Cherrybrook Rose (14 page)

She dropped an envelope into Rose's lap and waddled out through the door. Rose slumped back in the chair, trying to relax and stop the painful tremors that rattled her teeth in her head. Her muscles, her arms, her legs, her back and especially her neck ached viciously. If only she could calm them into submission, but beneath it lay the bitter gall of defeat. She sipped at the hot black tea, feeling its warmth seeping into her flesh. Oh, that was good, but . . . what
was
she to do?

She idly turned over the envelope. She prayed to God it wasn't another bill, something else her father had bought and never paid for. Her heart was soothed when she realized it was a private letter, and then tripped over itself when she saw it was from none other than Mr Charles Chadwick. Good Lord, she hadn't even given him a thought in weeks – months even – for it had been . . . when? About Christmas he had written last, and she had never had the time or the inclination to reply. Indeed, it hadn't even crossed her mind, and even now her eyes moved uninterestedly along the lines of writing, scarcely taking in their meaning. And then . . . something stirred within her and as she read the words a second time, a sudden light shone its way into her brain.

When Florrie came back into the kitchen, she was surprised to see her young charge deep in concentration over the sheets of paper – for there were several of them – in her hand. And when Rose finally lifted her head, there was a strange expression on her face Florrie could not quite fathom.

‘M
r Chadwick!'

Rose's startled eyes stretched as she answered the polite knock on the front door. Her surprise was followed by an unfurling kernel of apprehension and then of excitement that tingled down to her fingertips. It was less than a week since she had staggered home in the blizzard, dragging herself miles through the deepening snow, numbed with the piercing cold and wondering if she would survive. The following morning had dawned crisp and clear, the sun shining down in glittering ripples on the newly fallen snow and turning the landscape into a magical wonderland. The nightmare of the previous evening had seemed just that, a hideous, unreal nightmare, and Rose's head had filled with a clarity as sharp as the new day. She had read Charles Chadwick's letter with a fresh heart. It was kind, concerned and caring, and full of his tender love for her. Had she misjudged him, dismissed his affections simply because he did not share all her views on life? Surely the most loving of spouses must disagree on something! And so, with the deepest reflection, she had taken up her pen.

She must word the letter carefully. Their impecunious state must not be immediately apparent. After all, she didn't want him to think she was marrying him for his money. Besides which, it would not altogether be true. She had agonized long and hard over his original proposal. He was polite, respectable, most attentive, not unattractive and appreciated her love of Dartmoor, to whose charms he was not insensitive himself. Most important of all, he liked to ride. Surely, considered in that light, the passion she had spoken of to her father would come in time? And even if it didn't, they should be able to live peaceably enough. And if she closed her eyes and imagined her father wasting away in the workhouse, well, she was positive she would make Mr Chadwick a good wife!

And now here he was, standing on the doorstep at ten o'clock in the morning, his eyes brilliant with delight and his face positively glowing. ‘Oh, my dearest Rose!' His voice sang out like a bird's. He took her hands in his gloved ones, his gaze boring deep into her astonishment. Stepping inside so that she was obliged to take a pace backwards, he removed his hat and placed it on the hall stand, still holding tightly on to her other hand and his eyes scarcely leaving her face. His left hand instantly returned to her right, and then he lifted both of hers to his lips, kissing each in turn, not in a sensuous manner, but in a boyish gesture of pure joy. It was in such contrast to the utterly proper and restrained conduct she had known from him during his courtship the previous autumn that it chased away all Rose's doubts, and her mouth opened in an amused laugh.

‘Oh, my dear, I could not keep away for a moment!' Charles told her, his words falling over themselves in his haste to say them as quickly as he possibly could. ‘I received your letter the day before yesterday – was it only then? It seems such a long time ago! And I thought, surely I could get here as quickly as a letter, and my poor heart could not wait to be with you again! So I caught the morning train from Paddington yesterday and arrived in Tavistock at six o'clock last night. But I could find no cab willing to venture so far on to the moor in the dark, so here I am now! I telegraphed ahead to the Duchy Hotel, and the fellow is to take my baggage there now,' he explained, waving his hand back towards the open door and the carriage that was turning round outside. ‘But I trust my presence would not inconvenience you today?'

