One Perfect Rose

by Mary Jo Putney

  The recognition made her furious with herself. Then images of her parents’ deaths flashed through her mind. Yes, they had died swiftly, but the horror of that night had imprinted her very soul. The tragedy had been followed by weeks of terror, culminating in the sight of her beloved nurse dying. After that there had been cold and hunger and paralyzing fear as she struggled to survive.

  No wonder she had felt unsafe ever since, even though she had been miraculously rescued. She had buried the terror and concentrated on being the perfect daughter so that Thomas and Maria would keep her.

  Through the years fear had been a shadow companion. She’d been afraid of the unknown, afraid of leaving her adoptive family, afraid of caring for any one person too much. In numbers were safety, so she had loved many people. She’d married Charles because he was safe, part of her familiar world. Even marrying Stephen had seemed safe, because his illness meant she would soon be able to return to the life she knew.

  But loving him was not safe, because that exposed her to the risk of loss, like the loss that had haunted her since her parents’ deaths. So she had not admitted to love. Liking, yes. Passion, certainly. But not love.

  It was humorous, really. She’d always thought herself calm and sensible, yet even in the privacy of her own mind she hadn’t been honest about how much she cared for Stephen. Loving him had never been “safe,” and losing him would be like having her heart sliced in half.

  But someday they would be together again. She believed that now. And the knowledge was enough to finally send her into an exhausted sleep.

  Chapter 34

  Day Twenty-four

  Stephen awoke the next morning feeling surprisingly refreshed. Probably that was because Rosalind still slept in his arms. Even Portia had sneaked in and spent the night curled up on the bed. For a kitten she was a good sleeper.

  By the time Rosalind awoke, the pain was chewing at Stephen again, but it diminished after she gave him two more opium pills. Then she coaxed him into drinking an eggnog, saying that the egg and honey beaten into the milk would give him some much needed strength. He sipped cautiously, but the drink went down and stayed down.

  Walking across the room would have been so far beyond his capabilities that he didn’t even consider it, but he did feel strong enough to sit up in bed. Catherine joined them by invitation, and they spent a pleasant morning together. He relaxed against the mound of pillows Rosalind had piled against the headboard while the women did most of the talking. It was enough that he was with two of his favorite people.

  He wondered, with detachment, how much longer his body would survive. A day, perhaps two. His chief remaining wish was that his brother would arrive before the end.

  Then Hubble entered the room, his expression dismayed. “Your Grace, Lord and Lady Herrington are here. She insists on seeing you.”

  Rosalind gasped and Catherine, seated on the other side of the bed, almost dropped her cup of tea. Equally surprised, Stephen said, “Bring them in.”

  Claudia and her husband, Andrew, entered a few moments later. His sister stiffened when she saw him. He guessed that she had been told of his illness but was still shocked by the reality.

  Face set, Claudia came across the room to the bed. “I had to come, Stephen.”

  “I’m glad to see you. And you also, Andrew.” His quiet brother-in-law’s handshake was brief but heartfelt. He’d always been a good fellow.

  Rosalind regarded the visitors like a lioness guarding a sick cub, but Catherine said politely, “Good day, Claudia. I trust that you and your children are well?”

  Claudia’s face softened as it always did when the subject of her children came up. “Very well, thank you. And your son and daughter?”

  “Also well.”

  The conversation languished until Stephen added, “You may also offer Rosalind and me congratulations.”

  “Why…how splendid.” Claudia looked startled but genuinely pleased. Babies had always been the quickest way to her well-defended heart. “You must take very good care of yourself, Rosalind.”

  “I intend to,” Rosalind said, looking surprised again.

  Not having the strength for idle conversation, Stephen said, “Rosalind, if you don’t mind, perhaps Claudia would like to see me alone.”

  “Yes, but first…” His sister gave her husband an agonized glance. He touched her elbow lightly. Apparently drawing strength from that, she continued in a halting voice, “Rosalind, Catherine. I…I want to apologize for my past behavior to you both.”

