“We are being serious,” Alistair said. “We have always said that you would do well to have another by your side. Family is our meaning.” He looked pointedly at Christopher, his meaning clear.
Christopher did not have a family. At least not one that he was close to. His mother had died when he was six. His father had died when he was a teenager. His only living relative was his aunt, and Christopher’s reasons for not wanting to see her were directly related to his desire to avoid drawing attention to himself.
He sensed that if he did see his aunt, that would raise a whole host of problems, and then his feelings for Rose would be the least of his concerns.
“Perhaps,” he offered his friends, not willing to commit to the idea.
“Think on it,” Alistair said, again giving his shoulder a squeeze. “And just know, it is not such a bad thing to care for your wife. If anything, we encourage it.”
“If only to see you smile once in a while,” Theodore joined in. “I can count on two hands how many times you have and, honestly, if it weren’t for how much of a sop Alistair was, I’d have no choice but to worry about your mental health, certain something was wrong with you.”
“I’ll pretend I did not hear that,” Alistair said dryly.
“I was not whispering,” Theodore shot back.
“I will think about it,” Christopher said. “But right now, if it is not too much to ask, I would very much like to shoot something.” Christopher lifted his rifle and gripped it with both hands. “Shall we?”
“Ah, that is more like it!” Theodore crooned.
Christopher did not feel like hunting. But it was better than speaking to his friends about his feelings, and his marriage, and pretty much anything. So, together, the three men waded deeper into the forest as Christopher did his best not to recall time and time again the events of last evening.
Easier said than done. Thoughts of his wife plagued him constantly, and when they did, a warmth spread through his body, and an eagerness to return home and see her stabbed at him.
He was changing. He could not stop it. And that, Christopher knew too well, was nowhere near as good as it sounded. Not by half.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Rose was sitting in the back garden, perched under a large tree for shade, and reading a book when she saw Mr. Carter coming for her. He waddled down the steps and started along the footpath, indicating to Rose with a wave of his arm that she was his destination.
In his right hand, Rose saw an envelope.
“Mr. Carter.” She closed her book and smiled pleasantly. “Do not tell me,” She pretended to look suspicious. “That letter in your hand is for me?”
“I do, Your Grace.” He held out the letter. “It came just now, via a courier.”
“Did the courier say from whom?”
“He did not, Your Grace. Nor is there any indication of the sender attached to the letter. The only instruction given was that it be for your eyes only.”
Rose frowned as she eyed the letter in Mr. Carter’s hand. Receiving a letter was not such a strange thing, but the secrecy certainly was. Her heart rate increased slightly, as if from worry, and she took the letter from the Head of Staff.
Mr. Carter watched her closely as she opened it. “Anything to raise concern?”
“Let me just…” Rose unfurled the letter, saw immediately who it was from… and did her best to hide the alarm that surely flashed across her face. “Oh, it is just from my father,” she lied.
“Your father?”
“Following up on some work we were doing the last time I saw him.” She smiled, even as her pulse rate ripped through her. “Thank you, Mr. Carter. That will be all.”
Mr. Carter studied her with extreme skepticism. She continued to smile, even fluttering her eyelashes, because she needed him to buy the lie and dismiss himself before she read the letter… one that was certainly not from her father.
“As you say.” He offered a short bow. “If you need anything…”
“I will be sure to send for you,” she finished for him.
Rose watched Mr. Carter make his way across the garden and back inside the house. And she continued to watch, sure to give it a few minutes after the fact, paired that with a quick glance around the garden to make certain that she was alone.
Only when she was certain that there was nobody nearby did she unfurl the letter and read it in full.
