Rose by Another Name (The Blythe Series Book 1)

by Melanie Thurlow

  As they sat beside each other, there wasn’t a moment of silence. Had even the hint of silence pervaded, Robert was sure that it would have been amiable, that of two people who knew each other so thoroughly that words were unnecessary. But there was still much to learn about each other, and Robert found that he was beyond thirsty to know all.

  Yet, as the hour passed, Robert found he knew hardly any more about Rose than he did the day prior. He did most of the talking, telling her of his childhood and his family, of all the adventures he’d had and all the adventures they would embark upon together. Rose kept up her side of the conversation, expanding on a thought he had already started or inquiring further on some matter. But whenever he asked her a question, tried to delve deeper into her past, her family, her, she answered simply, plainly, in the way one would with an acquaintance rather than a friend. She never elaborated more than a sentence or two before she would immediately and, quite effectively, side-step his inquisition and manipulate the conversation back to centralize around him.

  When she once again attempted this maneuver, Robert did not grant her the satisfaction of being victorious. “No,” he said, his voice not hard but also brokering that she would not be allowed to argue the point. “I want to talk about you.”

  “Robert,” she said, placing a hand on his sleeve, “it really is not necessary. There is not that much to tell.”

  As Robert stared into those light eyes which had turned blue with the bright sky reflecting in them and he saw nothing of joy nor pain nor sadness there because she had been made indifferent to such displays of emotion by the very people that were supposed to love her the most, he knew that it was very much indeed necessary.

  Had she ever been permitted to boast about herself? Surely not. Such was likely considered a capital offense in her household. She was probably never given something over which to brag. She had been given a mother who clearly was far more interested in socializing and a father who ruled with fist and foot. Why would she want to talk about herself? She had been raised to believe that there was something wrong with her, deficient. But there wasn’t anything wrong with Rose. She was perfect and it was his intention to expound to her all the ways in which she was.

  “Of course it is necessary,” he said just as the breeze carried her scent up his nose. He shivered at the sensation.

  Unable to resist, his intent evolving from telling her how she was perfect, to showing her, he lifted a gentle hand to her face, brushing a stray lock of hair back under her bonnet. His fingers skimmed along the skin of her cheek, the softness of her skin bringing an aching burn to his chest. He felt Rose shiver beneath his fingertips but couldn’t see her eyes to see if any emotion registered at his touch, for the brim of her bonnet hid them just out of view.

  Robert leaned in, his face tilting so that his forehead did not collide with the brim of her bonnet, or his nose with hers, and he kissed her. Right there by the pool, in full view of the house looming empty of all but the servants who, he knew, would be all too eager to report what transgressed.

  Well, there would be an end to that. No more were Rose’s actions anyone’s concern. She was to be his wife, and she would be treated as the duchess she was to be, her parents be damned.

  He parted her lips with his and let his tongue intrude into her mouth where she eagerly accepted it, surprising him with a gentle caress of her own.

  Their arms were wrapping about one another and they were losing themselves in each other, in the moment, the kiss. So lost were they that Robert completely forgot about her bonnet and his forehead collided with it during the embrace. He broke away from her, allowing them both to come up for air, and set about untying the ribbon beneath her neck, fully intending to throw the contraption in the water. The last thing that he wanted was for her beautiful hair to be covered or her face shadowed any longer. He wanted her to see the sun, to feel it on her skin.

  Rose was quick to stop his advance in discarding from her the bonnet, her hands flying atop her head.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Taking it off,” Robert answered.

  “No. You cannot. I am not allowed.” Her sentences were a short, staccato of a nervous beat, but she had no reason to be nervous. Not any longer. She was his and she would be treated as such. No longer would she have to fear anything or anyone. Least of all what the repercussions would be for throwing to the wind her hat.

  Robert allowed his lips to slide into a sly grin. “And you have never done anything you were not supposed to have done,” he teased.

