Rose by Another Name (The Blythe Series Book 1)

by Melanie Thurlow

  But it was good they stopped. They needed to stop.

  No, Robert wasn’t sorry for the kiss. And he wasn’t feeling guilty for stopping it either. Conflicted possibly, but not guilty.

  What then…

  Oh! How had she not thought of it? Could it be that he felt guilt over pushing her in the river? It was a reasonable explanation, to be sure.

  Rose knew little about men, but of one thing she was certain: Men were fools when it came to their pride. They did not take kindly to their insecurities being acknowledged, did not like to admit they had any feelings of any kind. And so Rose did the one thing that she could in that moment: She let him keep his pride.

  She did not acknowledge the guilt she believed him to possess.

  “There is nothing for which to forgive,” Rose replied. “As I recall, I was a quite willing participant,” she said, purposefully misinterpreting Robert’s apology. “However, it must never be repeated. I am all but betrothed, you must know.” Her tone, she was happy to hear, had resumed to its normal state, and her words came out sounding poised and rather righteous, as her fingers worked to adjust the bodice of her dress which had somehow become loosened during their… encounter.

  And, she thought to herself, it wasn’t really a lie, her forgiveness. She really did not need to forgive him for the kiss, or for what happened in the stream. True enough, if he hadn’t dunked her, she wouldn’t have nearly drowned. She also never would have had that first kiss. And quite possibly not the second.

  “Of course,” he said, inclining his head in acknowledgement.

  She was, indeed, to be married.

  Kiss or no kiss, Rose’s future did not include Robert standing beside her at the altar.

  A few minutes of silence pervaded before Rose spoke up again, all poise, what little control she had managed to conjure up all but disappeared. “Life is utterly unfair,” she said, not in the least bit surprised that she sounded like a whining school girl. She found herself in quite low spirits just now, having realized that, despite her resolve, she was very likely falling in love with this man—or already was in love with him?—a match that was entirely impossible.

  It was one thing to know that what you were doing was wrong, to relish in the wrongdoing and yet regret it all the same, to do it even as you knew that it had to come to an end eventually. It was entirely different when you were coming upon the end and you realized that it came much too quickly.

  Rose had never enjoyed the prospect of being married off to the duke, but she’d accepted it as her duty. She would be a good wife, if not a loving one. All she had wanted before she was launched into that role was an adventure. She didn’t want to find this, to find love. She didn’t want to know what she was missing.

  But wasn’t that exactly what she had wanted? For if the purpose of all of this weren’t to see what she was missing, to experience it, then what was the point?

  This was everything she didn’t know that she wanted to find, and while a part of her wished that she had stayed cloistered at home until she was married off to Lord Brighton, another part—a rather large and aching part—of her was glad that she had not.

  She hardly knew Robert. While this may feel like what she suspected love to be, she still hardly knew him. It was likely mere infatuation with a man with a future entirely of his own choosing. But she would never know if it could have been something more, if she truly would have come to love him wholly and completely. Now, she would forever be left wondering… What if?

  No longer would Rose be able to find contentment in a marriage without love. Every day following hence she would be miserable, because she would know what she had lost. And already the pain was excruciating. It felt like a hand was squeezing around her heart.

  Why did love have to be dangled in front of her when it was only a matter of time before it would be snatched away?

  “How do you mean?” Robert asked, taking a seat beside her on the rock. But, though his mouth raised the question, his hoarse voice and raw eyes held the truth: He knew exactly what she meant.

  Life was utterly unfair.

  “You may do as you very well want,” she said. She didn’t mean to sound bitter, but the ache in her heart was consuming and it was either be bitter or forlorn. She did not want to cry. And so this was the armor that protected her emotions, containing them with damage control—bitterness.

  “You are a man. You have choices. While I, a woman, must always be at the beckon call of a man. My father, then my husband. We’re not granted the same freedom you are. I must marry whom I am told. You may marry whomever you choose. You can fall in love with anyone you wish. I can never have that freedom.”

  “Nonsense,” Robert answered. Rose shot him a terse look, then turned her face away, lifting her chin against the onslaught of tears that wished to perk themselves into her eyes. She would not let them invade.

  Robert stared at the trees and shrubbery lining the opposite side of the trail, a solemn expression in his eyes.

  “You can fall in love with whoever you choose,” he said, his words but a mere whisper. “It is what happens next that causes a great deal of difficulty. Everyone is confined by something, Rose. No one is completely free. Free to love, free to live.”

  “But some people are more free,” Rose protested, on the verge of tears. “Yes, I understand that I am not a slave and that I have a great deal to be grateful for, and I am. But I cannot do anything that I would like to do, I cannot make my own decisions. All the decisions that matter are made for me.”

  Robert smiled sadly as her words mirrored his own thoughts. “Don’t you see that everyone is constrained in some way? Not on the same level, of course, but in one way or another. Whether it is spending a life in servitude or bearing the responsibility of being the master which is served. Every life, every station, has its drawbacks.”

