Cherrybrook Rose (19 page)

‘Now then,' he leered, his free hand wiping the saliva that dribbled from the corner of his mouth before he ripped open the front of her nightgown. ‘Hmm! Let me see what I've been missing!'

Rose could have screamed with revulsion. She dug her heels desperately into the bed and pushed upwards in an effort to lever him from her, but he was too heavy. He sniggered again, taking her retaliation as play-acting as his eyes devoured her nakedness. She stared up at him, every taut muscle ready to fight, but it was futile. She was trapped. He was her husband, who not so long ago she had thought she loved, and he was doing nothing wrong.

But at that moment, Rose wished that she could die.

‘R
ose, dear, 'tis your turn.'

She turned her head from gazing absently out of the drawing-room window and smiled at Henry before forcing her attention on her hand of cards. It was mid-September, but chilly enough to have a welcoming blaze in the fireplace. The glorious fortnight in June had rapidly deteriorated to a poor summer, and now the rain was coming down in stair rods and streaming against the windowpanes. It was only half-past three in the afternoon, but the lamps had already been lit against the gloom.

‘Oh, is that the best you can do, sweetheart?' Charles asked fondly, and clamping the smouldering cigar between his teeth, laid his winning flush on the table.

‘You lucky devil, Charles!' Henry chuckled.

‘And my poor Rose has lost every game! Never mind, my love. Perhaps you'll win the next one.'

‘No, I don't think I'll play any more, if you don't mind.' She smiled wanly at her husband as she stood up. ‘I think I'd rather get back to my book.'

‘Well, if you're sure, my darling.'

Rose settled herself in the window seat, wedging a plush cushion behind her back.
Pride and Prejudice
. One of her favourite books, but just now, even the exploits of Mr Darcy and Miss Elizabeth Bennet held no interest for her. Within five minutes, she had let the book slip on to her lap, and she leaned her forehead against the cold glass of the window. Her heart was heavy, leaden, her mind wandering and preoccupied. Her stifled spirit was out there, flying across the wild moorland, the wind in her head and driving the misery from her soul. She could feel Gospel's muscles rippling beneath her, sharing the infinite freedom of the open skies and the endless miles of the savage beauty of Dartmoor. A veil of mist dimmed the lavender clarity of her eyes, and her shoulders sagged with emptiness. The irrevocable chasm in her life was deepening by the day, and there was nothing she could do about it. Beyond tears. Beyond hope.

‘I'm going for a ride.'

It was as if someone else had spoken the words, had leapt determinedly from the window seat and stood in defiant pose in the centre of the vast rug that covered much of the polished oak floorboards. Three pairs of eyes were riveted on her, Florrie's plump face white and aghast.

‘You'm not going out in this, Rose!' she cried, forgetting the ‘Miss' she was supposed to employ in Charles's presence. But even as she spoke, she knew her protest would fall on deaf ears.

Rose was already out of the door and halfway across the hall to the stairs before Charles caught up with her. He was still holding his cigar in one hand, and with the other, he grasped her by the arm.

‘You can't possibly go out in this weather, my love. You'd be soaked to the skin in no time, and catch your death. If you don't want to play cards, is there anything else you'd rather do?' he asked earnestly. ‘Shall I order Cook to make us a pot of tea?'

Rose blinked at him, and the absurdity of it drew a bitter laugh from her throat. She was perfectly capable of making some tea herself, of cooking the meal, black-leading the range. But since the day she had married Charles, she hadn't been allowed to
do
anything. Charles saw to it that Cook and Patsy, the housemaid, attended her every need, wanting her to live the pampered life of a lady, but it just wasn't
her
. And though he treated her like a princess during the day, in their bed she was no more than a human marionette to satisfy his carnal lust.

‘If I don't go out, I think I shall go mad!' she told him, flames of crimson burning in her cheeks. ‘And if you're not man enough to brave a spot of rain, then I shall go alone, just like I always used to!'

They glared at each other, eyes locked in raging conflict, Charles looking as if he might explode and Rose's chin lifted high with audacity.

‘But you're a married woman now,' Charles hissed, glancing over his shoulder as if he were afraid they would be overheard. ‘And I won't have my wife gallivanting all over the place looking like some rain-drenched witch for everyone to see.'

