Page 133 of Immortal Rose

“I got tangled in the rosebushes,” I lied, trying to ease the deep furrow of his brow. “Nothing to be alarmed about, I assure you.”

“I’m sure you’ve much to talk about,” Vernon said, giving me a bow. “Until next time, my lady.”

The words my lady seemed harsher to my ears than the door shutting behind the courtier. For a long moment, Oliver only stared at me, then his gaze drifted down to my left hand—to the blue stone ring. His entire bearing tensed.

“So . . . it is true,” he said softly, still clearly in some disbelief. “All of it.”

Guilt choked me at his expression. The hurt and confusion. I’d always known his . . . regard for me, but until that moment, I hadn’t known how deeply it ran.

“Not all of it,” I said. “I certainly didn’t poison the King.”

He absorbed this quickly with a passionate, defensive “Of course you didn’t. You aren’t capable of harming anyone.”

How I wished that were true. Clearly, I’d harmed him. His entire demeanor was that of a man crushed beneath a bootheel. By the look of his eyes, it would have been less painful if I’d simply snatched the heart from his chest and pulverized it.

“Let’s speak in private, shall we?” I said, not wanting the entire house to bear witness to the misery of the moment. Oliver dutifully followed me back to the still room, the silence thinning the air between us.

God, this was awful. I took up my usual place on the other side of the worktable, struggling to find something to say. Oliver’s essence had shifted to uncertainty, something I’d never had from him before.

“Viola . . . what’s happened?” he asked. “Why have you married him?”

My lungs felt as though they were filled with ash. “I didn’t intend for you to find out this way. I wanted to explain the situation to you, so you’d understand.”

“Did you refuse my proposal because you’d had one from him?” Oliver pressed. “Why in the name of God would he force you into this?”

I shook my head. “He didn’t force me. He did it to keep me from being arrested—this was the only way to prevent it.”

“The only way,” Oliver echoed with a humorless laugh. “To make you do the one thing you swore you didn’t want. This”—he gestured to the still room, to the supplies and oils—“this was your dream. I’m glad to see some part of it has been realized, despite . . .”

“Trying circumstances?” I offered.

Oliver let out a shaky breath, bowing his head for a moment. His hair curled with the moisture in the air, and he seemed so young to me then. So lost.

Just when I was sure I might tear myself apart searching for something to say, Oliver, as always, came to my rescue.

“Jasmine?” he asked, sounding like his usual self. He nodded toward the basket of wilted flowers. “Was there something wrong with the oil?”

“See for yourself,” I said, rummaging through the case until I found the bottle. Oliver hesitated but took it. He only had to partially open it before his nose wrinkled in disgust.

“It’s gone off,” he said, looking contrite. “Blast. I should have opened it before I gave it to you, but I trusted the supplier.”

“Your nose has become quite good,” I said. “No one else could pick up on the problem.”

“Well,” he said softly, “I did have a wonderful teacher. You opened my senses and a world of possibility to me.”

“You’ve a natural talent for blending perfume,” I told him. “The moment I’m in control of the House of Rosebourne, I will bring you into the business. Yours is the only other nose I trust.”

Oliver smiled. “You’d really do that?”

“Of course.” Anything to get him away from his terrible father and his bullying brothers.

After a moment he lifted his hat, brushing his hair back with his hand. It was a nervous habit he’d had for as long as I’d known him.

I nodded to his bruised eye. “Now, you tell me what’s happened.”

“Father was . . . displeased with me,” he explained, swallowing. I knew then exactly what Mr. Radcliffe had been displeased about.

“Because of me,” I said quietly. “Because he realized I was the one you were trying to help.”