It all makes sense now, and yet I am not sure how I feel about it. Why did they not tell me sooner? Why all the secrecy? And why did they not give me a chance to get to know her better? If they had never told me, it would have been for the better…
Rose turned another page, from which a loose piece of parchment fell to the ground. She gasped and scooped it up, unfurling the folded parchment on instinct. It was a simple drawing, done in pencil, of a young woman and a young boy standing together in what had to be Lady Honora’s garden.
Rose looked at the drawing, her brow furrowing… her heart racing… her fingers trembling… the realization dawning on her, at which point she gasped and nearly stumbled back into a row of orchids.
The boy in the drawing was undoubtedly Christopher, and he looked roughly the same age as he had in the portrait at Lady Honora’s home. But the woman was one whom she did not recognize. Rose thought it must have been his mother, for the way she stood with her arms around him, and how happy she looked, suggested as much.
Only, she didn’t look at all like the woman from the portrait. This woman was beautiful, with sharp features, bright eyes, and a smile that was like the sun on a summer’s day.
Rose bit into her lip as she looked closer… something wasn’t quite right… something about the woman seemed familiar, even if she could not say what…
“Oh my god…” Rose gasped when she finally understood.
It all came together for her suddenly. The secrecy surrounding Christopher’s childhood. The reason he acted the way he did. Why did he not want to marry, why was he so careful not to draw attention to himself, and the true meaning of this garden, and why it was so important to him.
Rose’s heart was racing. She struggled to comprehend what all of this meant. She thought to put the journal away and pretend that she never found it, while also wanting to go to Christoper and ask him if it was true.
But what if it is true? Then what? It’s no wonder Christopher was so slow to trust me…
“What are you doing in here?” The voice was like a hammer smashing against a pane of glass. Rose gasped and looked up, and she nearly cried out in surprise to see Christoper standing in the doorway. “Rose…” His expression was typically stern, and it grew more so when he saw the journal in her hand and when he saw the drawing that she was holding. “Where did you get that?”
“I… I…” She didn’t know what to say. “I…”
“I can explain,” he said, taking a step into the room. He looked worried, damn near terrified, as if fearful that the ceiling might suddenly collapse and bury them both. “Please, allow me to explain.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“Explain?” Rose smiled awkwardly. “There is nothing… I was just…” She then laughed, which was even more awkward than her smile. “I bought you roses. See…” She indicated to the bench where a pot of roses sat.
“You were never meant to see that,” Christopher said calmly.
“I didn’t see anything.”
“I never meant for you to find out.”
“Find out…” More awkward laughter. “I don’t know what… do you like the roses?”
Christopher was caught in two worlds, and he had no idea which one he preferred.
The first was to play along with Rose’s attempted deflection. She had either learned his secret or was starting to piece it together, but knew that this was one secret she would be better off not knowing. Thus, she was happy to pretend that she did not understand, giving Christopher a way out.
The other world, that which was crashing around him, was the truth. A truth that he had hidden for years. A truth that would ruin him, if it were ever learned by the wrong people. A truth that, he now realized, might just break his marriage.
“You should not have come back here.” Christopher crossed the room to where the drawing had fallen to the ground. He bent down and picked it up before standing back on his feet. “You should have known better.”
“I… I wanted to do something nice for you.”
“And I appreciate it.” Next, Christopher walked to where Rose was standing, and he gently took his journal from her. Still without looking at her directly, he tucked the drawing back inside the journal and closed it. “But that does not change what you have done.”
“Done? I…” She swallowed. “I bought you roses, Christopher. That is all. I wanted to do something nice for you.”
“It is more than that.”
“I did not see anything,” she added, desperation now coloring her tone. “I don’t know anything.”
“That is clearly a lie.”
“I –”
