She was afraid to ask, fearing she would once again be sanctioned for talking out of turn. And so she listened as her aunt lamented over the news that trains, or rather the cascade of cloth creating a train behind a woman’s gown, were on their way out. Lillian didn’t much care for the short fitted jackets currently in style either, for the covering shamefully emphasized a woman’s hips. That was all good and fine for a young, narrow-hipped lady, but not at all suitable for the older, more dignified woman.
Barbara and her husband, Robert, came over to join the discussion. Supper wouldn’t be served for at least another hour, which meant sixty more minutes of hearing about clothes. Weren’t the men bored? Mary Rose looked at Harrison to find out. His expression didn’t tell her anything, though, and then she realized he was staring beyond her Aunt Lillian’s shoulder. She guessed he was thinking about something else and only pretended to be listening to the talk going on around him.
She decided to follow his example, then realized what a mistake she’d made, because her thoughts immediately turned to her family back home. She pictured what her brothers would be doing right about now and was suddenly melancholy for her valley.
“Do you, Victoria?” Eleanor asked.
She was jarred back to the present by her friend’s shrill voice. “Do I what?”
“Play tennis,” Eleanor explained. “Weren’t you listening?”
No, she hadn’t been listening. “No, I don’t play tennis.”
“We shall have to teach you how, my dear,” Uncle Robert insisted. “It’s quite the rage now.”
“She plays the piano,” Harrison informed the group. His voice sounded with pride.
She squeezed his hand tight. “No, I don’t,” she blurted out.
He raised an eyebrow and leaned down close to her. “You don’t?”
“No, I don’t play the piano in England,” she explained. She squeezed his hand again, silently begging him to go along with her.
Harrison couldn’t figure out what had come over her. He could tell she was upset, but he didn’t have any idea why. She should be proud of her accomplishments, not hide them. He decided he would have to wait until later to find out what was wrong. For now he would go along. “All right,” he agreed. “You don’t play the piano in England.”
She relaxed her grip on him. She knew she would have to explain her motives when they were alone, and she wasn’t at all certain she could make sense out of her feelings so that he would understand.
She remembered how she and Adam would sit side by side on the piano bench and play their duets together. They would laugh when one of them missed a note, and sometimes she would quicken the pace and try to finish the piece before Adam did. It was a joyful time, and she sought only to protect the memory. If any of her relatives in England mocked her technique or her ability, Mary Rose felt they would be mocking her brother too. She wasn’t about to let that happen. Thus far, her aunt Lillian had found fault with just about everything about her. Mary Rose had tried to be gracious and put up with the criticism, because she wanted to make her father and her aunt happy. If they didn’t hear her play the piano, then they couldn’t find fault with her skill, could they?
In less than one week, her own behavior had changed radically. When she first arrived, she wanted to tell her father all about her brothers. Now she didn’t want any of the relatives to know anything about her family. She sought only to protect them from the cruel little comments she was constantly suffering.
She knew she wasn’t making much sense. Her brothers would never know what was said about them. That didn’t matter though. It would devastate her to hear any negative remarks about the men she so loved.
She suddenly wanted to run upstairs and write a long letter to her brothers. She knew she couldn’t leave the room now, however. She was going to have to wait until dinner was over.
Mary Rose hadn’t quite adjusted to the change in her daily schedule. She was used to waking up at the crack of dawn each day and was always in bed by nine or ten o’clock each night.
No one in England seemed to want to eat his supper before bedtime though. It was half past nine when the servant finally chimed the bell. Mary Rose almost fell asleep at the table. Needless to say, her Aunt Lillian had quite a lot to say about her behavior. She nudged her with her elbow so many times Mary Rose was certain her side was getting bruised.
The gentlemen lingered in the dining room to drink their coffee while the ladies withdrew to the drawing room to have their after-supper tea. Mary Rose was so sleepy she wasn’t paying attention to what she was doing. When Aunt Lillian stood up, she stood up too, and then picked up her plate to take into the kitchen. She was just reaching for her Aunt Barbara’s utensils when she realized what she was doing.
