A Scandalous Request

by Micki Miller

  “Rose, I give you my word,” Burke said, taking a step back as if to display his intent. “Unless you say different, I’ll not touch you. But you must leave London. There are far too many people about. You simply are not safe here.”

  Her eyes shifted to stare into the fire. After a minute passed without a response, he added, “As your…friend, neither am I.”

  Rose closed her eyes and tipped her chin down. She would accept this. For her, there would be no choice. Even anger would not allow her to endanger the life of another.

  “Very well. I’ll go.”

  Following a silent sigh of relief, Burke said, “If there is nothing else you need or want right now, I’ll be going.”

  The shake of her head was slow and tight. He gave her a nod he was sure she didn’t see, as her gaze was unfocused and in her lap, and he swiveled around to leave.

  “Burke.” When he faced her again, she said, “There is something I want. You mentioned you’re in need of a new cook.”

  “Yes. My regular man has left to care for his ailing brother. He informed me he’ll most likely spend his remaining days on their family farm. Why do you ask?”

  “Cora’s husband, Claude, is a wonderful cook. He worked for Ashton as long as she did. And, well, they’re dear people. It would be nice if they could stay together.”

  Without hesitation, he said, “And so they shall. I’ll see to it. Is there anything else you would like?”

  “No,” she said in a quiet voice. “Thank you.”

  Chapter 19

  It was as if the trip to Burke’s country estate was taking them halfway around the world, so long and tedious was the journey.

  Initially, Rose was glad when he told her he would be riding outside the carriage, along with the guards he’d hired. But the solitary ride left her far too much time to think. After endless hours of sitting alone with nothing but her headache, her heartbreak, and retched possibilities, she feared the bleak and encompassing sense of isolation would crush her. One fear in particular roosted in the time she’d already spent alone in the carriage, as Burke’s reason rang true.

  She knew her sister hated her. She supposed a less aspiring part of her had always known. But Rose never believed Eddy would go so far as to murder a man, or her. Her careless naivete had cost. Poor Ashton. He’d taken her in, rescued her from a horrid circumstance, and she’d repaid him by causing his death.

  And yet, with all the misery Eddy had caused, Rose could not bear the thought of her sister languishing in the prison she well knew was beyond foul. Were such thoughts a betrayal to Ashton, to Lewis?

  Lewis. She wondered if he would still believe her guilty once the constable arrested Edwina. Even if he should accept his mistake, ask and receive forgiveness, their trust could never be regained in full. Even at best, their beautiful friendship was forever degraded to a lesser rank.

  For a few glorious months, Rose knew peace and happiness. Nothing was right now. Ashton was dead. All of London hated her, someone enough to see her in her grave. And Burke, the one man she believed she’d fallen in love with, she could never fully trust. How could she ever look at him without fearing he would turn on her. Or anyone else, for that matter. Her life was never going be right again.

  Rose stared out the window at the wooded scenery rolling by. Sunbeams teased with imageries of magic dust dancing in their golden shafts of slanted, late day light. For an occasional moment or two, she could picture a fairy tale land where all was well and safe and one could by all rights assume a blissful ending.

  Then, in but a blink of her heavy eyes, all Rose could see was the vast darkness between the beams of light.

  Miles had passed since she’d last seen even a modest cottage. She was grateful for the view, though. Until they were well out of the city, Burke would not allow her to open the small curtain covering the window, making her isolation complete. She didn’t even have Cora, for he ordered the maid to follow later with Claude and the rest of her belongings.

  A rabbit, frightened by their noisy passing, hopped deeper into the forest. His graceful leaps made her smile. For a while, she sought out another rabbit, or maybe a deer. The search was fruitless, but it helped pass the time.

  She’d hoped to fall asleep. It should have been an easy thing, for she was exhausted. Before they left, Burke had seen to it she had a thick blanket and hot coals in a warmer on the floor of the carriage. For a while, she lay down on the well-cushioned seat. But her mind was too active for sleep to welcome her. Perhaps if she just lay there to rest a while, she’d drift off.