  Rose matched his sly smile and upped it with a wicked glint of her eyes. “Never.”

  Robert held her in his gaze, a battle stance neither would relent. And before she could react, Robert pulled the ribbon free, snatching the bonnet from atop her head. Robert was on his feet, running backwards along the side of the pool, bonnet in an outstretched hand, held over the watery depths.

  “No!” Rose shrieked on a laugh, jumping to her feet and taking off after him.

  It was not a very great distance that separated them and when she began to close in on him, Robert turned to run properly away. But the ground so close to the edge of the pool was damp and his feet unexpectedly slipped from beneath him. Rose watched as his arms reeled like windmills, unable to keep his balance, and when she reached him it was only just in time for her to grab hold of one of his hands and be dragged into the water along with him.

  They both came up sputtering and laughing seconds later, the skirts of Rose’s dress fanning out over the waist-high water.

  “You ruined my bonnet!” she wailed, picking the soggy garment out of the water, her voice holding a fair amount of sarcasm.

  “And my boots, and likely yours, as well,” Robert added.

  “You’re a fool,” she quipped. “My father will be furious. He so does dislike such indulgences as being wasteful.”

  She could have said anything else and he would have laughed and drawn her close and kissed her and fallen in love with her just a little bit more. Instead, she had said that.

  Robert could tell she was trying for humor, but it was too soon. Perhaps this was how she dealt with the pain of being so mistreated by her father that she made light of the situation. Robert wasn’t prepared to do the same. He would never be able to think of her father as anything but a cruel man that deserved to be drawn and quartered.

  Robert froze. The water was quite chilly, it being early spring, but that wasn’t the reason for his thoughts to come to an abrupt halt. His body was practically steaming as ice did in the heat of summer.

  “Don’t,” he commanded. He shook his head, letting her see his own vulnerability if she wouldn’t let him see hers. “Don’t,” he pleaded.

  Rose nodded but didn’t say anything. She looked perplexed about what to say, as if she wasn’t quite sure what words to fill the pervading silence with. He didn’t like seeing her flounder. It was clearly a topic she did not wish to discuss. So he took a step toward her so that they were now only inches separated, and was preparing to change the subject or maybe just kiss her.

  Yes, that was what he would do. That would remove the tension building in the air around them, turning the water to clay. He would kiss her and they would melt and everything would melt, and the awkwardness of the moment would be gone.

  Robert leaned in, his eyes settling upon their destination. Rose leaned in too and placed her hands on his shoulders. Those lush pink lips curved up in a wicked smile which ultimately drew his eyes to hers. She had him like bait on a line. And then she tossed him overboard.

  “Race you to the house!” she squealed. Before Robert could even comprehend what Rose had said, he was being pushed backwards with the full weight of her and, caught of guard, he found himself actually falling, sinking beneath the dark surface of the water.

  He surfaced to see Rose scrambling up the side of the pool. “Oh no you don’t!” he called after her, slicing his way through the water.

  She was already on the gra
ssy bank, but he managed to catch hold of her skirts which had her skidding to a stop. He had her then and moved to pull her down into the water once more, when she surprised him. Bending down, she captured him with a kiss that had his mind instantly drawn to a blank and the heavens opening above him.

  Rose nibbled on the side of his lower lip until he parted for her, then she slid her tongue inside where she explored in glorious swirls. And just when he thought life couldn’t get any sweeter, the notion of racing back to the house all but forgotten, her skirts slipped out of his grasp, and her hands moved once more to rest upon his shoulders. He knew immediately what she was about but already he was too late. He was pushed backwards—though, this time not entirely immersed—and Rose was kicking at her heavy skirts as she ran away.

  There were two things Robert was grateful for. It was difficult to run in skirts. And it was even more difficult to run in wet skirts.

  Well, he supposed there was a lot more he was grateful for than just that. But right then, this was the only thing that he had concern for.