  “But why must it be so? Can we not just allow ourselves to make our own decisions? Would that be so very wrong and improper? Would the world not be a happier place?”

  “I think,” Robert answered carefully, “that what one does not have appears to be more appealing. And what you suggest, Rose, does sound appealing, in theory. But only in theory.”

  He was looking at her now, his eyes pleading for her understanding. She could see the pain there. She had no doubt in that moment that he felt as dearly toward her as she had come to feel towards him. He was hurting just the same. He knew that he would lose her, just as she was losing him.

  He needed her reassurance that no life was perfect and that theirs was no exception. He needed her to agree with him. Robert needed to know that, even without love, life was still worth living.

  It didn’t seem how it could be worth it. But Rose wasn’t fatalistic enough to die for it either, as Romeo and Juliet had. And so she did what she’d always done for the people she loved—she gave him what he needed. Despite her own disbelief she nodded her agreement, which, in turn, unleashed him.

  “We all have responsibilities that we must shoulder. Are we to dismiss them and go on about our lives without caring about who are affected by our actions? I wish we could. Believe me, I do,” he said capturing her hands in his. “I just don’t see it being possible. The world is a scary place. People like the rules Society has created, for they keep order in an otherwise unruly system. Without them everything could be chaos.”

  Rose hadn’t so much as told him that she believed herself to be in love with him. Indeed, she could not do that even if she could be certain that she was. She was to marry the duke. She must keep her feelings about Robert, whatever they were, secret. And yet, even though the words had not been spoken, it was almost as though he understood, as though they hung between them like a noose.

  It didn’t seem as though they were merely speaking in generalities. It seemed to Rose that Robert was speaking right into her heart and soul, as though he, too, was torn apart by what was between them.

  He wanted, just as much as she, to shed the bounds that Socie
ty had created, to throw it all away for love. But what would happen then? Where would they go from here? They were from two very different worlds. How could they possibly combine the two? Where would they live? And what of her sisters? What would become of them? She wasn’t simply carrying her own reputation, but theirs as well. She couldn’t stain them with her own scandal.

  “You sound quite philosophical,” she said with a brightening disposition. If politesse could be considered brightening. It was forced, and she knew that Robert was likely more than aware of the fact, but the desolate mood needed to change. “You have given the subject much thought, I presume?”

  Rose had never considered formalities as a form of comfort. They had been engrained in her since childhood, had practically become second nature. She was uptight, formal, poised in all respects—because she had to be—but never had she realized just how much she leaned on them for support, how much she needed them. It was a mask that was carefully crafted and expertly executed. She had used it as a defense for so long, to hide her fears, her pain, her love, her every emotion—she didn’t realize that it had become a crutch.

  She was grateful for the support now. Now she had something to lean on, just when her world seemed to be spinning out of control.

  “You presume correctly, my dearest, Rose,” Robert said, his hands leaving hers. He too found solace in putting behind them the raw feelings they had unleashed.

  She laid her head down upon his shoulder and sighed. “If only we could fly away from here on a gust of wind and not worry or care about what the world below us thinks.” It was a wistful thought. It was a dream that made one smile; but a dream she knew would never be.

  Robert laid his cheek upon the top of her head and sighed himself. “If only,” he said.

  And if there was any trace of sorrow in either of them, it was cleverly hidden.

  It seemed like an eternity passed before the two stood, though it could not have yet been noon. And without another word spoken between them they continued on their way down the path, shoulder to shoulder but not quite touching.

  Rose squared her shoulders like a soldier going into battle, because that’s what she felt like. She was going to be at war with her emotions and, while they might win internally, she would be damned if they took everything from her. She would steel herself to the world and guard her heart with everything she had.

  So instead of focusing on the pain in her chest, she focused on her ankle. The pain there had subsided to nothing more than a dull throb, and with her attention focused there she managed to walk with not even a trace of a limp.

  As they neared the end of the trail—the shortcut that led back out onto the main street, back to the village, back to reality—they slowed alongside each other, coming to a stop just before the opening.

  “Will I see you again, Rose? Please, tell me that I will.”

  Tears rimmed her lower lids, before spilling over and tracing lines down her cheeks. Rose’s throat bobbed as she swallowed a sob, staring at her hands without seeing them busy themselves by rolling the fabric of the cloak between her fingers, wrinkling it most dreadfully.

  Robert was all eagerness and yearning. She could feel that he needed her in much the same manner as she had suddenly come to need him.

  They could pretend there was nothing between them, but was it really possible?

  She was supposed to be steel, was supposed to be hardened against her emotions. But that was a resolve easier said than done.

  This was goodbye and there was nothing easy about it.

  “I do not believe it would be fair to either of us, Robert,” she said, her voice so low she could hardly hear it herself. “You have just admitted that we each have responsibilities we must fulfill. I do not presume to know what yours are, but you know mine. I am to be wed. I will not go against the wishes of my father. And so, we both know how this ends.”

  “Yes,” he said simply. “We do.” But his husky voice betrayed him. He wanted their departure as little as she did.