Lillian looked horrified. Mary Rose felt like a ninny. She quickly put her plate down, straightened up, and slowly walked around the table.
Her face felt as though it were on fire. Eleanor was sympathetic. She looped her arm through Mary Rose’s and whispered, “Don’t be embarrassed. You’re doing just fine, really you are. Smile, Mary Rose . . . I mean Victoria. Everyone’s watching. Isn’t your aunt Lillian wonderful?” She pulled Mary Rose along while she sang the praises of her relative. “She only wants the best for you, Victoria. Surely you realize that.”
“Exactly why do you think she’s so wonderful?” Mary Rose asked.
Eleanor was bubbling over with excitement. “Your dear aunt has decided that I must also have a new wardrobe. She told me I couldn’t accompany you about town dressed in rags. I’m to be measured tomorrow.”
Mary Rose looked back at her husband on her way out of the room. He smiled at her and pretended all was right with the world, but as soon as the servant closed the dining room doors, his expression turned to a dark scowl.
Lord Elliott cut him off before he could get started. “Quit glaring at me, Harrison. I know you don’t like the way my sisters are pestering Victoria. They’re only trying to help. Surely you can see how well meaning they are. You don’t want your wife embarrassed when she’s introduced to society, do you?”
He didn’t give Harrison time to answer his question but plodded on ahead. “I have asked you for your cooperation, and now I will plead for it.”
Harrison’s uncle-in-law Robert interrupted the discussion when he came back into the dining room. He’d gone upstairs for the third time to get his son to settle down for the night. The boy was being difficult, he explained as he took his seat.
“What have I missed?” he asked.
“Lord Elliott was asking me to cooperate.” Harrison answered.
“Yes,” Elliott agreed. He lowered his gaze to the tablecloth and in an unconscious action began, to smooth out an imaginary wrinkle as he gathered his thoughts.
“I’m going to be stubborn about this,” Elliott announced. “My daughter’s happiness is at issue, and in this instance, I believe the end will more than justify the means. You’ve done a marvelous thing, son. You found my Victoria and brought her home to me. Now let me become her father. Allow me to know what’s best for her. I want to help guide her into her new life. Don’t fight the family. We all need your support now. Victoria looks to you for approval and if you also encouraged her to let go of her past, I believe she’ll adapt in no time at all. She resists the truth of who she is. When you two are together, do you call her Mary Rose?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Her name is Victoria,” Robert reminded him. “She should get accustomed to hearing it.”
“She isn’t a child,” Harrison argued. “She knows who she is.”
“Didn’t you hear what she said tonight?” Robert asked. “She expects to go back to America.”
Elliott nodded. “My daughter hasn’t even settled in here and already she talks of returning to the States. I will not lose her again. Please help me.”
Harrison was shaken by Elliott’s emotional plea. He was hard-pressed to deny his request. He saw the wisdom in supporting his w
ife’s father, and if he focused on the fact that Elliott sincerely wanted what was best for his daughter, it all made good sense. He still found it difficult to agree, because it seemed to him that all the relatives were determined to change Mary Rose.
“I’ll do whatever I can to make my wife happy,” he promised. “But I would once again urge you to let her talk about her brothers. She needs the connection with them, sir. Surely you can understand how she feels.”
Elliott didn’t understand. “Why do you doubt the advice of experts? It isn’t like you to be unreasonable. Kendleton and Wells aren’t novices in their field of expertise. They have both strongly recommended that we help Victoria move forward. I won’t listen to any more objections, and I would appreciate it if you would also try to encourage my daughter to think about her life here.”
Harrison felt as though he were caught in a vise. His instincts told him the path Elliott was taking was wrong, but how could he argue with the experts? Were they right in their evaluations after all?