  Robert could see his life playing out before him, could see years of laughter and games. Her company would never grow old. And he could not hope for more. He was happy and all that mattered was this moment.

  He lifted his head and laughed.

  He was going to win.

  *****

  Rose shrieked as she turned her head over her shoulder to see that Robert’s unfortunate pace was allowing him to gain on her. Belatedly, she recognized that had she been about proper reasoning she would have made for the back entrance through her papa’s study. Papa would have been furious at the ruination of his carpet—she being sopping wet and all—but at least there would have been the possibility that she could have beaten Robert.

  It wasn’t so much about the win, but about the giddy sense of pure ecstasy that came along with it.

  However, the idea didn’t strike her until she was rounding one massive corner of the house, with every intention of running up the steps, onto the front terrace, slapping her hand upon the great doors, declaring victory as hers. She could see it in her mind, taste it on her tongue. But as the drive came into view, she realized that they were not alone and victory certainly wasn’t in the cards for either of them. For standing there, halfway up the stone steps, was her mother standing alongside her father, followed by a procession of half the ton, returned from the picnic.

  Rose froze in her steps. “Damn,” she muttered to herself, which made for the perfect time for Robert to finally catch up with her and literally run right into her back sending her reeling a foot forward, on his lips, “What the—” before catching himself—and her—and managing not to blaspheme in front of the better half of Society who had all turned their eyes, equally curious and disdainful, upon the duo.

  “Damn,” Rose muttered again.

  Chapter 22

  They were dragged instantly away from the group of notorious spectators, into the dark inner sanctum of her father’s paneled study that reeked of tobacco and leather. But in the shadows of the room lingered the widened eyes, the gloved hands raising to cover dropped jaws, the gasps, the titters, the looks of utter disdain. Rose could not forget the reactions of each and every one of the guests.

  She was dripping with each step, her hair matted to her face. She didn’t need to know what she looked like; she saw it in their recoil. She looked improper. Which was precisely how a young, unwed lady ought never to look.

  They had been caught scandalously alone, in scandalous disarray. How would she ever recover?

  Rose bit back the tears stinging their way up her throat and behind her eyes at the humiliation she had just suffered. She had a way of ruining everything. Had her head taken leave of her body this past week? Surely it must have done, for she certainly wasn’t thinking or acting rationally.

  She took a deep breath as she moved further into the room, willing cool calmness to work it’s way through her core and every cell. Instead, it made her shiver in apprehension.

  Rose would recover. Her reputation, that is—she wasn’t quite certain that she would ever recover her confidence from the hole it had buried itself in. But her sins of the past would be absolved upon her marriage.

  However, there was still the question of, would her sisters be marked by her transgression? Would they suffer for this? Would this linger over their heads when they were on the marriage mart? Would this dissuade suitors?

  As she came to a stop before her father’s behemoth of a desk she released her breath, it coming out shaky. Robert stood a statue beside her. He hadn’t spoken since they were caught. Hadn’t so much as looked at her. And she didn’t think she wanted him to. His face was hard, his body stiff. He looked like a man ready to kill. His stare settled upon her mama.

  “Explain yourselves,” Lady Blythe demanded. Followed immediately by, “No, don’t. I do not wish to hear it,” she beseeched, even though neither Rose nor Robert had made any attempt at explaining. Then her tone reversed, changing from an affected trill to that of cold brutality as she bit off, “I cannot imagine what has gotten into either of you. Have you taken leave of your senses? I’m horrified by your imprudent behavior. My daughter dallying with a gentleman? Oh, it’s so terribly embarrassing.”

  Rose clenched her clammy hands into fists at her thighs as her mother slid dramatically into one of the upholstered chairs. Always so histrionic, so self-centered. Rose felt her anger pooling in the fists held at her side.

  There was nothing that could be said. If there were, her mama and papa certainly wouldn’t allow her to say it.

