by Jane Goodger
“I’d love to. When?”
“Tomorrow. We’ll leave at two and be there in time for supper. We could spend the weekend if you’d like.”
“Tomorrow is perfect, Charlie.”
Chapter 19
You may set it down as a rule, that as you treat the world, so the world will treat you.
—From The Gentlemen’s Book of Etiquette, and Manual of Politeness
Rose felt quite naughty, riding in a carriage with a man who was not her husband, ready to spend a weekend that was certain to include other naughty activities. In all her life, she had never felt like this. Everything was brighter, lovelier, sunnier. Had there ever been a more beautiful day? She was giddy and it was all due to Charlie.
He sat across from her looking stunningly handsome. He’d forgone the pomade and his hair was soft and curling, falling over his forehead and giving him an almost boyish look. They’d taken the train to Greenwich, Connecticut, where a driver met them to bring them to Charlie’s fifty-acre farm along the edge of Long Island Sound. As they drove down the long drive to the home that overlooked the Sound, Rose gasped. She had not been expecting what lay before her, a lovely mansion with a well-groomed and expansive lawn that led to the water.
“Charlie, this isn’t a farm, this is an estate,” she said. Truthfully, she’d expected a small farmhouse dwarfed by a well-stocked barn.
He scratched his head. “I’ve made quite a bit of money, Rose. Not just with my businesses, but also my investments.”
The home rivaled her own back in England, but the architecture was distinctly American, with its clapboard siding, mullioned windows, and covered porch. The air smelled of the sea and freshly cut grass. The barn was a large affair, whitewashed and immaculate. Clearly whoever managed the property did an excellent job, as Charlie had said.
When their carriage pulled up to the home, three footmen immediately appeared to take their luggage, greeting Charlie smartly and deferentially. Rose gave Charlie a sidelong look and he looked down, appearing slightly embarrassed.
“Strange, isn’t it? I still have to pinch myself sometimes,” he said, looking up at the house.
“I must be honest, Charlie, I was expecting something a bit less expansive,” she said on a laugh. “I was actually hoping for a cozy little cottage.”
“And no servants about?” he asked, getting a look in his eyes that she was beginning to recognize as desire.
Her face heated. “Perhaps. Still, this is lovely, Charlie. When can we see your horses?”
“This way, milady,” he said, holding out his arm for her to take. They walked along a gravel drive to the large barn. “There’s a paddock behind the barn. That’s where most of the horses will be this time of day. Poor Abbadon has his own paddock and those mares love to torture him.”
As they walked around the barn, Rose noticed how well kept everything was. She heard a horse whinny and smiled. How she missed being around horses. Having a carriage pulled by a pair wasn’t the same as seeing them prancing around a paddock or riding one, hell-bent, through an endless field. Charlie’s estate would be the perfect place to let a horse stretch its legs.
Rose smiled, seeing five horses in the paddock, lazily nibbling on grass. A roan, a black, and a—
She turned to Charlie, her eyes filling with tears. “Oh, Charlie, I do love you,” she said, placing her hands on each of his cheeks and kissing him soundly, quickly, before turning and running to the fence.
“Moonrise, you old girl, remember me?” she called, her voice cracking with emotion. “Charlie, I can’t believe it. I can’t.” She shook her head, her eyes so tear-filled, all she saw was a gray blob running toward her. Moonrise trotted to the fence, immediately nuzzling Rose’s head and letting out the dearest sound of welcome. Rose, heedless of her skirts and ignoring a gate that was a dozen yards away, climbed the paddock fence so she could greet her old friend properly. Throwing her arms around Moonrise’s neck, Rose buried her head against the side of the mare and cried for a long moment before lifting her head in time to see Charlie quickly wiping away some of his own tears.
“You are the dearest, dearest man,” she said, her voice watery from crying.