‘Huh!' she snorted, her eyes glinting a livid indigo. ‘And who's going to stop me, tell me that? How many of your London dignitaries am I likely to meet, anyway?'

Charles inflated his chest. ‘Rose, I forbid you to go!'

‘Forbid me?'

‘Yes! And it'll hardly do Gospel any good.'

Rose stared at him, her lips knotted as anger pumped through her veins. But the mention of Gospel's welfare pulled her up short. She hated to admit it, but perhaps Charles was right.

She lowered her eyes. ‘All right. But I
am
going out to the stables for a while. You won't object to
that
, I take it?'

‘No, of course not.' His face slackened with relief as he turned away, drawing deeply on the cigar as he went.

‘And Charles, please don't smoke in the same room as my father. I've asked you before. You know his lungs were weakened in the accident.'

‘I'm so sorry, my dear. I'd forgotten. I'll finish my cigar in the study. I've some business matters to catch up on anyway.' And so saying, he disappeared into the study, closing the door quietly behind him.

Rose sank down on the bottom stair with a weary sigh. She didn't like arguing. But lately she seemed to be doing just that more and more. It was just that Charles didn't want her to do anything without him, and it was driving her insane. The carefree independence Henry had always allowed her had been taken from her overnight, but if she had to obey her husband, she wasn't going to give in without a fight!

She went out through the back door, shrugging into her voluminous waterproof that hung in the small boot room and changing into her riding boots, as she could hardly go out to the stables in the soft kid shoes she was wearing. Fortunately she was dressed in a modest outfit with a russet skirt that would not spoil, though she picked up the hem as she ran across the stable yard, dodging the puddles and bending her head so that the driving rain simply ran down the back of the waterproof hood. Gospel occupied the loose box at the far end in the corner because, with the dog-leg, it was by far the largest. Inside, it was warm and dry, the fragrance of clean straw fresh and welcoming, for it had to be said that Ned Cornish cared well for the three horses in his charge, Charles having acquired, as promised, a wagonette converted for Henry's use and a pretty roan called Merlin to pull it. The work was hardly onerous, but Ned was diligent enough. He would hardly want to lose his comfortable position, now, would he? The only task he was apt to skimp on was grooming Gospel, since the highly strung animal retained the habit of sinking his teeth into anyone he disliked, Ned in particular. So Rose picked up the brush and began to attend to Gospel's tail, as Ned had been on the receiving end of a well-aimed hoof twice in the last week. Gospel whinnied softly, turning his long, sleek neck to nudge her shoulder. She laughed, her heart soothed as she kissed his soft muzzle, and by the time she had untangled the long, coarse hair and the rest of his coat was gleaming, she felt at peace once more and ready to face the fray.

She wreathed her arms about his neck, her cheek pressed against his strong muscled shoulder and whispering into his warm flesh before she braved the weather again, but not without first slipping into the adjacent box where Tansy, the chestnut mare, was lying contentedly on the thick carpet of straw. Rose knelt down, stroking the docile creature's pretty head and alert ears.

‘Happy as a lark, that one, not like that brute o' yourn.'

Rose looked up. Ned was leaning indolently over the lower half of the stable door, supposedly oblivious to the continuing downpour and chewing on a blade of straw.

‘'Tis not my fault Gospel doesn't like you,' Rose answered, and went back to running her fingers through Tansy's mane.

‘And what about you, Rose? Do
you
like me?'

Rose shrugged as Ned came in and crouched down beside her. They remained shoulder to shoulder in silent admiration of Tansy's smooth, bright coat for some moments before Rose glanced at him askance. ‘'Tis a strange question when I've known you for years,' she finally answered.

‘I like
you
, Rose. Very much.' Ned's voice was suddenly very close to her ear and his hand closed over hers as she stroked Tansy's hairy neck. ‘'Tis why I wanted this job. To be near you. Even if it means being bitten by that nag next door. You wouldn't mind now, would you? Just one little kiss? I mean, now that you know what 'tis like to be bedded?'

Rose was so shocked, she didn't have time to regain her senses and come back with a scathing retort before Ned turned to her, grasping the back of her head and kissing her so fiercely he lost his balance and fell on top of her.

