One Perfect Rose

by Mary Jo Putney

  But she had no choice. He was her husband, and she must do her best to be a perfect wife, whether that meant coaxing him to eat or keeping the doctors away. What she could not be was weak and crippled by her own grief.

  The light was fading. She’d been here for hours. Soon she must get up and relieve Hubble in Stephen’s room.

  Portia, who lay beside her in a small black-and-orange ball, stirred and opened her great green eyes. The kitten had a genius for darting through doors, and she’d followed Rosalind into Lord Michael’s suite. Then she’d flopped down on the bed and tucked her miniature nose under her tail, keeping her mistress silent company all afternoon.

  Rosalind smiled faintly and scratched the kitten’s neck with one finger. Stephen’s wedding gift, chosen to give pleasure at even the darkest hour. A successful choice, too. It was impossible to see the kitten’s antics, or feel the rasp of her tiny abrasive tongue, and not feel a little better.

  Vaguely Rosaline heard sounds downstairs. Visitors, perhaps. She really must rise and wash her face and become presentable. She was an actress. She could master her emotions and play the role of strong, dignified mistress of the house. And she would, in a few more minutes, when she had gathered her strength.

  The door to the sitting room opened, and crisp footsteps sounded. A moment later the door to the bedroom swung open.

  Feeling horribly vulnerable, Rosalind pushed herself to a sitting position and found that she was facing the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen. The newcomer had dark hair, a perfect heart-shaped face, and looked supremely elegant even in a plain traveling costume.

  Rosalind groaned inside. Painfully conscious of the tear stains on her face, she slid from the bed and stood with a hand on one of the tall bedposts. “Good day. You must be Lady Michael. I…I’m sorry to be in your room.”

  “No need to apologize. I wasn’t expected. And you must be…” Lady Michael cocked her head to one side. “Stephen’s new wife?”

  Rosalind nodded. “My name is Rosalind.”

  Lady Michael glanced over her shoulder and said to her lady’s maid, who had been following, “You may go, Molly.” Then she crossed the room with a smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Rosalind. Call me Catherine.”

  As Rosalind accepted the proffered hand, she found herself blurting out, “I wore one of your gowns my second night in London. Stephen swore it would be all right, but I’m not sure I believe him.”

  Catherine laughed. “By all means, believe him. Stephen is invariably right.” She turned and removed her hat, then her cloak. “Is he at home now?”

  She must be ignorant of her brother-in-law’s condition. Rosalind took a deep breath as she mastered her emotions. “He’s here, but very ill. He had a bad episode earlier this afternoon and is probably still sleeping.”

  Catherine spun around, expression dismayed. “So it’s true? His doctor, Blackmer, wrote my husband some weeks ago, saying that Stephen was unwell and had run off without so much as a single servant. Michael immediately went after him. He’s been looking ever since.” She bit her lip. “Since Stephen was getting married and leading Michael on such a merry chase, I convinced myself that Blackmer must be wrong. I…I didn’t want to believe he was really seriously ill.”

  “Lord Michael has been searching for his brother?” Rosalind said, surprised. “Stephen didn’t think anyone would be so concerned about his absence. He merely wanted to get away from his usual life for a while.”

  “Which he did very effectively.” Catherine rolled her eyes. “My husband, never noted for his patience, has become quite exasperated. He finally wrote from Scotland to say that he was giving up, and to meet him here in London.”

  “Scotland?” Rosalind said incredulously.

  “Apparently he and Dr. Blackmer, who is with him, followed a carriage carrying a couple who fit your description almost all the way to Edinburgh.”

  Rosalind blinked. “Oh dear. I’m not sure whether to commiserate or laugh.”

  “You might as well laugh,” Catherine said pragmatically. “It feels better.”

  She was right, but there was little laughter in Rosalind at the moment. “When should your husband reach London?”

  “Tomorrow or the next day, I think.” Catherine sighed as she lit a lamp against the gathering dusk. “It seems as if he’s been gone forever.”

  “The sooner Lord Michael comes, the better,” Rosalind said. “Even two days might be too long.”