He finally acknowledged the truth. He liked Mary Rose just the way she was. He didn’t want her to change, and that fact put him in direct conflict with her father. Hell, it was complicated, and Harrison couldn’t even begin to imagine the confusion Mary Rose must be feeling.
She was caught between two worlds, and as her husband, wasn’t it his responsibility to help her make the transition?
The talk at the table turned to other matters, and the men didn’t join the ladies for a long while. Mary Rose couldn’t stop yawning, much to her aunt’s consternation. She was finally allowed to go upstairs a little before midnight.
She wasn’t about to go to bed without first talking things over with her brothers and her Mama Rose, and so, after the maid helped her change, she sat down at the elegantly appointed desk and wrote two long letters. She included a long note for her brother to read to Corrie too.
There was another long-stemmed rose on her pillow. She was pleased by her husband’s gesture, even though she still didn’t understand the motive behind it. She didn’t ask him why he was suddenly becoming romantic because she knew he would only insist that he’d always been thoughtful and tenderhearted.
Her husband had a reason for every little thing he did. In time she would figure out what he was up to, and she admitted she liked the mystery in this game of his. What had the maid told her Harrison had said when he ordered the flower? Oh, yes, she remembered. He wanted to remind her of something important. Mary Rose let out a loud, thoroughly unladylike yawn and got into bed. She fell asleep seconds later holding two precious gifts. The locket her Mama Rose had given her was in one hand and Harrison’s flower was in the other.
Her husband came to bed an hour later. He put the locket and the flower on the bedside table and then pulled his wife into his arms and fell asleep holding her. He tried to wake her up during the dark hours of the night, but his gentle little wife was dead to the world and couldn’t be awakened. He finally gave up and went back to sleep. She kissed him awake at dawn and gave him exactly what he needed and craved, and much, much more. He was so sated, he fell asleep again.
Mary Rose quietly got out of bed so she wouldn’t disturb Harrison. She washed and dressed and then went downstairs in search of breakfast.
The staff wasn’t used to early risers, and when Lady Victoria strolled into the kitchens, she caused quite a stir. Edward quickly ushered her into the dining room, pulled out a chair for her, and begged her to be seated.
She turned down the offer of deviled kidneys with eggs and crumpets and asked for two pieces of toast and a cup of tea. Breakfast was quickly finished, and then Mary Rose asked the butler if she could go into her father’s library.
He thought it was a fine idea. “You haven’t seen the portrait of your mother yet, have you, Lady Victoria? Your father had it delivered from his London residence yesterday afternoon. It’s a comfort for him to have it close. Shall I show you the way?”
She followed the butler up the stairs and down the second corridor. The house was quiet, for everyone was still fast asleep.
“What time does my father usually get up?” she asked in a soft whisper so she wouldn’t disturb anyone.
“Almost as early as I do, mi’lady. Here we are,” he added when they reached the library. He pushed the door open for her and then bowed. “Will you be wanting anything further?”
She shook her head, thanked him for his assistance, and went inside. The library was shrouded in darkness. The scent of old books and new leather surrounded her as she made her way over to the double windows. She pulled the heavy drapes back and turned to the mantel.
The portrait of her mother was lovely. She stared up at it a long while and tried to imagine what she’d been like.
“My goodness, Victoria. What are you doing up so early?”
Her father stood in the doorway. He looked startled by the sight of her. She smiled at him. His hair, she noticed, was standing on end. He had obviously just gotten out of bed. He wasn’t dressed for company yet, but wore a long black robe and brown leather slippers.
“I’m used to getting up early, Father. Do you mind that I’m in your sanctuary?”
“No, no, of course not.” He hurried over to his desk and sat down behind it. Then he began to stack and restack a pile of papers.
He was nervous being alone with her. Mary Rose didn’t know what to make of his reaction. She wanted to put him at ease though, but wasn’t certain how.
Her attention returned to the portrait. “What was she like?”
Elliott stopped shuffling his papers and leaned back in his chair. His expression softened. “She was a remarkable woman. Would you like to know how we met?”
