It was just a single evening. A singular instance of Rose and her husband enjoying one another’s company. But it felt like more than that. It felt to Rose like something was changing between them; changes that were much needed.
What would happen next? Where would they go from here? She had no idea, but she was excited to find out. In the grand scheme of this marriage and all it had been so far, that was huge.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“This is really too much,” Rose said as she stepped into the room. “Your Grace –”
“Christopher,” he cut her off. He was sitting on a couch, turned to face the curtain from behind which she had just been changing into her gown.
“Right.” She smiled nervously, then looked away because the way he was watching her was rather intense. “Christopher. This is too much –”
“Nonsense,” he cut her off again, making sure to wear a pleasant smile as he did. “As I have said, you are my wife, and you deserve the very best.”
“And as I said, I already have plenty of gowns.”
“And as I said, they are not good enough. Not for you. Not for my wife.”
Rose frowned at her husband, caught in two states of mind.
The first was confusion, a complete lack of understanding in regard to what was happening right now. How kind he was being. How generous. And most of all, how attentive. He had been this way since they entered the small modiste to have Rose fitted for a new wardrobe, acting in a way that most would consider to be that of a perfect husband.
The other state of mind was a prickling awareness that things were not quite as they seemed. Yes, her husband was treating her well. And yes, he was finally starting to show another side of himself that was previously hidden. But there was an underlying falsity to it.
And this falsity, or the reason for it, swept into the room.
“Oh, you look wonderful!” The modiste was an elderly woman with a bent back and a crooked nose. Her skin sagged, her eyes were too small for her face, while her smile was too large. “Did I not say? Green is your color, Your Grace.”
“I could not agree more,” Christopher said.
“It does look nice.” Rose turned to find a mirror, and even she was not such a wet blanket that she couldn’t admit such a thing.
“Nice, she says! The modiste clicked her tongue.
“She is just being modest,” he said with a chuckle. “Although the word I would use is beautiful.”
Rose eyed her husband again, waiting for him to realize what he said and look away or perhaps cough awkwardly to cover it. But he saw her watching and smiled at her, a look on his face that would suggest this was a common occurrence, and there was nothing out of the ordinary to consider.
He is trying, and for that I am grateful. But I know the reason for it, and I just wish… I wish he were doing it because he wanted to, not because he thinks he must.
It was a small thing, and Rose knew that she was being picky and that she would do better to be grateful that things between her and her husband were going so well because they were, ever since he found her in the library, and she nearly collapsed onto the floor, Rose could feel the changes occurring between them.
In ordinary circumstances, she would be happy for it. Indeed, last evening in particular, their supper was easy and carefree and a huge step forward in their relationship.
Today, however, she wasn’t so sure.
“The green,” the Duke said with another nod. “Although I do think that the bodice can be a little tighter.”
“Oh, yes,” the modiste agreed.
“And a slightly higher neckline?” he added. “Sleeves, perhaps?”
“Certainly, certainly.”
“Rose,” he continued. “Is there anything else?” He looked at her expectantly.
Rose’s frown deepened, still unsure how she was meant to respond.
She turned back and looked at herself in the dress, willing to admit that it was a truly beautiful gown. Dark green, golden hems, a floral pattern that grew from the skirt and wrapped her body like vines growing over a tree. It went well with her dark hair and eyes, her light skin, and, for once, her broad shoulders didn’t look nearly so wide