  A basket of food wrapped in cloths sat on the other seat, as Burke said they would make only brief stops to take care of personal needs. She glanced across at it. But she didn’t think she could eat any more than she was able to fall asleep. Her stomach was as knotted at her thoughts.

  The farther they traveled from the city, the rougher the road became. An especially deep rut tossed the carriage left, then right, before resuming an even ride, until the next batch of ruts. Her attempt at rest became absurd. She sat upright again, and resumed her visual search for woodland creatures. After a while, she laid her aching head against the squabs and stared at the trees going by.

  Three men rode with Burke, two behind the carriage, one in front with him. Before they left, she’d overheard him talking with one of the men about hiring more once they arrived. The guards, along with the driver, were armed and ready for trouble. Rose had every confidence they would keep her body safe. Her emotions, however, lay raw and exposed.

  The feelings she had for Burke were a passionate, volatile mix. One moment she recalled his touch, comforting, arousing, and the next, his glare of hatred and accusation the day he’d come to see her at the prison. And in her heart, a longing so powerful it left her shaken.

  In a sudden strike, weariness sunk deep into her bones. Rose wrapped herself in the warm blanket and curled up on the seat again. This time, sleep was kind enough to claim her. She dreamt of fairylands, of family and love, and of trust solid enough to hold her for life.

  ****

  “Shh, go back to sleep, Rose.”

  She awoke to Burke’s hands sliding beneath her and then the deep timbre of his voice.

  “We’re here, sweet. Since you’re awake, let’s get some food for you and then you can go to bed.”

  “I can walk,” she said, when he went to lift her from the seat.

  With barely a hesitation, he slipped his arms out, exited, and helped her step from the carriage.

  Night had fallen. There was no moon, but the mad scattering of stars lit the sky and several men carried lamps about the grounds. Their meanderings had purpose. If anyone had the audacity to be hiding behind a tree or a bush on this property, they would be found.

  A pleasant faced woman of middle years who introduced herself as Miranda greeted them just inside the door. The woman settled Rose into a lovely, pink and gold suite of rooms and saw to it she had a warm bowl of peas soup with some crusty bread. She even changed the bandage on Rose’s head, tending to her healing wound. In less than an hour after their arrival, Rose was sound asleep in a comfortable bed.

  ****

  Traces of early sunlight leached through white, lacy curtains. Rose and the morning, it appeared, awoke simultaneously. The warmth and comfort of her soft bed tempted her to stay put. But her mind came fully awake and she was curious to inspect her surroundings.

  She began with her own chambers, taking comfort in the first thing she saw, her amber pig on the bedside table. Burke must have seen to it the pig was placed where she always kept it.

  White curtains complemented the pink and gold colors of her assigned chambers, as did the round, white and yellow rug in the center of the spacious room. A ceramic pitcher and basin, white with painted pink swirls, sat on a simple stand in the corner near a privacy screen. There was a dressing table of polished rosewood. Atop it, an oval-shaped mirror in a rosewood frame.

  Through a wide archway was a small sittin
g room with a gold, brocade divan, the back carved in an ornate, curved fashion. Two simple, low-back chairs accompanied the divan. The rectangular window behind the chairs was almost as long as the room.

  After straightening out the bedcovers, Rose went to the white-painted wardrobe to retrieve a morning gown from the small selection she’d brought with her, as well as her other necessities. She lay everything out neat atop the bed.

  She washed and dressed before sitting on the padded stool at the dressing table to unwrap her bandage. Last night, Miranda washed and redressed the wound and told her it appeared to be healing quite well. Rose wanted to see for herself. Angling before the mirror, she turned her head to try and see, as her assailant had struck her just above and a little behind her right ear.

  Even leaning close to the mirror, it was difficult to get a good look. With a careful touch, she felt the wound with her fingers. There was a bit of a scab, but it did not feel as swollen as she feared. Rose used caution when she brushed out her hair and arranged it back into a simple chignon.