After a time, she returned to Charlie’s side, this time using the gate, and grasped his hands. He smiled down at her, looking adorably uncertain, as if he wasn’t quite sure whether she liked his surprise. “Thank you,” she said. “Shall we ride tomorrow? I’d love to see the rest of your estate.”
“Of course.”
They began walking toward the house, the sun now beginning to set, leaving the sky a vivid pink behind the trees. Charlie was silent by her side, which allowed her to think about what he’d done. She and Charlie hadn’t been in touch since the day he’d left her, still ill, all those years ago. He could have brought any horse he wanted from England; there was a gelding Charlie had been especially fond of, but she hadn’t seen that horse in the paddock. Why Moonrise?
Hope surged in her breast, that this had not been an idle gesture. It would have taken weeks to secure Moonrise and ship her to the States.
“How long has she been here, Charlie?”
“About a year now. I sent an agent to England when I read about Mr. Cartwright. I thought having Moonrise would help, but then I just couldn’t bring myself to write to you. I started thinking, my God, Charlie, the woman just lost her husband and you think a horse is going to make it all better? So, I kept her and waited for the right time.” He gave her a sidelong glance. “Are you angry?”
“Angry? How could I possibly be angry, Charlie? That’s the nicest, kindest, sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. Now we must remain friends so I can visit her.”
Every time Rose said something like that, she unwittingly wounded him. It wasn’t her fault; she simply could not think of him as anything other than Charlie, her former head groom who happened to be rich now. He could buy every bit of property in Manhattan and when she looked at him all she would see was Charlie, never Mr. Charles Avery.
Rose stopped still. “Charlie, you don’t let your other lady friends ride Moonrise, do you? I don’t think I would like that.”
He gave her a hard stare. Other women could ride him, but not her horse? “I do not bring women here,” he said succinctly, and started walking more quickly to the house, forcing Rose to run by his side. Then he turned to her again. “I don’t bring women into my house in New York, either. Not since the day I—” He stopped, clenching his jaw.
“You don’t?” she asked in a small voice.
“No. I do not.”
He began walking again and Rose jogged a bit to get in front of him. “Truly?”
“Truly,” he said, stalking by her.
“I’m glad, Charlie,” she called after him. “Very, very glad.”
If he’d walked into a brick wall, he wouldn’t have stopped any faster. Whirling around, he looked at her, her face pinkened by the setting sun, her hair seeming to glow in the ethereal light. “Are you,” he said, letting his voice drop.
She nodded and smiled.
In two steps, he was pulling her against him, kissing her as he’d wanted to do all day. She fit so well against him, molding her soft body against his. “I should like to give you a tour of my home tomorrow. Tonight, I only want you to see my bedroom.”
He grabbed her hand and she followed him, giggling happily as she struggled to keep up with his long strides.
By God, he didn’t know a man could feel this happy. She was glad. Glad! And she had told him that she loved him. Yes, he knew it was only that she’d been so very delighted to see Moonrise, but he was allowing himself to hope that perhaps she really did love him, that perhaps it was the thought of all those supposed women he’d been entertaining that had been holding her back.
As they strode up the steps, a few panicking servants tried to properly greet them, but Charlie waved them away. “I’ll make introductions tomorrow,” he called, pulling Rose up the long, curving staircase. “Tell Mr
s. Trumble to send something up to my rooms in one, no two, hours.”
“Charlie,” Rose hissed, ruining her outrage by laughing. “This is mortifying.”
“Don’t care,” Charlie said as they reached the second-floor landing. He was kissing her before they even reached the room, holding her against him as he kicked the door closed and moved unerringly to his large bed. He picked her up and threw her in the middle, immediately following her down and pulling her atop him.
“They’ll all know precisely what is happening,” she said, burying her head against his neck.
He moved his hands to cup her bum and pull her against his erection. “Not precisely, Mrs. Cartwright.” Her entire body was shaking, and for one horrible moment, he thought she was crying, thought he’d completely misread the situation.
But she was laughing, then kissing his neck, his jaw, his mouth, and then she wasn’t laughing anymore, she was making those glorious sounds of pleasure that he knew he would never get tired of hearing.