“Yes, please.”
She sat down in a chair and folded her hands together in her lap. For the next hour she listened to her father talk about his Agatha. Mary Rose was curious about the woman, of course, and interested to learn all she could about her, but when her father finished talking, she still didn’t feel a link with Agatha. She looked up at the portrait once again.
“I’m sorry I didn’t know her. You’ve made her out to be a saint, Father. Surely she had some flaws. Tell me what they were.”
Lord Elliott proceeded to tell her all about her mother’s unreasonable stubborn streak.
Mary Rose interrupted to ask him questions every now and then, and after another hour passed in pleasant conversation, she believed her father had gotten over his nervousness and was feeling a little more comfortable with her. The mother she had never known drew the two of them together.
From that morning on, it became a ritual for her to go into the library and read until her father joined her. They would have their breakfast from silver trays the servants carried up, and they would spend most of the mornings together. Mary Rose never talked about her past, because she had been told several times by her aunts how much it distressed her father to hear her talk about her brothers, and so she encouraged him to tell her all about his family. She thought of their time together as a history lesson, but still found it very pleasant.
She slowly began to relax her guard, and after several weeks passed getting to know him, she realized how much she liked him. One morning, when it was time for her to leave him and go to her Aunt Lillian to find out what the day’s schedule was, she surprised her father by kissing him on his brow before she left the room.
Elliott was overwhelmed by his daughter’s spontaneous show of affection. He awkwardly patted her shoulder and told her in a gruff voice not to keep her aunt waiting.
He informed his sisters that evening that his Victoria was settling in quite nicely.
Quite the opposite was the case. Mary Rose was becoming an accomplished actress, and no one, not even Harrison, realized how miserable she was. She was so homesick for her brothers, she cried herself to sleep almost every night, clutching her locket in her hand.
Harrison wasn’t there to comfort her. He had been given a mound of work to complete for Lord Elliott
and was, therefore, forced to spend the weekdays and weeknights in the city. She saw him only during the weekends, but then the country house was always bursting at the seams with relatives and friends, and they were rarely allowed to be alone.
Harrison had become obsessed with finding the evidence to condemn George MacPherson. Whenever there was an extra hour available, he went up to their bedroom and pored over old ledgers he’d brought from London looking for the hidden discrepancy. Douglas had stolen the money from the nursemaid, and she had to have gotten it from MacPherson. Where in thunder had he gotten it, Harrison would mutter to himself. It was driving him crazy that he couldn’t find it.
Mary Rose still hadn’t met her father’s assistant. MacPherson, she’d been told, had left on holiday just as she was reaching England. He had wired for an extension and still hadn’t returned to work.
She told Harrison she supposed she would never meet the man because she fully expected to be back in Montana before the first hard snow, and it didn’t look like MacPherson planned on returning to England any time soon. Harrison didn’t agree or disagree with her assumption.
As time went on, she became more and more withdrawn. She’d written to her brothers at least a dozen times and still hadn’t heard a word from them. She didn’t want to bother Harrison with her worry that something had happened and her brothers were trying to shield her from bad news, and so she fretted about it in silence.
She hadn’t heard from her mama either, and she knew Cole had sent her Mary Rose’s address. Had something happened to her? Dear God, what would she do if her mama needed her and she couldn’t go to her?
Worrying about her family put her on edge, of course. Her relationship with her Aunt Lillian became increasingly brittle. Eleanor had become the aunt’s darling, and Lady Lillian was constantly comparing the two young ladies. Eleanor cooperated; Mary Rose didn’t. Eleanor appreciated what the family could do for her. She adored her new clothes and realized the importance of looking smart at all times. Mary Rose would do well to learn from her friend’s example. No one ever saw Eleanor with a smudge on her dress or a hair out of place. She never, ever ran anywhere. Why, when all the official functions began, Eleanor would be ready, but would Lord Elliott’s own daughter? Could any of them bear it if she embarrassed them?
For the Roses Page 52