‘Get off me, you great lummox!'

To her surprise, she found she wasn't particularly vexed or afraid, but rather she was irritated by his behaviour, for she knew how to handle a numbskull such as Ned Cornish, especially now she knew what it was men were after! She managed to free one hand, and before Ned could dodge it, she slapped her palm across his face with a resounding wallop. He pulled back sharply, his eyes flashing with anger.

‘That weren't fair, Rose!' he protested. ‘I've given up a lot for you! All they maids I used to bring back to the stables at the Albert Inn. I cas'n bring no one back yere! Just one little favour?'

His gaze dipped meaningfully towards her breasts, and with a cry of indignation, she pushed him aside and scrambled to her feet. ‘How dare you, Ned Cornish!' she snarled, glowering down at him with intense loathing. ‘I've a good mind to tell my husband, and you'll be out on your ear!'

‘Oh, yes?' Ned sneered, unconsciously nursing the reddening fingermarks on his cheek. ‘And what if I tells him that
you
were making up to
us
? He might just believe us, seeing as he seems to be the jealous type, and
you
might be the one to come off worse, like!'

Rose's head jerked backwards, her eyes blazing and her chest heaving with resentment. Ned Cornish, towards whom she had never felt anything but indifference, was shrewder than she had given him credit for. Fury bubbled inside her now and it cost her dearly to swallow it down. For he could have a point.

‘All right,' she conceded, though it tore at her heart to do so. ‘But I'll remember this!'

And so shall I! Ned thought venomously to himself.

Rose spun on her heel and charged out of the loose box in a maddened temper. She cursed herself, for the torrential rain at once lashed into her face, trickling down her neck, and, too late, she pulled the hood of her waterproof over her head as she scurried across the stable yard.

It was then that she saw him, a bedraggled, sodden vision of dripping grey fur, short black snout and huge doleful eyes that gazed beggingly at her as he limped through the puddles. Rose peered at him through the rain, mesmerized as he came and sat at her feet, his tail sweeping the wet cobbles as he whined at her beseechingly.

‘Oh, you poor thing! Where on earth did you come from?' And she scooped the pathetic mongrel into her arms and carried him inside.

‘You don't expect us to keep that mangy creature, do you?' Charles asked with mild amusement as he climbed into bed that night.

‘I assume you mean Scraggles?' Rose replied indignantly. She was sitting up, hugging her knees beneath the blankets, and for once the nightly ritual was far from her thoughts. ‘And he isn't mangy. He was cold and wet and hungry, and one of his paw pads was badly cut, but if we can't find his owners, what else can we do but keep him? Oh,
please
, Charles? He and Amber really seem to like each other.'

Charles shook his head with a chuckle. ‘Well, if we really can't find who he belongs to—'

‘Oh, thank you, Charles!'

For the first time since their marriage, she snuggled up beside him as he settled into bed, her head resting on his shoulder. The disruption caused by the unexpected arrival of the endearing stray dog had thrown the entire household into turmoil, and Rose's aching soul had been distracted. It had started her thinking. Perhaps if she had other matters to keep her occupied, she might be able to be a better wife. Might deplore Charles's physical attentions a little less. Which for once he didn't seem in too much of a hurry to begin, his arm around her simply drawing her closely against him.

‘Charles?' she began cautiously, though her heart had suddenly begun to beat like a battering ram as she considered how to broach the subject that had been at the back of her mind for some time. ‘Charles, I've been thinking. When you have to go to London . . . even when you're here . . . what would you think of the idea of my having a lady's maid?'

She had said the last words quickly, before she lost the courage, but Charles merely raised his eyebrows in surprise.

‘A lady's maid, eh? Hmm,' he appeared to reflect slowly. ‘Well, it mightn't be a bad idea. Certainly when you accompany me to London – which I hope you will soon – it would be good to have someone to make sure you're correctly attired. And to keep you company when I have to attend to business matters. Accompany you to art galleries, that sort of thing. Mrs Bennett is hardly suitable, and besides, she needs to stay here to look after your father. All in all, I think it's an excellent idea,' he nodded approvingly. ‘We must put an advertisement in the
Western Morning News
, or perhaps one of the London papers would be better.'