  She had just come to her feet when Miranda poked her head into the room. Her large hazel eyes grew even bigger at the sight of Rose up and about.

  “Good morning, milady,” she said, bustling into the room. “I was just going to pop my head in to check on you. I didn’t think you’d be up and about so soon. You should have called for me,” she scolded. “I’m to tend to you until your maid arrives.”

  “Thank you, Miranda. I awoke very early this morning.”

  Except for the few months she’d lived with Ashton and Lewis, she’d always tended to herself. Piers never afforded even his wife a personal maid, much less his indigent sister-in-law. It never occurred to her Burke would assign a personal maid to her. But of course, he would. His station in life would insist on such a courtesy.

  Miranda toddled into the room straight for her, concern focusing her expression. “Nonetheless, should have given the bell-pull a tug. I’d have been in here right prompt. Does your head give you much pain?” she said, leaning in for a critical look. “I could rewrap it for you.”

  “It’s just a dull ache. I don’t think I need to wear the bandage any longer. I am rather hungry, though.”

  “Of course, you are,” Miranda said, clasping her hands together. You didn’t eat enough to feed a field mouse last night. Would you like to have your meal here in your suite, or would you prefer going down to the breakfast room?”

  “The breakfast room, please. I barely moved a muscle yesterday. I’d very much like to take a walk today and do some exploring.”

  “Fine idea, milady. It’s a grand old house. His lordship had special, large windows installed to take in the views all around. Oh, goodness,” she said, and almost stumbled. Following a tsk, she said, “You even straightened out your own bed. Well, come on, let’s get you something to eat.”

  Miranda led her down a winding staircase and along a wide corridor to a sunlit room of pale greens and yellows. The yellow reminded her of the breakfast room in the house she shared with Ashton and Lewis and for a moment, grief rusted her lungs.

  “When I finish my meal,” she said to Miranda as she sat down. “I’m going to take a walk outside, while the day is so sunny. Is there any particular direction you would say is more scenic than another?”

  “Oh, my lady,” Miranda said, shaking her head, her expression tightening with concern and accentuating the spray of wrinkles fanning out from her eyes. “Lord Darington left very strict orders, you are to remain indoors at all times.”

  “Indoors? Even during the day?”

  “He says it’s not safe for you, with someone out there who wants to cause you harm. He’s instructed all of us to keep a close watch.” The woman brightened a bit then. “His lordship has quite the full library. I’m sure you could find something there to your liking. He mentioned you enjoy books.”

  “Yes, I do,” said Rose, keeping her disappointment to herself while she wondered how long it would be until she felt the sunshine on her face, or took in a fresh breath of air. “Thank you.”

  “I’ll show you the way as soon as you’ve eaten.”

  “Don’t bother. I’ll find the library myself. I’m going exploring anyway.”

  “A fine idea. It’ll be like a treasure hunt.”

  Before Miranda could leave, Rose said, “Do you know if Lord Darington is awake yet?”

  “Oh, yes, milady. He was up before the sun. He’s been making all sorts of plans with the guards.”

  “I see. Thank you, Miranda.”

  “You’re welcome, milady. I’ll go and see to your breakfast now.”

  Rose ate her morning meal alone. Afterward, she wandered through the house for a while. It wasn’t as large as his mansion in London, but it was no less grand.

  Finely made furniture, sturdy and elegant, adorned each room. All of the chairs were cushioned and none of the fabrics showed signs of wear. Every carpet and drapery, every inch of marble and wood floor, was tended to with meticulous care. What caught her eye the most, however, was the view from the oversized windows on every side of the house. What she saw only increased her want of the outdoors.

  Planted gardens bloomed hearty, as did the fields colored by nature’s paintbrush with a mix of wild bluebells, primrose, and a bright scattering of poppies. Willow trees, a dozen, at least, swayed in grace upon the slight breeze. Their lithe branches all but voiced an invitation to sit beneath them.

