Chapter Fourteen
“Rose?”
Rose had been dipping her cloth in cool water at the wash basin, but spun at the quavering voice. She nearly stumbled crossing the length of their room.
“Papa.” She dropped to her knees beside the bed. “You’re awake.”
His eyes were unfocused, moving erratically around the small room. “Where are we? This is not Marshalsea.”
Rose smiled weakly. “No, it is not. We are at an inn.”
Her eyes traced over his familiar features—long nose, wrinkled skin, his dark hair beginning to grey—and finally allowed relief to flow inside her. The doctor had not held much hope for his survival, but Rose had not allowed herself to think that way. After three days of fevers and incoherent mumblings, he had finally awoken.
He struggled to sit up in bed and she helped him, propping pillows behind his back. When he was settled once more, he let his eyes rest on her, searching her face.
“How?” was all he managed. “How are you here?”
“Lord Norcliffe,” she said softly. “He forgave your debts.”
His mouth parted. “The baron? But why?”
His words brought such memories to Rose’s mind that she had to look away, not wanting to share the emotions they brought with them. “Did you receive my letter about finding employment with him?”
“Yes.” He furrowed his brow. “But you can’t have paid it back already.”
She took a deep breath. “I hadn’t, not yet. This was an act of kindness on his part.”
“Kindness?” He could not have sounded more confused. “Lord Norcliffe is not known for his mercy.”
“I daresay he shall be, after all this.”
“I—” His voice cut out and he dropped his eyes, heaving a deep breath. He reached out a shaky hand and took hers. “Oh my child, I wish I could tell you how sorry I am, for betraying your trust, for taking away your future.”
Rose shook her head. “Papa, you needn’t worry about apologies. You need to rest.”
He gave a little cough, waving away her concern. “I cannot rest until I know you forgive me. I have tormented myself these past weeks, believing you might not still love a foolish old man.”
Rose closed her eyes and pressed his hand to her lips. “Papa, that is not possible. I shall always love you.”
He gave a frail smile. “What did I do to deserve such a daughter?”
“You raised me to be who I am,” Rose whispered. “You have made mistakes, but that is not something I would ever allow to come between us.”
He rested his head against his pillow. “If only your mother could see the woman you’ve become.”
Rose smiled against the tears and could not find the words to say what she was feeling. She remained silent, grasping his hands firmly.
“How shall we ever repay Lord Norcliffe for his kindness?” he asked. “I still cannot imagine why he would do such a thing.”
“There is more to him than you think,” she said. “He is not so terrible as everyone claims.” She hesitated. “But I have been thinking. I hate to take advantage of his charity, not when having you out of that awful prison is more than enough.”
“You’re not thinking of returning to work there?” He squinted at her.
“That is precisely what I am thinking,” she said. “And you shall not sway me from my course. Once you are well, I am hopeful you might find a position nearby while I return to Norcliffe House to pay our debt—”
“My debt,” he murmured, but she ignored him.
“—and once it is paid, we can start again.” She exhaled. “It will not be easy, but it is possible.”
He squeezed her hand. “I hate to see you turn to service, when I could provide for you.”
She shook her head. “I know, Papa, but it is something I must do. Please, let me do it.”
He watched her for a long moment, his eyes doubtful as if he knew there was more of her heart involved than she was admitting. But he finally nodded. “Of course. If that is your wish, then who am I to keep you from it?”
* * *
Henry did not think of himself as the brooding type. He could be cross, yes, rude even, but he did not generally take to moping. He considered it to be a waste of time.
But he had no other way to describe his mood since Rose had left a fortnight before. How had one woman come to rule over his emotions so entirely in such a short amount of time? And now she was gone, with no reason to return.
Perhaps she might come back for you, a small voice whispered in his mind as he sat at his desk. But why would she, with her father’s debt forgiven? After all, he had never offered for her, nor could he have while her father’s life was in danger. He’d had word from Marshalsea that Mr. Sinclair was recovering well at a nearby inn, but had yet to hear from Rose herself.
The door opened and Frampton stepped inside, wearing perhaps the oddest look he’d ever seen on the man’s face before. His eyes were alive, his lips twitching with a barely concealed smile.