  Catherine looked up from the lamp with shock. “Stephen’s condition is that bad?”

  Rosalind sank down on the foot of the bed. “Critical. He almost died earlier today, I think. I…I’m afraid that he could go at any time.”

  Catherine sucked in her breath. “What does the doctor say?”

  “Stephen won’t let me call one. Apparently his father suffered terribly from the treatments of various physicians when he was dying, and Stephen doesn’t want the same to happen to him.”

  “That’s hard to argue with,” Catherine agreed. “May I see him? I would want to anyhow, but I also have considerable nursing experience. That might be useful now.”

  “Of course.” Rosalind led the way from Lord Michael’s suite into the hall, then to the duke’s rooms at the other end of the hall. The bedroom was cozy, warmed by a fire and lit by a branch of candles. A somber Hubble sat by the bed.

  Stephen was so still that Rosalind had a swift, terrible jolt of fear before she saw that he was breathing. Catherine also flinched at the sight of her brother-in-law. His gauntness and sunken features were clearly those of a man on the verge of death.

  Rosalind went to his side and said softly, “Are you awake, my dear?”

  Stephen’s eyes flickered open. “Death be not proud, though some have called thee mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so,” he murmured. “One short sleep past, and we wake eternally.”

  For an instant Rosalind’s heart sank, for she thought he must be delirious. But his eyes were warm and lucid. She smiled with relief. “You must be feeling better if you can quote John Donne.”

  “I am. Sorry to upset you earlier.” He smiled with great sweetness. “I must talk to you, but…I haven’t much energy at the moment.”

  “Why not rest a little longer?” she suggested. “You look far better now than you did before. More sleep should bring even more improvement.” And not only was he stronger but also different in a way she could not define.

  He nodded faintly. “Later, then.”

  She realized that what she saw in his gray-green eyes was peace. Even a kind of happiness. The hidden fear and anger at his fate that had been part of him since they met were gone. For that she was deeply thankful. Yet she realized sadly that his acceptance of dying was another step away from her.

  Burying the thought, she said with a smile, “You have a visitor.”

  His sister-in-law came up on the other side of the bed. “Hello, Stephen.”

  “Catherine.” His face brightened. “Is Michael here, too?”

  “No, but he will be soon.” She bent and kissed Stephen’s cheek. “It was very bad of you to become so ill. I don’t approve.”

  “I don’t either. Damned careless of me,” he said wryly. “I gather that you and my wife have introduced yourselves.”

  Catherine laughed. “Oh, yes. I intend to split a bottle of wine with Rosalind and compare notes on the subject of living with a Kenyon man.”

  He gave an exaggerated wince. “A good thing I won’t hear that.”

  “It would just increase your lordly arrogance,” Rosalind said, a catch in her voice from the fact that he could still joke.

  He glanced at the dark window. “You two should take yourselves off for some food. Catherine must be hungry if she’s been traveling.”

  “Very well.” Rosalind lifted the jar of pills from the table. “More medicine?”

  He nodded. “Two, please.”

  She shook the pills into her palm, then used a glass of the omnipresent milk to help
him wash them down. After he swallowed she kissed him, pressing her cheek against his for a moment. His skin was cool, but without the clamminess of earlier.

  Rosalind told Hubble that she would have dinner sent up and relieve him later. Then she and Catherine left. When they reached the ground floor, her sister-in-law said, “Michael’s letters gave all sorts of tantalizing tidbits about his search, and left me perishing of curiosity. I gather that you’re an actress, and Stephen joined your family troupe for a time? I’d love to hear the full story, if you don’t mind telling me.”

  Rosalind sighed, wondering if Catherine was going to be like Stephen’s sister. “I didn’t marry him for his money.”

  Catherine’s elegant brows rose. “That’s obvious from seeing you together.”

  Rosalind relaxed. “I’m glad you see that. Claudia certainly doesn’t.”

  “Ah, Claudia,” Catherine said dryly. “She’s never given me the cut direct. Quite. But that’s mostly because she can barely tolerate being in the same room with Michael, and assumes that he deserves a coarse, vulgar creature like me.”