  Now looking downright stunned, Rosalind said, “Apology accepted. It is natural that you were concerned about your brother’s marriage.”

  Though there was an ironic glint in her eyes, Catherine also murmured a few words of acceptance.

  Claudia’s mouth twisted. “You are both more generous than I deserve.”

  “I don’t want to be at odds with you, Lady Herrington,” Rosalind said with quiet dignity. “I never did.” She collected Catherine with a glance, introducing herself to Lord Herrington as the three left the room together.

  Instead of sitting, Claudia paced the room restlessly. It was tiring just to watch. “I’m glad you came,” Stephen said. “I didn’t think I would see you again.”

  “You almost didn’t.” His sister didn’t meet his gaze. “Your wife came to tell me of your illness, and I was absolutely horrid to her.”

  He winced, easily able to imagine the scene. “You’ve always had a wicked tongue when you were upset. What changed your mind and brought you here?”

  She went to the window and gazed out. Her unyielding profile was a feminine version of the old duke’s. “After your wife left, Andrew came into the drawing room and found me crying. I…I don’t think he’s ever seen me cry before. Naturally he wanted to know why. I explained, expecting him to say that of course I was right to condemn your marriage. That no actress could possibly be worthy of being Duchess of Ashburton.”

  “He didn’t agree?”

  She shook her head. “He frowned and said that I was letting my obsession with the Ashburton line get quite out of hand. Then he said something very like what your Rosalind had just told me: that nothing I could do now would win me Father’s approval.” Tears glistened in her eyes without falling. “That I must respect your choice of a wife, and stop blaming you and Michael for being men when I wasn’t.”

  It had never occurred to Stephen that Claudia had resented him and Michael for their gender, but it made perfect sense. Very perceptive of Andrew. “If life were just, you would have been a son, Claudie,” he said, using his childhood nickname for her. “You were the child who would have come closest to Father’s ideal of what the Duke of Ashburton should be.”

  He sighed, thinking of the many times he’d suffered the lash of his father’s contempt. “But he was unfair to all of us, you know. Because you were female, he did not give you the attention you needed and deserved. He disliked me for not having the arrogance he respected, and his behavior to Michael was truly abusive.” The reason for that Claudia did not need to know. “I have trouble forgiving him for what he did to Michael. Yet from what I understand, he was very like his own father. He was raised to believe that his way was always the only way.”

  “And as you said, I am very like him.” Claudia bent her head, her expression bleak in the pale sunshine. “I didn’t know how much I depended on Andrew’s support until I lost it. I know I’m a difficult woman, but Andrew has always been there, despite my flaws.” She swallowed hard. “I don’t much like who I am, Stephen, but I don’t know how to be different. If I’m not my father’s daughter, who am I?”

  “You are also a wife, a mother, a sister,” he said quietly. “Not to mention the Countess of Herrington. As for Andrew—obviously your husband understands you very well. Do you really think he’s going to stop loving you over this when, as you said, he’s always been aware of your imperfections?”

  “He doesn’t love me. How could anyone love me?” she cried out with de
spair. Terrible, silent tears began running down her cheeks.

  It hurt to see her misery. Remembering how when he was very small she would call him to her for a hug, Stephen said, “I can’t walk across the room, Claudie, so you’ll have to come here if you want to be hugged.”

  Whenever she’d called him to her, he’d gone straight into her arms. She smiled through her tears when she heard the familiar invitation from him, and came to sit on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry, Stephen,” she said, wiping her eyes. “You’re the one who is dreadfully ill. I should be offering you comfort, not asking for it myself.”

  He patted her hand. “Actually, I’m finding that dying is a rather simple business. Nowhere near as complicated as living.”

  Tears began flowing from her hazel eyes again. “I can’t bear the thought of losing you, Stephen,” she whispered. “I’m older than you—it’s not right that I’m hale and hearty and bad-tempered, while you, who are a much better person, are dying.”

  He smiled. “Maybe it’s true that only the good die young?”