“What is it, Frampton?” Henry spoke a bit shortly, irritated to have been interrupted amidst his brooding.
“You have a visitor, my lord.” Frampton’s voice fairly danced with delight.
Henry grunted. “You know I do not accept visitors.”
“I took it upon myself to allow this one,” he said.
Henry narrowed his gaze, but before he could argue, Frampton had disappeared with a bow, leaving the door open. Then a figure, a lovely and familiar figure, stepped into the doorway.
Henry gaped at Rose as he sat frozen, hand gripping his pen. She had come back. He drank in the sight of her: dark hair peeking from beneath her bonnet, her brown eyes watching with trepidation as she moved further into the room and dropped into a curtsy.
“R-rose,” he stammered, then cleared his throat before attempting again. He was a baron, for heaven’s sake, and he ought to sound like one. He set down his pen and stood from his desk. “I did not know you had returned.”
“Yes, sir,” she said with a hesitant smile. “Papa is recovering well and looking for a position.”
“I’m glad.” His words sounded terribly forced, but there was nothing for it. “And you are well?”
“I am.” Her smile faded, and her expression turned serious. “I wish to thank you for the mirror. I will treasure it always.”
He nodded, unable to think of anything to say. She had come back.
She went on. “And I wish to express my gratitude for your generosity to my father. I hope you know I never expected it of you, considering our friendship—”
“No, I—” He tried to speak, but she pressed on.
“—and I wanted you to know that even though you have forgiven his debts, I am still determined to work until they are paid in full. If the maid’s position has not yet been filled, I am more than willing—”
“You cannot be serious,” he interrupted, staring at her.
She blinked. “Oh. I see. There is no position anymore. Well, then I shall find work in town, and make monthly payments—”
“Rose,” he said firmly. “Please, stop.”
She pressed her lips together, clearly not pleased at having to cease her talking. He walked toward her slowly, studying her intently. She truly thought to simply take up her old post, work in his house again as a maid?
He shook his head as he came to a stop before her. “Rose, you are the single most stubborn and captivating woman I have ever met, but if you think I will allow you to work one more minute in my house, you must also be mad.”
Her eyes widened. “But I—”
He placed a finger on her lips. “I am in earnest, Rose. Let me speak.”
He brushed the backs of his fingers along her cheek, as he’d imagined doing dozens of times during their mornings together. She shivered under his touch.
“Rose,” he said quietly. “For the past two years, I have been trapped in a shadow of anger and regret. I thought I wanted a life of quiet solitude. But you’ve shown me that I can have so much more than I ever imagined. I can have peace and laughter. Even love.”
She was staring at him, but he did not hesitate. He moved closer, taking both her hands and raising them. “So I must ask you, Rose Sinclair, if you will share my life with me. Because there is nothing I want more than you as my wife.”
Her mouth parted, and then she closed it again, pressing her lips together. Her eyes filled with tears. “Henry,” she whispered. “Do you mean it?”
He could stop himself no longer. He pulled her to him and his lips found hers, soft and sweet. He kissed her gently at first; she seemed so fragile in his arms, so breakable. But then her hands discovered his cravat and she tugged him closer, igniting a fire deep within him. She kissed him back, with all the vitality he’d come to expect from her. He pressed his hands against her back, her warmth and scent intoxicating, and she leaned into him, her small frame molding perfectly against his.
When at last they broke apart, she stared up at him with such tenderness that his heart gave a stumbled. He’d never imagined someone might look at him that way, let alone someone he loved with all that he was.
“Is that a yes?” He pressed his forehead against hers.
“It is,” she said with a smile, her voice a bit breathless. “On one condition.”
He pulled away slightly to see her clearer. “And what would that be?”
Her eyes lit with mischief. “You must promise to read Robinson Crusoe.”
He gave a laugh, throwing back his head. “That, my dear,” he said, still chuckling, “is an arrangement I am all too willing to make.”
Then he kissed her again, his hands cradling her face. Henry finally realized what emotion had reflected in her eyes, because he felt the same one burning in his chest.
Happiness.
And now that he had it, he would never, ever let it go.
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