  “She disapproves of you?”

  “Claudia can disapprove of anyone, and I gave her an abundance of material.” Catherine’s eyes danced. “A widow encumbered with a daughter, a woman who’d nursed naked men who were not her husband, and who had followed the drum through the Peninsula—dreadful! No really well-bred lady would have survived such a life.”

  Rosalind actually laughed. “I think we have a great deal in common, Catherine.”

  “We certainly do.” Catherine linked arms with her new sister-in-law. “Now let’s go raid the kitchen, and you can tell me all.”

  Rosalind did exactly that. In the breakfast room, over the simple meal of soup, bread, and cheese that was all either of them wanted, she spoke of how Stephen had rescued Brian from drowning. How “Mr. Ashe” had become part of the troupe, and the meadow marriage. Then she described her own background. Being able to say that she was a French countess added a certain cachet to the recital.

  In return, she learned about Catherine’s adored children and home in Wales. It was clear that she also adored her husband, which Rosalind found a relief. Any man loved by a woman like Catherine couldn’t be too terrifying.

  After they finished a pot of coffee between them, Rosalind said, “I’m going to go up now and relieve Hubble for the night. I would try to be a good hostess, but I imagine that you know more about the household than I do.”

  “Probably. Don’t worry; I’ll be fine.” Catherine covered a yawn. “I’m ready to go to bed. It was a swift and tiring trip. But one last question.” She hesitated, then asked, “Are you by any chance with child?”

  Rosalind gaped at her. “You must have been a wonderful nurse.”

  “There is a look some women get.” Catherine explained. “So it’s true?”

  Rosalind nodded. “I’m almost certain.”

  “Hallelujah!” Catherine beamed. “I’m so glad. Stephen must be delighted.”

  “I haven’t told him yet. I intend to tonight, if he’s awake.”

  “Now let’s pray that it’s a boy.”

  “Stephen said that Michael didn’t want to be duke, but as a mother, don’t you want that for your son?” Rosalind asked curiously.

  “Not really. I have no doubt that my little Nicholas will grow up to be equal to anything, but Michael would hate being duke, and I don’t want to see him miserable.” She smiled. “Or too busy to have time for me.”

  Rosalind suspected that no man would ever be too busy for Catherine Kenyon. Still curious, she asked, “Why does Lord Michael so dislike the idea of inheriting?”

  Catherine hesitated, weighing her words. “I never met the old duke, but I know that he treated Michael abominably. Except for some boyhood occasions with Stephen, my husband has no good memories of Ashburton Abbey. He doesn’t mind visiting there, but he wants no part of the title or estates.”

  Rosalind nodded, able to understand that. Getting to her feet, she laid a gentle hand on her abdomen, “I’ll do my best for you both.”

  Catherine stood and gave her a swift hug. “I’m so glad that Stephen found you.”

  Rosalind relaxed for a moment in the other woman’s embrace, realizing that part of what she liked in Catherine was a maternal quality reminiscent of Maria. “So am I,” she replied softly. “Despite everything, so am I.”

  Stephen awakened from his dreamy haze to find Rosalind sitting quietly by the bed, circles under her eyes. “Why on earth are you in a chair,” he murmured, “when there is a perfectly good bed available?”

  She blinked sleepily. “Do you really want me in it? I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “I don’t think this kind of pain will get any worse if I sleep with my wife. In fact, I imagine I’ll feel better.” He hesitated. “Unless you don’t want to be that close to someone in my condition.”

  Her eyes widened. “Idiot. How can you imagine that I would not want to be with you?” Yawning, she left the room. “I’ll join you as soon as I change into a nightgown.”

  He sighed, not liking the idea of the nightgown. They would both be overdressed. But some earnest, well-meaning soul might come in to check his condition. He’d already learned that reduced privacy was one of the many small costs of dying.

  A few minutes later, Rosalind reentered the bedroom wearing a delicately embroidered chemise and with her long hair in a braid down her back. After reducing the light to a single candle on the dresser, she came to the bed. “More medication?”

