CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Rose was feeling more excited than usual. Dammit, she was buzzing with nervous energy, so she could hardly stand still. She spent the whole morning pacing the manor, unable to stay in one place for too long lest her body explode!
Where is it? It should be here by now. Why is it taking so long?
It was two days after Rose and Christopher shared supper with Lady Honora, and since that evening, Rose and Christopher’s relationship had improved even further than it had been. It was as if introducing Rose to his aunt and revealing to Rose that part of his life had awakened something inside of her husband.
He was more attentive than usual. He was more willing to spend time with her. He was affectionate, like he had not been before. He was damn handsy, even, and more than once they stole kisses when none of the staff were watching.
Their marriage was coming along in leaps and bounds, and Rose was beyond grateful for how hard Christopher was trying. For that reason, she decided to get him a gift to show him her appreciation.
As for that gift and what it was…
It arrived shortly after midday on the second day following the supper. Rose had made sure to instruct the staff of its arrival, as well as ordering them not to tell Christopher about it. It was to be a secret, and she wanted to be there when she revealed it to him.
“Would you like some help carrying this, Your Grace?” Mr. Carter asked when he handed the gift to Rose.
“No, no,” she assured him as she awkwardly took the gift; it was large and cumbersome, and she needed both hands to carry it. “I am quite fine.”
“But Your Grace –”
“I told you, Mr. Carter, I am quite capable.” She managed to find her balance with the gift. “What I need from you, Mr. Carter, is a warning. When His Grace returns home, you are to come and find me immediately. Is that understood?”
Mr. Carter eyed her with great disapproval. “As you say, Your Grace…”
With the gift held firmly in her hands, Rose hurried through the manor and in the direction of Christopher’s bedroom. Upon reaching it, she teetered in the doorway, suddenly feeling a little indecisive about stepping into his private sanctuary. She knew how much Christopher coveted this section of the house as his own, and she did not want to upset him by breaking his trust.
He will understand, surely? Once he sees what I have done for him.
The decision was made, and she hurried into his room… and then into the orangery built off its side.
Rose was shaking with excitement as she stepped into the orangery. It was a sunny day, and the room was bright and warm as the sun streamed through the glass walls and roof. She looked around and found a table to put the gift down, which she did with much care, not wanting to drop it.
Then she stood back, hands on her hips, and inspected the gift as she tried to decide where to put it.
Her brow furrowed, and she expanded her gaze over the orangery in search of a plot of earth that was freshly soiled and in need of a new flower.
Oh yes, the gift that Rose had bought for Christopher was a flower for his garden. Better than that, it was a rose. Better than that, it was a bushel of roses! She did not know their technical name, only that they were bright pink, yet to bloom fully, and would make a welcome addition to the garden.
I like to think that every time he sees them, he will think of me. Better that every time he does, he smiles, because here there is nobody to watch and judge him for it.
She laughed gaily when she found the perfect spot to plant them, and then she fell to her knees… but paused when she saw the problem at hand. To plant them properly, she needed to dig through the dirt, and to do that, she needed a spade.
“A spade… a spade…” she said to herself as she climbed back to her feet and looked about. “Surely, he has a spade somewhere…”
Rose searched the orangery, frustration mounting as she could not find a spade anywhere. She had assumed one would be hanging from the wall or lying about, but seeing as this was the Duke, a man who did not like mess or things being out of place, she supposed that was too much to hope.
In an act of desperation, she started opening random cupboards, thinking that one must be hanging up inside. That was when she found it… ‘it’ not being a space, or anything close.
What she found was a small book, old and frayed at the edges, with no title on the front, but with each page written on. Her hands trembled as she opened the book, eyes scanning the pages. She tried not to read what was written, and mostly she did a pretty good job. Mostly…
Father says that I am not to speak with her again. He would not tell me why, only that it was for the best. I wish I knew the reason, because I love visiting Aunt Honora and playing in hergarden. What does it matter if I do or do not speak with her maid? Why does he care?
Rose’s brow began to sweat as she turned the pages…
I found Father crying today. When I asked him why, he told me that a dear friend of his had passed away, and he would say nothing more about it, only that he loved this friend dearly and would miss them.
Rose licked her lips, still turning the pages of what she was starting to realize had to be Christopher’s journal from when he was a child.
