by Isabel Morin
They followed the road for a ways until Luke turned onto a smaller lane that led along the Charles River, a sparkling swath moving lazily between clusters of trees. Stopping the horses in the shade, he pulled a plaid blanket from beneath his seat, took her hand and together they made their way to the bank. A few feet from the edge he arranged the blanket and set the basket down.
The sun shone down as if in blessing, the river flowed past, and Rose felt as if she’d wandered into a dream.
Luke stretched out, his long muscled body at ease as he leaned on an elbow, his shirtsleeves rolled past his forearms. It was all Rose could do to keep her eyes from wandering over the perfection of his body and his almost too-handsome face.
Luke poured them each a glass of Champagne and then watched as Rose took a sip.
“Oh, my. This is much better than whiskey.” Happily she drank more and before long finished her glass. Laughing, Luke leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to the tip of her nose.
Rose’s mouth fell open. She’d never known a man could kiss a woman’s nose. It was so different from what he’d shown her so far.
“We’d better eat some of this feast Mrs. Williamson so kindly packed, or you’ll be feeling a little too good,” he said, turning to the basket.
As they laid out the picnic he told her about his boyhood days picking apples and learning how to make cider. The sun moved overhead as they talked and ate, and Rose grew drowsy in the late afternoon heat. She curled her legs beneath her, her buttercup-colored cotton dress draped demurely over her ankles. A soft breeze blew the fallen leaves in shifting layers of color.
“If I could paint, I would portray you just as you are now,” Luke said, watching her with an intensity that had her pulse racing. “You’ve no idea how lovely you look, with your yellow dress and your hair the color of the maple leaves behind you. I fear my poor sketches will never do you justice.”
Heat shot through Rose’s veins at this quiet declaration. Never had she felt more beautiful, more desired. They looked at each other for a long moment, the air charged with their mutual longing.
Luke moved closer and took her left hand in his much bigger one, holding it as if she might break.
“Even your hands drive me mad,” he said, sounding bemused. He gave a shaky laugh. “I’d like to shower you with jewels, but this will have to do for now.”
Rose watched without comprehending as he slipped a ring onto her finger.
A dozen small garnets were set like rose petals around a larger center garnet, all of them glowing with their own inner fire.
Too awed by the gift to speak, Rose simply looked at him, tears shimmering in her eyes.
Luke smiled at her, his expression filled with fierce tenderness. He kissed her hand. “Now there’s no mistaking you’re mine.”
“As if I’d be anyone else’s,” she replied, her heart so full she wasn’t sure what to do with herself.
Luke too looked caught in some inner struggle, watching her as if he might give in and kiss her. After a moment he shook his head and smiled ruefully, pouring more Champagne into their glasses.
“You must try this tart,” Rose said, holding the confection out to him as she licked the raspberry from her lips. “It goes wonderfully with Champagne.”
The look in his eye stilled her hand in midair. His body, a moment ago utterly relaxed, was now strung taut as a bow, his eyes dark with desire. With a low groan he leaned forward and slanted his lips over hers, his hand cupping the back of her neck. His tongue coaxed her open and Rose yielded to him utterly and immediately, drugged by the devastating kiss, the warm sun and Champagne. She was all feeling and need, and she wanted more, more of everything – the rough scrape of his jaw, his musky scent and playful tongue, the seductive taste of him.
A longing so intense it was painful suffused her. Her whole body was striving for something, Luke’s passionate kisses pushing her closer and closer until finally it dawned on her that one of them would have to keep their wits about them, and it wasn’t going to be her fiancé.
Reluctantly she pulled away.
Luke closed his eyes a moment as if to collect himself. Opening them, he smiled ruefully at her and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.
“If you knew how much I wanted you, you’d never come near me.” Standing up he held his hand out for her and helped her to feet. “It’s high time I got you home.”
Silently, utterly aware of one another other, they packed up the basket and headed home.