  Beyond a small grove of apple trees, Rose spotted a pond, sparkling as sun glistened off its placid surface. How she longed to stroll about the flowers and the foliage, smell their sweet scents, maybe sit on the soft grass beside the water for a while.

  She considered slipping out for just a quick walk around the grounds near to the house. The day was lovely, with but a few puffy clouds lingering about, and she hated to miss it in its entirety. Her fingers drifted up to the source of her lingering headache, the damage done by a swung shovel. Perhaps it was best if she spent the day with a book. A few minutes later, she found the room she was looking for.

  Miranda’s description of a full library was more than accurate. Mahogany shelves covered three walls of the spacious room from floor to ceiling. Each wall had its own rolling ladder in order to make every book accessible. Fat-stuffed chairs and sofas offered comfortable seating about the room.

  Rose spent almost a full joyous hour browsing the tomes before deciding which one to read. She finally settled on James Dutfield’s, English Moths and Butterflies. She chose a cozy chair near one of the large windows, and settled in for a long read.

  After her solitary midday meal and another stroll through the house, stopping at the front windows in hopes of seeing the carriage of Burke’s Aunt Eloise roll up to the house. She never did. After a while, Rose returned to the library. An hour later, she laid the book in her lap while she stared out the window.

  She glanced down to take note of the page she was on before closing the book and setting it on the piecrust table beside the chair. After peering out the window for several minutes, she then shut her eyes to imagine the scent of foliage, the feel of the breeze, the warmth of the afternoon sun on her skin. She opened her eyes for a longing gaze at the well-tended property, barred from her by a single piece of glass.

  The view from this side of the house presented ivy-covered acres, interspersed with a generous amount of graceful ash trees, their oval leaflets full and rich. A couple of white, fluffy clouds did nothing to hinder the shine of daylight. The splendid sight drew Rose from her chair to stretch before the window. She no sooner let out her deep breath than Burke strode into her vision.

  Two men accompanied him as they walked across the grounds. They must be some of the guards he’d hired. Burke kept a grim expression as he pointed to different areas of his property as well as the house. The men nodded. One responded by motioning a hand westward as he spoke. The other said something to the small group in response.

  The other two men might have even been mere o
utlines, for all Rose saw of them. Her eyes, and battered heart were too full of Burke.

  Burke carried himself with confidence and authority, and he was so handsome the sight of him made her spirit ache. He wore black trousers and black boots. A white shirt clung to his muscular form. Even from her place at the window, Rose could see the tautness in his stance, his jaw, his stern expression both when he spoke and when he listened.

  The other two men walked away, their heads together in discussion. Burke stood then with his back to the house. His head rotated in a slow scan of the grounds, and then back again. He pivoted in the opposite direction the other men had walked, taking long strides until he was gone from her sight. After quite a few minutes had passed, Rose returned to her book.

  She ate her dinner at a lengthy, white-cloth-covered dining table with a silver branch of candles at her end only, as she was once again having her meal alone. When she finished dining, she returned to the library. Though, her head was aching and she was unsure as to how much longer she might be able to read.

  The servants had been in to light the candles and stoke the fire in the library, as nightfall had taken the sunlight. She crossed the room, lonelier now, with dim corners and the stillness of life at the end of her solitary day. Rose stared out the window. Stingy, as it was but a crescent, the sliver of moon produced almost no light. The pane of glass before which she stood might as well have been facing a wall, for all she could see.

  The day had passed without she and Burke exchanging a single word. She hadn’t even seen him, but for those few minutes from her place at the library window. She glanced around the room where she’d spent most of the day in solitude. Her book sat on the small table where she’d left it. Two steps toward it, she stopped, then pivoted away and exited the room.

  Rose paced the house as servants lit the lamps, most of them finished with their duties for the day and ready to retire. More than one of them inquired as to whether or not she needed anything. All she had to do was ask for something, and she received it almost as soon as she requested it. Everyone here was so nice to her, polite, attentive, always aware of her. Everyone except for Burke.