid would be joining them.

  Given the current level of his attraction to her, that was probably a good thing.

  She was becoming rather an obsession and the thought of her crying off from their engagement at the conclusion of the Season—well, it held no appeal for him now. Their subterfuge was working as they’d hoped, but the result was not what he’d expected.

  They drew to a halt in front of Beauchamp Place, and as he’d anticipated, she was ready and at the door before he’d mounted the first step.

  “Good day to you, Miss Glynde-Beauchamp. You’re prepared for our trip?”

  “I am, my Lord. Good day to you as well.” She gathered her cloak around he
r as the wind whipped at her bonnet. “It’s brisk, for certain.” She glanced upward. “But dry. So far.”

  “Allow me…” He held out his hand and assisted her into the carriage, then helped her maid too, surprising the girl, who blushed and mumbled her thanks.

  “All comfortable?” He joined the ladies as they sorted out their skirts.

  “Yes indeed.” Rose smiled at him. “And thank you for the warm brick.” She looked down at her feet. “We might need it if the sun doesn’t come out.”

  “One tries to be prepared.” He tapped on the roof and they set off. “Did you remember to bring your music?”

  “I did. I do hope Lady Mountfort finds it pleasant.” She gave him a pointed look.

  He smiled back and nodded. “As do I.”

  The conversation was general and somewhat impersonal as they headed out of town. The weather, of course, because that was the safest topic, and probably had been for thousands of years.

  They touched on a play that was currently being performed, and critiqued the players, the script and some of the more absurd moments they’d both experienced in the theatre.

  The maid relaxed; her eyelids drooping a little, and finally closing as the drive grew smooth and regular along the well-kept roads leading out of town.

  When she snored, Rose stifled a giggle and her eyes met Miles’s in a shared moment of amusement. He reached for her hand, picked it up and dropped a light kiss on the back of her glove.

  She clutched him, her fingers wrapping around his and holding tightly. Letting their clasped hands fall between them, they stayed like that, locked together but silent, for most of the rest of the journey.

  Miles was content to have it so.

  Which was, upon reflection, somewhat strange. He liked silence, but was usually happy to initiate conversation when accompanied by a lady. With Rose, it was different. Everything was different.

  They interacted on another level, it seemed. Just holding her hand, feeling the warmth of her palm through her gloves…it was conversation enough, and he experienced an odd sort of contentment that was foreign to him.