His forehead had ruched with consternation, his eyebrows drawn together in such earnest that Rose chuckled aloud. His unexpected arrival was like a whirlwind whipping away the fetid air of misery that had stagnated in the wretched household all winter, and it had left Rose breathless. Oh, surely,
surely
she had made the right decision!

‘Oh, Mr Chadwick, I am
truly
delighted to see you!' she smiled, the strength of her own feelings confounding her. ‘Do come in! To the kitchen, if you don't mind. Florrie – Mrs Bennett – and I have such a lot to do caring for Father that we don't bother with the other rooms any more.'

The false excuse cast but a fleeting shadow in her conscience as she found herself almost skipping around her visitor. She led him – since he had not relinquished her hand – down the hallway, and his expression shone with that almost foolish state of a man enraptured by love. Kitchen? Just now, he would have followed her to a hole in the ground!

‘Oh, Rose, seeing as we are to be married,' he breathed excitedly, ‘could we not hang propriety, at least when we are alone? Could you not call me by my given name?'

The word ‘married' made her heart flip over. Charles was lingering indecisively in the doorway, his usual confidence seeming to forsake him, unaware that his conduct was endearing him to Rose's soul. He really did seem a different person from the suitor she had deliberated over for so long, and she began to curse herself for putting off her decision, for it would have saved her so much heartache.

She turned to face him, her eyes smiling their warm, lavender blue. ‘Charles,' she said, her lips savouring the sound. And before her brain gave her time to consider, she raised herself on tiptoe, and Charles, so naturally, brought his mouth softly down to meet hers. She caught the faint aroma of cigar smoke on his breath, more distinct to her now since her father had not smoked since the accident, but she found it not unpleasant, since it must be a good-quality, sweet tobacco he favoured. The unfamiliar sensation of someone else's lips on hers rippled down to her stomach, and when they finally parted and she sank her weight back on to her heels, she gazed up at him, wide-eyed. He was smiling back at her, his eyes crinkled at the corners and skittering about her face as if trying to imprint indelibly in his mind every detail of their first kiss.

‘Er . . . will you have some tea?' she stuttered, her eyes sweeping about the kitchen. ‘Or coffee, if we have any. We've had heavy snow. 'Tis almost melted now, as you see, but I haven't been able to go into Princetown to shop.' Not the real reason, of course, but a valid enough excuse.

‘No, thank you. Tea would be fine.'

Charles was standing awkwardly, and Rose flapped a hand towards the table. ‘Won't you sit down? Charles?' she added with a merry lift of her eyebrows. ‘Florrie's upstairs,' she went on as he obediently settled himself in a chair, ‘seeing to Father, so we can have a moment or two to ourselves.'

Charles's face at once sobered. ‘Your poor father,' he stated gravely. ‘I really can't imagine how he must feel.'

Rose bowed her head, biting her lip at the sudden, overwhelming desire to cry. Perhaps, after all these months of having to be so strong, the relief of having someone to turn to at last was letting the strain flow out of her in one furious torrent. And Charles was being so kind that she was beginning to curse herself for hesitating so long.

She gulped down her tears. ‘Yes, it has affected him greatly. But I'm sure 'twill help him tremendously when he can get out and about again.'

‘And to know that his beautiful daughter is to be married to a man who adores her!' Charles's shining eyes met hers across the table.

Rose averted her gaze. ‘I . . . I haven't told him yet,' she faltered. ‘I mean, I thought as 'twas best to await your definite reply first. But . . . here you are in person.'

‘Well, shall we go up? If you don't think he'll mind my presence in his bed chamber? When Mrs Bennett has finished, of course. But in the meantime . . .'

He stood up, and coming around to Rose, drew a small package from his pocket. She knew what was coming, and her heart reared away. For this was the moment. There would be no going back, and she was inwardly bracing her daunted spirit.

Charles took her trembling left hand, and slid the exquisite ring on to her slender third finger. She felt the breath leave her body. Not so much at the beauty of the piece, but at what it meant.