Rose lay next to Charlie, the man she loved with all her heart, and trailed her hand through his soft dandelion hair as he nestled his head against one breast. She could not remember ever feeling so happy, so utterly content. So right. She thought back on her life, on how strict and demanding her mother had been, on all those lessons in language and deportment, on sitting straight and stifling laughter, and never being allowed to simply be herself. Unless she was in the stable, unless she was with Charlie.
How could she live without him? She couldn’t. It was that simple. How was it that she’d ever thought she could?
Getting on her knees and playfully batting his hands away as he tried to fondle her breasts, she announced, “I have something very important to say to you, Charlie Avery.”
He lifted one brow in question.
“I was lying there thinking about my life, about how nearly every happy moment I can recall has you in it. Every one. The only time I’m truly who I should be is when I’m with you, Charlie. And I was thinking how awful it would be to live my life not feeling like myself every day and being happy, and I’ve decided that I won’t. I won’t do it, Charlie. And so I’m asking you, sir, if you would be so kind, if you would do me the greatest favor on earth, and become my—”
His hand covered her mouth so quickly, she let out a muffled screech.
“Oh, no, Rose. No, you do not do that to me. You do not deny me the one thing I have been dreaming about since the day you came back from finishing school looking so completely beautiful I nearly died right then and there.” He got up on his knees and faced her; they were both naked, both grinning like fools. “Rose, my love, my heart, I have loved you forever. And I should like to love you for the rest of my life. Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
Rose looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “How do you know what I was going to ask you?”
“Was I wrong?” He looked so utterly happy, Rose couldn’t bear to tease him any longer.
She shook her head and smiled. “What is your answer then? Will you be my husband?”
“Yes, I will,” he said, laughing, drawing her flush against him. “Can we stay like this forever?” He nuzzled her neck, tickling her.
“No. I should like to go to sleep in your arms and wake up at dawn and ride my horse, which my wonderful future husband bought for me just so that I might be happy.” Her eyes filled with tears.
“What a watering pot you’ve become, Rose.”
Rose lay back down and Charlie followed, so they were facing one another. “It’s just that I’m so very, very happy, Charlie. And so very sad that I nearly lost you. I was so foolish.”
“No, Rose,” Charlie said fiercely. “I was always here.”
“I did not realize. But we’ll have a lifetime to make up for it.”
“Your family is going to be outraged.”
Rose pressed her lips against his. “Yes, they will,” she said, closing her eyes, loving the way his mouth felt against hers. “I think that just might be the best part of all.”
“Marcus might kill me.”
“Marcus has enough things to worry about. Did you know his wife died? It was about the same time Daniel was so ill, so I wasn’t able to return home to see him, though I wished I could have.”
“Oh?”
“It was a horrible scandal, far worse than marrying you.”
“My lady, you have wounded me,” Charlie said.
Rose bussed him on his lips as an apology. “Sir, it was completely unintentional, I assure you.” Charlie drew her to him and kissed her, leaving her breathless. “Let me continue my sordid story, please. Then you can kiss me all you like. Eleanor fell out of bed and cracked her head on the side table. It was a freak accident, but that’s not the scandal, of course. She was in bed with another man and quite, quite drunk. Poor Marcus. He was devastated and now he’s living in Whitby, of all places, at an estate none of us has visited since we were children. He walks the moors like some sort of Heathcliff.”
“Heathcliff?”
“He’s a character in a novel I read. Quite romantically tragic, it was. Mother is beside herself and Stephen says Marcus will see no one. He’s become quite the recluse. So you see? Nothing I can do will shock my family.”
“Not even marrying your former head groom?”
“Very well, they will be extremely displeased. But we have an entire ocean between us, so I hardly care.”
“Is your story done?” he asked, kissing her softly.
“Indeed it is.”
“Then I plan to kiss you all I please.”