  No explanation could justify what had or had not transpired. All that mattered were appearances, and what appeared to be was an unwed lady, not yet come before the queen, and a young man of title and fortune, found drenched and disheveled, alone in each other’s company.

  Appearances destroyed reputations. Not only the reputations of the culprit, but their sisters’ too.

  “Brighton,” her father cut into her thoughts, his tone rigid, his seated stance behind the desk intimidating.

  Rose closed her eyes so that she wouldn’t have to see him. She closed her eyes and she waited for whatever her father had to say.

  But Lord Blythe was cut off before he could say more. “Lady Rosalyn and I will be married in a fortnight at Saint George’s.”

  Rose’s eyes snapped open to see Lady Blythe straightening in her seat at the news, a single eyebrow arching upward. “That certainly sounds amenable,” she answered coolly after a shared glance with Lord Blythe.

  Rose felt as though she were going to lose her lunch.

  It was not the proposal of every lady’s dream. Indeed, it was not a proposal at all. It was a declaration. It was the product of an arrangement, not a choice made together by two people in love.

  She felt her heart squeeze in her chest as the air in the room seemed to compound, become a crushing force upon her.

  She wanted Robert, she wanted to marry him, but not like this. He hadn’t a choice in their marriage but, for a little while at least, it had felt like a choice, like it was something they both wanted. And once again the little freedom he felt had been stolen away.

  He was angry. And Rose couldn’t blame him. He had every right to be. He had every right to hate her. Robert had followed Rose, and she had ensnared him in this, in speculation, ridicule, gossip. She was really more surprised that he wasn’t steaming.

  “Lord Blythe, you and I shall go to London immediately to see to the preparations,” Robert stated, addressing her father.

  “Indeed. We shall leave this afternoon.”

  “Very good.” With a curt nod toward Rose, not quite making eye contact, Robert turned on his heel and left the room. Left the house, the town, the county.

  He said he would never leave her. The memory of the moment was bitter on her lips. She needed to forget what Robert said. She couldn’t trust that his old feelings would remain his current intentions, for he had also said that he loved her, a
nd if he loved her, he never would have left her alone with her mama to suffer an lecture that felt like pulling teeth.

  Rose watched from her window as Robert’s horse kicked up dust in his escape. Tears stung at the back of her eyes when a comment from her mama cut through her agony, adding to her insecurities, confirming her suspicions that, as Robert left, he would never return the same man. He may never return.

  But though Rose, in the privacy of her tormented thoughts, believed the same, she was entirely unwilling to admit it aloud. “It surely cannot be that bad,” Rose placated after Lady Blythe’s head nearly popped right off her neck.

  “I assure you that it is,” Lady Blythe said on a snarl.

  “But we are meant. Engaged,” Rose argued, trying not to wince at the fresh, raw memory. “You heard him.”

  “You think that matters one whit? Engagements end all the time, Rosalyn, subject to feelings and circumstances. Until the bans are read and the two of you are united, you are still at risk! You must act with all the propriety that I have instilled in you!”

  “You don’t have to worry about anything, Mama. Nothing untoward happened between us and, even if it had, he has assured that we will be wed,” Rose said, fighting the terror that was rising within her.

  “And you take him on his word? He is a man, a duke. He holds all the cards, Rosalyn, and you would do well to remember that!”

  “He is a man and a duke, yes, but he is also a gentleman. He would not do anything so dishonorable as to walk away from me.” But Rose couldn’t ignore the itching of doubt wiggling its way into her consciousness.

  “No? You don’t think that he would? Really? And you’ve known him all of what? Three days? How very naïve you are to think that you can know him at all. Men—gentlemen—take the dishonorable road more often than not, Rosalyn. They destroy lives, reputations, without a care. And dukes are the worst of all. We must ensure that he marries you.”

  “Just how do you expect to do that?” Rose asked uncertainly. “If you’re correct—and mind you, I do not for one moment believe that you are—but if you are and he doesn’t want me, how are we to make him marry me?”