Rose was busy packing her clothes the day before they were to be married, laying each dress and undergarment neatly into the new trunk Edward and Vivian had given her as a wedding gift. Tucked deep into one of the corners and wrapped in a linen handkerchief was Nathan Byrne’s soiled glove. Everything in her recoiled at the thought of bringing the glove, and all its attendant secrecy, into her new home. But her grief over her father and her love for Luke were both part of her now.
There was no dispelling the melancholy that attended thoughts of her wedding, and it went beyond her father’s murder to encompass all the difficulties that came after it. Now , in addition to everything else, she worried over her aunt. Not surprisingly, Olivia’s reply to her last letter was all Rose had feared. Her aunt was shocked and worried Rose was making a mistake, one she’d come to regret. And how could Rose blame her? The situation was so strange and fraught with complications, she could hardly expect Aunt Olivia to accept it with equanimity.
Edward had offered to host the small ceremony at his house, for which Rose was grateful. It would be a great comfort to take such a big step in a safe and familiar place. She and Luke would stay to celebrate with some food and drink, after which they’d leave for the house on Walnut Street.
Rose didn’t know whether she wanted to rush through the events of the day or make them last as long as possible. Her wedding night loomed at the other side of the celebration, and each minute that passed increased her anxiety. What if she didn’t know what to do? She was well aware Luke desired her. It might even be the only reason he wanted to marry her. What if she disappointed him?
Sally came into the room to see how Rose was getting on.
“Sally,” Rose began, embarrassed before even saying a word, “may I ask you something about tomorrow night, after Luke and I go home together?”
Sally looked momentarily surprised but quickly recovered. “Yes, what about it?”
“Well, what exactly…what I wondered was…will he want to share my bed? All night? And how often do you suppose he’ll want to? And will I like it, and what if I don’t?”
“I suppose you’ve kissed already?” Sally asked.
Rose nodded, her face flushing at this understatement.
“And you liked it well enough?”
Again Rose nodded, unable to speak.
“Well then, likely you’ll like the rest as well. Your Mr. Fletcher is quite taken with you. I daresay you could wrap him around your little finger, if you haven’t already. Beyond that, it’s hard to say. Men are a mystery, even for those of us who’ve lived with one. Now then, have you anything in need of pressing?”
It seemed that was all she was going to get out of Sally. But if what she said was true, then Rose had little to worry about. After all, Luke’s kisses were heavenly, and he was nothing if not desirous of her pleasure. A tendril of heat unfurled in her belly at this thought, but her musings were interrupted by the sound of the door pull.
Sally hurried downstairs to answer the door, only to return seconds later.
“Rose, Mrs. Charlotte Fletcher is here to see you, and she isn’t the most pleasant creature we’ve had call on us.”
“Good Lord, whatever can she be doing here?”
Rose stood up, smoothing out her dress as she tried to imagine what possible reason Charlotte could have for calling on her. She checked her reflection in the oval mirror on the wall. Satisfied that she looked calm and unruffled, and that Charlotte had been kept waiting a sufficient amount of time,
she headed down to the parlor.
Charlotte was standing in the middle of the room, her hands clasped in front of her, a moué of displeasure on her face. She turned as Rose entered the room and regarded her coldly.
“I will make this brief,” she said, looking disdainfully at Rose and then at the room. “Clearly you’ve managed to capture Luke’s attentions. Men often have no sense, even when it’s obvious to everyone they’re being taken for a fool. However, while I have no sway over him, I do have some say in how you’ll be received in this town. I’ll make certain every last Cabot, Adams, Gardner and Winthrop knows exactly what you are.”
“If you came here merely to insult me, Charlotte, then consider your errand complete and take your leave,” Rose said, pleased by the outrage that flared in Charlotte’s eyes at the use of her given name. “If you have more to say, do come to the point.”
Charlotte’s nostrils flared and her eyes narrowed.