The next morning, they woke early, just as Rose wished, and went for a ride around the property. It was a lovely spot, with wooded trails and a large field where she let Moonrise gallop with abandon. Charlie loved watching her, the pure joy on her face, and felt his heart swell to near bursting. Never in his life had he felt this euphoria, a joy that came with knowing the woman he loved with all his being, loved him.
Rose brought Moonrise beside his gelding, a handsome boy he’d named Fleck due to the light spots across his nose. “I wish we could stop time and stay here forever,” Rose said, as she looked out onto the Sound. “It’s so lovely, Charlie.”
“The minute I saw the farm, I knew I had to have it. At the time, it was very dear and I was hardly able to afford it. My banker thought it was a rather foolish investment, but I’m glad it’s mine. Ours, soon, love.”
Rose grinned. “Ours. That’s a lovely word.”
Charlie looked at Rose as she gazed out over the water. She was so damned lovely, and she was finally his. Their children would grow up on this land, would learn to ride and swim. By God, he couldn’t wait for the future and all it promised.
As if reading his mind, Rose turned to him. “I just realized something, Charlie. We’re going to have children.”
“I do hope so.”
“I didn’t think I would. I . . .”
“You’re not going to turn into a watering pot again, are you?” He never felt as helpless as when Rose was crying and he couldn’t yet tell the difference between happy tears and sad tears.
“No,” she said, smiling, but her eyes were tear-filled.
They spent the afternoon exploring his estate and the evening making love. At odd times, Charlie would blink hard, just to make certain he wasn’t in some sort of wonderful dream. How could it be that Rose was beside him in his bed, as he’d dreamed so many lonely nights, as he’d pictured her with her husband. She would be his forever and that thought made his heart swell in his chest to the point of pain.
At around midnight that night, Rose sat up after briefly sleeping, her hair tumbling around her shoulders, looking so lovely it was all Charlie could do not to drag her back down and make love to her again. He was becoming aroused just looking at her, something she noticed with a smile.
“Oh, no, sir, I am famished. I’m going down to your kitchen for some food.” She hopped out of bed, screaming a bit when he tri
ed to draw her back.
“I’m too tired to follow you,” he said, grinning at her as she wrapped herself up in his dressing gown. It was far too big for her and she looked absolutely adorable. He watched as she lit a small lamp, the light hitting her lovely face. He was daft over her, he realized, and grinned like a fool.
“I’ll bring you back something,” she said, then leaned over and kissed him, a kiss that lasted far longer than Rose intended, no doubt. Finally, she withdrew, giving him a sleepy smile.
“Food, sir.”
Rose headed down to the kitchens, already familiar with Charlie’s home, her bare feet making small slapping sounds on the smooth wood floors. Holding the small lamp to light her way, she moved quietly, not wanting to wake any of the staff, and headed directly to the pantry. His kitchen was large and airy, with an enormous preparation table in the center. It was well equipped and modern, and Rose had to smile when she thought about how her own cook, Mrs. Faring, would sell her soul for such a kitchen. Attached to the far end of the table was one of Charlie’s famous can openers, which Rose had promised Mrs. Faring she would purchase for her after the cook mentioned that not having such a gadget put her at a disadvantage to other cooks in the neighborhood.
She went over to the opener, took the handle, and gave it a whirl, smiling at how smoothly the thing moved. Charlie was so very clever, she thought, watching the gears move effortlessly against one another. That’s when she noticed the flower decorating the base, and her heart stilled. Poppies. Her favorite flowers were beautifully embossed on this utilitarian piece, making it almost lovely.
She stared at that decoration a long moment, her throat working, her eyes burning. Charlie had told her he loved her, had loved her for years, but she supposed she hadn’t recognized the reality of those words until she saw those poppies. He’d loved her even after she’d married Daniel, even after he must have known she was lost to him forever. He’d decorated his kitchen tools with a poppy, her favorite flower, and the heartbreaking pain of that forced a sob from her throat.