  He was staring at her hands as she worked at the fabric, but made no attempt to stop them, to hold them still.

  Rose wanted him to hold her, to sweep her off her feet, refuse to allow her to leave.

  She didn’t want to leave him, but she had to.

  “It’s for the best,” she offered, half hoping he would argue the point, but knowing that he wouldn’t.

  “Yes.”

  There was a momentary pause when Rose’s eyes met his, and more was said in that moment than could ever have been spoken. They were the eyes of agony, wrought by a decision that was never theirs to make.

  “I must go,” Rose said, though her jaw was clenching and her lips found it difficult to form the words.

  “I must take you home.”

  “No. This is the end of the path. This is where we end. It’s best to bid farewell here, then neither of us will be left behind. Instead, we will both be moving forward, apart from each other.”

  Robert’s hands came up to cup her face then, and he captured her in a searing kiss—one last kiss for them both to live by, to remember for all of time. Then she released herself, pulling away even as every fiber of her being wanted to pull him closer.

  With one last pained smile to the man she had known for less than a full twenty-four hours, Rose turned and walked away.

  And even though she said that neither of them would be left behind, she had the distinct impression that she had left more of herself on that path with him than she could ever imagine.

  Chapter 10

  It was instant. It was an instant moment of clarity. Like he had been walking around all his life in the dark, and suddenly the sun was shining brighter. The air smelled of earth, and fresh cut grass, and the birds weren’t just chirping some absurd, annoying melody, they were singing a concerto in unison. Even now, in the cooler, tighter air of Brighton Castle’s sitting room Robert could sense the life in the forest when he and Rose had parted.

  That’s what falling in love was like. It was like nothing he had ever experienced.

  And as beautiful as all that was, all Robert wanted to do was dig himself a hole and bury himself within it.

  Morbid, yes, but when you have all this beauty surrounding you, and are filled with such all-consuming love for a person, without it, living just no longer seems possible.

  For Robert, that’s how his newfound love felt. Like falling into place, only to fall instantly apart.

  And, as if all that were not suitably torturous enough, here he was, trapped into having tea with his mother.

  Really, it wasn’t so bad. He loved his mother. He truly did. He might spend the vast majority of his time in London, away from her, but that had nothing to do with her or his affection towards her. He loved his mother as wholly as any son could.

  But right now, he just wanted to be alone.

  If he couldn’t literally bury himself—and he rather thought that his gardener would put a swift end to his plan of digging up a patch of the lawn as a site for his grave—then the least he could do was draw his shades so that no light could creep in, and bury himself under his blankets.

  However, such was not to be. Robert had no sooner stepped a heavy foot through the front door than his mother had drawn him into her company.

  Robert sighed. Starting tomorrow his life would no longer be his own, it would be changed forever. He should be relishing in this time with his mother before Lady Rosalyn became his wife and came to live here as duchess. Of course, she wouldn’t be moving in tomorrow—they probably wouldn’t even be married for several months yet—but tomorrow, the Blythe house party, marked the beginning of the end.

  And now all Robert wanted was to be alone.

  He had but a day before his life began to change. One day to mourn the loss of Rose, an attraction that should have never had the opportunity to form, a love that was entirely impossible.

  But his mother was still one of the most important people in his life, and he was not about to
thwart her company because of something silly, like a broken heart.

  He would never admit it—he was a man with a reputation to protect, after all—however, for nothing physical actually being wrong with him, a broken heart hurt a bloody lot!

  Robert leaned back in his chair, sighing once more, as he raised his feet to rest on the low table between he and his mother. He closed his eyes as he slowly tipped his glass up to his lips, relishing the feel of the scotch burning down his throat. At least now he felt something other than the phantom pain in his chest.

  “It’s a bit early in the day, dear,” she murmured. “Wouldn’t you say?” Her tone was relaxed, and not in the least bit accusatory, and yet he felt like a young boy being schooled by his mother.

  He opened one eye to catch her watching him over the rim of her tea cup, one dark illusive eyebrow raised in his direction.

  It was a bit early in the day for spirits, technically. Though, it was never too soon when one had a broken heart. However, as that was the exact opposite thing that he wanted to discuss with his mother in that moment, all he did was grunt and close his eyes once more.

  Perhaps if he could focus upon the backs of his dark lids he could forget her presence. Perhaps it would be as though he truly were curled up on his mattress, crying—no, definitely not crying, merely despairing—over his recent loss.

  Lady Brighton let out an exaggerated exhale.

  Robert pretended not to hear.

  But when she spoke, he couldn’t actually ignore that.

  “You might as well tell me what has you so despondent. It’s of no use trying to hide it. You know I will weasel it out of you sooner or later. I think we can both agree that it would be for our benefit if you did so sooner.”

  He opened his eyes and dropped his feet to the floor with a heavy thud, raking a hand through his horribly disheveled hair. It seemed that nothing was in order as of late.

  She was right. He would tell her. Sooner or later. Probably later. She would find out. She always did.