  “No. Just you.” He didn’t want to waste precious time in drugged sleep.

  She slid in beside him. He drew her soft body into his arms, feeling a pleasure so great that it was almost pain. Paradoxically, holding her reduced the internal pain, or at least made him notice it less. “You feel marvelous,” he murmured.

  “Mmm. I can say the same for you.” She exhaled, her breath warming his throat.

  They lay quietly together for a few minutes. Then she said shyly, “I have some good news. I’ve been waiting to be sure. It…it seems that I’m going to have a baby.”

  He caught his breath, afraid to believe. Then joy blossomed in his heart, bubbling through him like champagne. “That’s wonderful!” A surge of energy allowed him to push up on his elbow. In the faint light, Rosalind’s face had the sweet satisfaction of every woman since Eve who had just announced that she was presenting her husband with a child. He smoothed back her tawny hair. “What a very clever girl you are.”

  “You had something to do with it, too.” She laughed and placed his hand on her abdomen, where the gentle curve did not reveal its secret. “I think it happened the first time we made love, in the hayloft.”

  “It’s a miracle, Rosalind.” He settled down again, keeping his hand on her. “Each of us thinking ourselves barren. Yet together, we’ve created a new life.” One that he would not be here to see. It was bitter knowledge. Perhaps, like Sophia and Philippe, he would be able to visit at least once. But it would not be the same as holding a baby in his arms, or looking for signs of Rosalind in its face….

  He cut off the thoughts as unprofitable. He was here, now, with Rosalind, and he’d been given joyous news. In return, he must deliver the message he’d been given for her. “Earlier today, after that attack,” he began, “the most extraordinary thing happened.”

  He went on to describe his nonphysical visit to the abbey. He did not mention what Louisa had said about their marriage, for that seemed a private matter, but he did say how she had explained death as a mere transition. He also talked of his meeting with Rosalind’s parents, and how they had watched out for their child.

  He ended by saying softly, “Your parents said to say they love you very much.”

  In the silence that followed, he wondered if Rosalind was trying to decide whether to consign him to the precincts of the mental patients at Bedlam Hospital. Then she made a choked sound, and he realized that she was crying against his shoulder. “
Rosalind? I’m really not mad, you know.” He kissed her temple. “Probably I just had a very realistic dream.”

  “Blame it on pregnancy. Everything seems to make me cry now.” She wiped her eyes with the edge of the sheet. “If it was a dream, it was a true one. When you spoke of my parents being together and watching over me, the words sang in my heart.”

  She rubbed her cheek against his, making him glad he’d been shaved by Hubble. “You asked once why I believed there was more to life than the world we see around us, and I couldn’t answer. But you’ve just explained why. I had my parents for guardian angels. I recognized that as soon as you said the words.”

  And if Sophia and Philippe were together, surely he and Rosalind would be someday, too. He stroked her back, feeling as close to her emotionally as physically. The devil of it was that he wanted to be closer still. He wanted to enter her body, hear her rapturous cry, feel the shattering pleasure….

  He bit off an oath. “Before now, I never realized the extent to which desire comes from the mind, not the body. I want so much to make love to you. But I can’t.” His lips twisted. “I simply am not capable of it.”

  “It’s all right, Stephen,” she whispered. Her warm hand moved down his body, coming to rest on his genitals in a gesture of infinite tenderness. “I…I don’t know if I could bear to be intimate knowing that it might be the last time.”

  He felt a lump in his own throat. More losses, and this a very large one. Would there be physical union in the Garden of Light? He’d read once that in heaven there was a spiritual joining that was better than sexual congress. He’d questioned then how the writer could have known that. Now, having made love to Rosalind many times, he doubted that anything could ever be better.

  But at least the possibility gave him something to hope for.

  Rosalind lay awake long after Stephen slid into sleep. The experience he had related to her had seemed utterly right and true. Her natural parents had been with her and had given her into the arms of her adoptive parents. She had been doubly blessed. And yet, she had lived her whole life with fear.