“No doubt you’re quite pleased to have caught Luke. Perhaps that’s what you hoped for all along. I would put nothing past you. But I will not sit idly by while you make fools of us. Make no mistake, if you go through with this marriage I will find out whatever it is you don’t want Luke to know, and I will send you packing for good. All of that unpleasantness can be avoided, however, if you’re smart.” Here she paused dramatically before continuing.
“I am willing to offer you the sum of five thousand dollars if you agree to leave Boston. No one can know of our arrangement. You will leave town, without explanation, and Luke will never hear from you again. If you don’t accept my offer, rest assured I’ll do everything in my power to keep you from gaining anything from this marriage. You can save your outraged protestations, I want only an answer to my offer. You won’t receive a better one.”
Rose listened to this speech, more furious and disgusted with every word. She was also shaken, for though Charlotte was mistaken about her motivations, she was all too accurate about her secrets. But she would not let this woman see weakness or doubt.
Her voice was filled with cold fury when she spoke.
“You come to me in my friend’s home and simultaneously insult, threaten and bribe me. Clearly you are the one capable of anything. But I’ll not waste my time explaining myself to you. Your offer, your presence here, was a gross miscalculation on your part. You can see yourself out.”
With this, Rose swept out of the room, so incensed she could hardly see straight. Once out of the room she flew up the stairs and she paced the parlor floor, shaking with rage.
Her first instinct was to tell Luke, but after considering all the ramifications, she thought better of it. There was nothing he could do, and in any case he knew already that his stepmother was against the marriage. Furthermore, she felt terrible about the rift she’d already caused in his family. And, all that aside, Charlotte was not wholly off the mark in her suspicions.
No, she would say nothing. She had enough to worry about with Nathan, never mind his mother.
Chapter Eleven
The next morning Rose slid quietly out of the bed, careful not to disturb Vivian, who muttered something unintelligible in her sleep and turned over. Pushing aside the curtain, she looked out the window at the empty street, the other houses ghostly in the pre-dawn light. Little by little the neighborhood came awake as people left their houses and headed into the rest of their lives.
Behind her Vivian was also waking. Sitting up in bed she smiled widely at Rose.
“Good morning, Mrs. Fletcher,” she chirped excitedly, hopping out of bed. “Time to get you ready for Mr. Fletcher.”
There was a knock at the door and Rose opened it to find Sally holding a tray. “Oh, Sally, this is heavenly,” she sighed, breathing in the glorious scent of cocoa, biscuits and jam. She couldn’t remember anyone bringing breakfast right to her when she wasn’t even ill.
“Pshaw. If today isn’t special, then I don’t know what day is. But I daresay you’re likely to get anything you want brought to you at your new residence. You’ll be a woman of leisure, don’t forget.”
“Yes, I suppose I will be,” Rose replied, unsure how she felt about it.
“Eat up, girls, and then we’ll get our bride ready.”
Soon Vivian and Sally bustled around her, helping her dress in the delicate lace undergarments Madam Beauchamp had made for her. On her legs were sheer silk stockings held up by lacey garters. The white silk slid over her skin like a kiss and was so fragile she doubted she could wear them again.
Before Madame Beauchamp, it had never occurred to her that women would wear such beautiful, expensive undergarments. Why bother, when no one saw them? But perhaps Luke would see them. She had little idea of what to expect on her wedding night, but somehow she doubted her new husband would patiently turn around or leave the room while she disrobed.
“Stand up, child,” Sally said, breaking into her reverie. “Let’s get you into this dress.” Obediently Rose stood and let the dress slide over her chemise, corset and petticoats and settle about her with a soft rustle.
Though the dressmaker had suggested a wedding dress in white, Rose was too practical to agree to such a thing. Instead she’d decided on something she could wear again – a lovely sage green silk so light it seemed to hover over her skin. Delicate flowers embroidered in pink and brown thread ran along the hem and neckline.
Rose grew quiet as the women fussed around her, smoothing the material and discussing what ribbon to use in her hair. She couldn’t help wishing her parents could have been with her. Her father should have been the one to speak to Luke, her mother to give her advice and calm her fears.