  She pressed her hand to her mouth. “Rosalind said that when she called on me. Oh, Stephen, I’ve gotten everything wrong my whole life.”

  He took her hand and tugged, pulling her down beside him so that he could put an arm around her shoulders. She buried her face in the counterpane and wept. Only partly for him, he knew. Most of those tears were of regret—for the father she had adored but could never please, for her failures to live up to impossible standards.

  “Don’t be so terribly hard on yourself, Claudie. During my childhood, you were my favorite person, you know. You listened to me. Made me feel cared for. You were always wonderful with smaller children.” He smiled. “If you weren’t a countess, you would make a really good nursery maid.” She would have been like Mrs. Standish, risking her life to protect any child in her charge.

  She gave a watery chuckle. “And probably would have done more good.”

  He had a sense that if he said the right thing, it would help her, but he wasn’t sure what the right thing was. Then a thought struck him. “Why did you marry Andrew? You had better offers. You could have been a marchioness rather than a mere countess.”

  “Why, because I liked him the best, of course. When I was with Andrew, I always felt pretty and clever. Wanted.” She sighed. “It was wonderful to be wanted, even though I’ve never understood why he did.”

  “Have you ever regretted marrying him?”

  “Never.” The answer was immediate.

  “In other words, you love him and always have. Do you ever tell him that?”

  She stood up and began to smooth the wrinkles from her morning gown. “He knows that I…I care about him.”

  Stephen was not surprised to hear that she could not use the word love. He’d been the same way for most of his life. Until the day before, in fact, when he had stepped outside of life.

  Knowing now what his sister needed to hear, he said, “The old duke taught us his version of the cardinal virtues, Claudie. Pride and propriety were at the top of the list. Love wasn’t there at all. In fact, without a single word on the subject being said, we learned that wanting to give or receive love was a sign of weakness. Despicable, in fact.”

  He paused, needing to rest before he could continue. “Father had things backward. Love is the ultimate virtue, the one that makes life worth living when pride and propriety are only ashes. For your sake as well as his, tell Andrew that you love him, Claudie. And while you’re at it, tell your children, too.” He smiled faintly. “Even if it feels as if your tongue will fall off if you try to say the word.”

  She looked at him uncertainly. “Do you think they would want to hear that?”

  “I believe it highly likely. Don’t dislike all that you are, Claudie, because so much of your character is admirable. You have courage and integrity, and you’ve usually been loving in your deeds if not always your words.”

  “Loving? Me?” she said in amazement.

  She sounded as surprised at the idea as he had been when it was suggested to him. “Yes, you. You’ve always had a good heart behind that caustic tongue.” He sank deeper into the pillows, too tired to sit upright any longer. “Just remember the next time you feel tempted to lash out, or get on your Kenyon high horse, to bite your tongue instead.”

  “I…I’ll try.” She gazed at him, her expression somber. “Good-bye, Stephen. I never realized just how much I’m going to miss you until now, when it’s too late.”

  He gave her a tired smile. “We’ll see each other again.”

  Her brows drew together. “You really believe that?”

  “I know it,” he said, and heard echoes of Lady Westley in his voice.

  “I hope to heaven that you’re right.” She bent and kissed his cheek. “I…I love you, Stephen.” She smiled crookedly. “My tongue didn’t fall out.”

  He laughed a little. “I love you, too, Claudie.” The words were so easy to say. Why had they been so unthinkable for most of his life?

  As his sister left the bedroom, he rolled onto his side with a tired sigh. Now that he thought about it, he realized that he hadn’t yet told Rosalind that he loved her. Looking back, it was quite obvious that he’d been in love with her almost from the time they met. What a damned fool he’d been not to realize. But he was a Kenyon, and love had never been part of his vocabulary. The night before, when his tongue had finally been unlocked, there had been too many other things that needed saying.

  As he fell into exhausted sleep, he reminded himself forcibly that telling Rosalind how he felt about her was the one thing that absolutely must be done before he died.

  Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock. The clock on the bedroom mantel sounded abnormally loud in the silence. Straw had been laid down in front of Ashburton House to muffle the sounds of traffic, and it was working too well.

  Rosalind ran a restless hand over the counterpane of Stephen’s bed. It was late afternoon, and he’d been sleeping since Claudia’s departure. She found herself resenting that his sister had used up so much of his precious energy.

  Still, the tear-stained Claudia had been positively cordial when she left, clinging to her husband’s arm. Hard to believe she was the same woman who had practically hissed when she first met Rosalind. Stephen must have cast a spell on her. If so, Rosalind hoped it was permanent.

  Catherine was sharing the vigil, quietly sitting nearby and working on a pile of mending. The butler had been horrified that Lady Michael wished to do such a humble task, but Catherine wanted to keep her hands busy.

  Rosalind preferred watching Stephen’s sleeping face. He looked far more peaceful than either his wife or his sister-in-law.

  Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock. Every click measuring out Stephen’s life.

  Suddenly unable to bear the sound a second longer, Rosalind rose and stalked to the fireplace. Smashing the ormolu clock onto the brick hearth would have been very satisfying, but the blasted thing was worth a small fortune and probably a family heirloom as well. She settled for opening the back and stopping the pendulum.

  Blessed silence. She went to the window and looked out into the street. It was dusk, and a fine, steady rain was falling. A suitably wretched day.

  Would Stephen still be here at dawn? Or the dawn after?

  Catherine murmured from behind her, “I’m glad you stopped that clock. It was definitely getting on my nerves.”

  “Really? I thought you were nerveless. You’re so good in a sickroom.”

  “I’ve had plenty of practice, but it’s harder when the patient is someone you care about.” She sighed and rubbed her temple. “And I care about Stephen a great deal. He has always been a friend to me, and to my daughter, too. Amy is going to be devastated.”

  “It’s selfish of me, but I’m glad you’re here.” Rosalind gave a faint, wry smile. “I considered asking my mother or sister to come. However, they both tend to get queasy when anyone is ill. That’s why I was the one who got the job of tending t
he cuts and bruises of everyone in the troupe.”

  “I gather that you took on every task that your temperamental colleagues couldn’t be trusted with,” Catherine said with amusement. “I’ve always been the same way. Talent is all very well, but someone must mend the socks.”

  Rosalind’s brief smile faded. She leaned her forehead against the cool window glass. “Catherine, I’m so ashamed of myself, but part of me just wants this to be over. Yet how will I bear it when he’s gone?”

  “Wanting an end to suffering, for both Stephen and yourself, is normal,” Catherine said softly. “As to how you will bear it—you’ll do that minute by minute, because you must. For your sake, and the sake of your child.”

  Remembering that Catherine had buried two parents and one husband, Rosalind straightened, feeling ashamed of herself for her weakness. She must be strong for the sake of the baby who would be Stephen’s greatest legacy.

  From behind them Stephen’s voice said faintly, “Rosalind?”

  She turned swiftly and went to the bed. “How are you feeling?”

  He shrugged. “Well enough.”

  In other words, he was in pain but not about to complain. How could he be so calm, so composed? She’d thought him a hero when he saved Brian, but that courage was nothing compared to this.

  Silently she gave him two more opium pills. After he’d swallowed them, she kissed his forehead. “Would you like some more eggnog? Or perhaps some broth?”

  “The eggnog sounds good.”

  She turned to the decanter that the cook had prepared earlier in the afternoon and set in a basin of crushed ice. As she poured a glass, he said softly, “There’s been something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

  She glanced up with a smile, just in time to see him gasp, “Damnation!”

  Then he convulsed on the bed, face white and eyes closed as he suffered the most violent attack Rosalind had witnessed since the one in the hayloft. She gripped his hand, raging inwardly because there was nothing she could do to help him.

  The episode passed quickly, for even illness took more strength than he could spare. Within minutes he was still and unconscious again. Wordlessly Rosalind and Catherine worked together to replace the soiled bedding.