‘A diamond for my eternal love, and two sapphires to match your eyes. Though yours have a hint of violet in them no jewel could ever rival.'

He was indeed studying her eyes with an unsettling intensity that forced her to look away and turn her attention back to the ring. ‘Oh, Charles, 'tis beautiful. Thank you so much.'

‘It is but a token of my love. And in return, I wish us to be married as soon as possible.' Rose glanced up at the change in his voice. It was somehow less passionate, efficient, and it sent the misgivings wavering through her breast. But surely he was right. There were many plans to be made. ‘I stayed last night at the Bedford Hotel,' Charles went on, ‘and got talking to some gentlemen at dinner. They have told me of a property near Princetown called Fencott Place which is up for sale. Originally built as a somewhat grand farmhouse, apparently. By a wealthy friend of your Sir Thomas Tyrwhitt, inspired by him to try and reclaim some moorland. But as you told me, all that failed and it's just a residence now. From what these gentlemen said, I think it would suit our needs adequately. It has several bedrooms, servants' attic, and enough space for your father to have a bedroom and a dayroom on the ground floor. I imagine it will be your wish that he lives with us? What say we go and have a look at it later on? There is some land available with it to be leased from the Duchy, so there'll be plenty of room for that monstrous horse of yours, and a stable block. So, what do you say?'

Rose was gawping at him quite rudely, she realized, and had to snap her mouth closed before it broadened into a joyous grin. Oh, it seemed the answer to her prayers!

‘Oh, Charles! Are you sure?' she barely had the breath to whisper.

‘Well, I knew you'd want to remain living on the moor,' he attempted to shrug, but couldn't stop his lips curving upwards. ‘But I would ask that you accompany me to London on occasion. I realize that we must be apart for certain periods, as my business concerns are mainly in London, but it will make our time together even more precious. I wish that we could live together in London, but I appreciate it would not suit you, and that you will want to be near to your father in his . . . condition. But you will allow me to show off my lovely young wife to my colleagues in London just occasionally, I trust?'

His eyes were dancing roguishly, and the colour blushed into Rose's cheeks. ‘We . . . you can afford all this?' she managed to croak before blurting out shamefully, ‘I . . . I have no dowry, no money to bring into our marriage, you know.'

But Charles merely shook his head. ‘What you will bring into our marriage is priceless. And, dear Rose, I am a rich man. I have plenty of money. And I've never had a better reason to spend some of it. And I want you to have the most beautiful dress for your wedding.
Our
wedding.' He had taken her hands again, kissing them reverently, and was clearly about to take her in his arms when Florrie pushed her way into the room, carrying a heavy bowl of dirty water, so that when Charles swiftly turned and took her arm, it nearly slopped over the brim.

‘Oh, Mr Chadwick, what on earth do you be doing yere?' she mumbled in surprise.

‘Rose has agreed to marry me!' Charles crowed ecstatically. ‘Isn't that wonderful, Mrs Bennett?'

Rose felt the doubt sear into her heart at the shuttered look that came across Florrie's face.

‘Charles, I should be grateful if you would allow my daughter and me a few moments alone,' Henry said five minutes later, his voice perfectly polite though perhaps a little dry, Rose considered, but at least her news had lifted him from the apathy he had been wallowing in of late. ‘I'm sure Mrs Bennett will make you comfortable downstairs.'

‘Of course. I understand.' Charles tipped his head in an almost military style bow, but he could not conceal the happiness that radiated from his face and he smiled broadly across at Rose, a smile that she returned with enthusiasm, before he left the room. Rose listened as he tripped lightly down the stairs, and then she sat down on the edge of the bed, her mouth still stretched in a grin.

‘Well, Father?'

Henry drew in his breath. ‘Rose, I'm not happy about this.'

The jubilation slid from her face. ‘Father?' she frowned.

Henry pursed his lips. ‘Why this sudden change of heart? No, don't answer that. 'Tis because of our changed circumstances, isn't it? Without Mr Chadwick's money, we will be penniless, or at best, living hand to mouth. I won't have it, Rose. I won't have you marrying someone you don't love because of me. You must do what is right for
you
. Forget about me! Take the position with that nice family in Tavistock that you found.'