And yet, she would never have even met Luke if her father were still alive. Though perhaps, if they’d remained in Boston, all of them together, she would one day have met him, and they’d have married in that other life as well.
Rose gave a quick shake of her head. No more what-ifs today. Tomorrow was soon enough for those.
Expertly Sally dressed her hair, threading a green ribbon through the braided knot at the nape of her neck. The front of her hair was braided as well and pinned beind her ears. Rose slipped on satin slippers dyed to match the dress and then they all stood silently for a moment.
Rose looked at herself in the long oval mirror and could hardly believe what she saw. The dress was so beautifully made and of such a soft color, it seemed to cast its own glow. Her garnet ring shone even in the mellow light. Was this what a bride looked like?
“Oh, Rose,” Vivian breathed. “You’re so beautiful, you hardly seem real. I think Mr. Fletcher will be quite speechless when he sees you.”
Rose hugged Vivian. “Thank you for being such a good friend. I know it hasn’t always been easy for you.”
Now both girls were crying and hugging.
“Enough,” said Sally, looking a bit teary herself. “We can’t have Rose looking red and bleary from crying. But if you have to cry, at least have a handkerchief on hand,” she said, handing both Vivian and Rose a delicate square of linen.
The door chimed and the three women looked at each other. Sally gave Rose a quick once-over.
“Mr. Fletcher won’t know what hit him.” And with that she headed downstairs to welcome Luke and his father.
Rose and Vivian stood holding hands in awed silence, listening to the voices downstairs. In another moment the chime sounded again and Rose stood perfectly still as the minister entered and was greeted. Before she knew it Edward was at the door to fetch her. Rose felt as if she might break down in quite dramatic tears when he took her hands and kissed her cheek.
“Your mother and father would be so proud of you, Rose, as am I. I’ll be here for you, if ever you need me.”
Rose kissed Edward on the cheek, unable to speak, then quickly blotted her eyes. She breathed deeply in and out, and then nodded her head.
“I’m ready.”
The day took on a dreamlike quality as Rose listened to the minister explain the duties of matrimony. She was surprised
by how vulnerable she felt, even with so few people present, as she looked Luke in the eye and repeated her vows.
Nothing could have prepared her for the sheer enormity of what they were doing. But she meant every word. Before the minister had a chance to say anything about a kiss, Luke cupped a hand behind her head, bent down and pressed his lips to hers. It was the most chaste kiss they’d ever shared, and yet it shook her to the core.
Luke kept her hand in his as they accepted the well wishes of the small party, and then they all moved into the dining room for the celebratory dinner Sally had prepared. Jonas Fletcher sat to Rose’s left, and though she felt awkward at first, he immediately put her at ease. Rose liked him very much and wished she weren’t causing so much discord in his household. She wouldn’t have blamed him if he’d acted less welcoming toward her, but she detected no resentment on his part.
For dessert Sally brought out a lemon cake frosted in buttercream that had everyone taking second helpings while listening to a story Mr. Fletcher told about the first train he’d ever ridden. Rose listened to it all with only half an ear, for she was terrified of what would happen when she left the safety of the March home.
Without realizing it she ate and drank far more slowly than everyone else, anxious to prolong the festivities for as along as possible. She’d barely touched her cake or sipped her tea when she looked around the table and realized that everyone else had cleaned every crumb from their plates quite some time ago.
Edward smiled at her, as if he understood, while Mr. Fletcher and Vivian requested yet more tea, as if to aid her delaying tactics. Luke smiled at her and said perhaps he would have more tea as well, adding that it was quite delicious, and where did Edward get such flavorful leaves? At this Rose came to her senses and realized she could not keep them there all day, drinking tea until they could barely remain at the table.
“I think I’ll forego more tea, though like everything else, it was wonderful,” she said, and nearly laughed at the relieved look on everyone’s faces. There was a rush of good wishes and several gifts thrust into their arms and then Luke led her from the March’s and into the golden October light filtering through the oaks and maples.
