Chapter 23

Mother Knows Best

Rose had not slept. At first, she had been too angry to sleep. Then the tears had come, a trickle at first and then unrelenting streams. And when they stopped, she had lain awake, hoping that perhaps Alexander would walk through the door and hold her in his arms.

He did not.

Rose let Abigail dress her in a daze. She knew that her eyes were red-rimmed and that she looked awful, but she could not summon the will to care.

I do not understand. What have I done to make Alexander turn away from me?

"Abigail?" Rose looked at her maid. "What do you know about men?"

Abigail blushed deeply and looked away. "Your Grace?"

Rose shook her head.

I cannot ask Abigail. She is kind, but I need to speak with someone who better understands the world.

"Do you know where my mother is? I wish to speak with her."

Abigail looked visibly relieved. "I believe she is in the drawing room with Miss Jane. The one with the pianoforte."

Rose nodded. It was then that she noticed the breakfast tray Abigail had laid on the table before her. Her heart twisted, and she suppressed fresh tears.

Abigail noticed her glance. "The Duke said you may wish to break your fast in your rooms this morning. He did so himself, and the rest of the family has already eaten."

He is avoiding me.

Rose took a bite of the toast Abigail had brought, thanked her, and made her way to the drawing room. She needed to talk to her mother.

She will be able to make sense of all this.

Yet, to her frustration, when she entered the drawing room, she found only Jane. She made to leave, but Jane caught sight of her and her face.

Her sister's eyes widened in surprise, and at once she rushed to her side.

"Rose! You look dreadful, whatever has happened?" Jane led Rose to a nearby chair. "Sit. Sister, please, tell me what is wrong."

Rose shook her head, a lump forming in her throat. "It is nothing."

"It is clearly not." Jane held Rose's gaze, an unusually serious look in her eyes. "Please, I know I am only seventeen, but I am still your sister. And I would know what has caused you such distress."

"I… In truth, I do not know. Well, I do know, but I do not understand it. I had hoped to speak with Mother." Rose glanced around, as though this act may summon their mother.

"She went to speak with the Dowager Duchess a half hour ago, but she should be back soon." Jane smiled kindly. "I know I am not Mother, but perhaps a sister's friendly ear will suffice until she returns?"

Rose couldn't help but smile at Jane, squeezing her hand lightly. "It is the Duke. I… I do not understand what has happened. It is as if he has become an entirely different man."

Jane bit her lip. "What do you mean?"

"Before the ball, there was a warmth between us. It felt… well, it felt as if we were finally getting to know one another. And… more than that, like we were growing closer." Rose gestured vaguely, feeling the thinness of her own words.

"Like perhaps you were falling in love?" Jane's voice was small and tentative.

Her words caught Rose off guard. It wasn't that Jane had assumed they were falling in love—although that was a very typical thing of her. Her middle sister had a penchant for romance. A belief in love so pure and true that it was almost childlike in its naivety.

You were falling in love.

Rose squeezed her sister's hands, aware she should say something but still reeling from the truth in her words. She had been falling in love.

No, I am in love. I am in love with Alexander.

"Rose?" Jane squeezed her hand. "Is that really so surprising?"

"Surprising?" Rose laughed. "Of course, it is."

Jane sighed. "Honestly, sometimes it is hard to believe we are related. You have spent weeks with a man who is kind and generous, who dotes on his family in the same way you care for us, who has welcomed us into his home and has been nothing but gracious and kind."

She smiled. "A man who has made you laugh in a way I have not seen since we were little. You have always been so determined to do what is right for Emily and me that at some point, you seem to have forgotten that you too deserve happiness."

Rose gaped at her. "When did you become so observant?"

"I have always been this way. You have just been so focused on doing what is right that you never bothered to notice." Jane prodded her good-naturedly.

"It is just I am the firstborn, and Mother has done so much to give us a comfortable and good life. She has worked hard to get to where she is. She is all things good and graceful, and I felt that I needed to live up to her expectations."

Jane nodded. "I understand."

"I needed to be perfect. I had to put everyone else ahead of myself, to make sure you were all safe." Rose felt tears form at the corner of her eyes. "I know that anything less than perfection would bring ruin upon all of you. And I could not bear for Mother to know how flawed and imperfect I truly am. I have to make her proud, to be the best person I can be. It is all about appearances. That is what matters most."

"Oh, Rose!" Lady Cotswalts's voice was full of sadness.

Rose felt her face flush with embarrassment. Jane looked between her sister and mother, gave Rose a comforting hug, and left the room, giving her an encouraging nod behind their mother's back.

For a moment, Rose sat staring at her mother, her cheeks red with shame. Her mother stared back, tears in her eyes.

"How much did you hear?" Rose asked.

"Enough." Lady Cotswalts sat beside her and took her hand gently in her own. "Do you truly think that I needed you to be perfect?"

Rose swallowed. "You have always told me how important it is to find a suitable match. From when we were children, you taught us everything that your father had passed on to you—the subtle ways of the aristocracy and the art of selling…"

"I did those things to help you, so you could have the life you deserve." Lady Cotswalts shook her head sadly. "I did not want you to become me."

"But you have always been the epitome of hard work and womanly virtue. You always know just what to say or do. You are graceful in a way I could never hope to be." Rose turned away from her. "All I ever wanted was for you to be proud of me."

"My dearest girl, I am proud of you." Lady Cotswalts tilted Rose's face back towards her. "I know I have been hard on you. All of you, but you, most of all. I was so determined that you would not have to face the same struggles I did that I lost sight of what mattered most."

Rose raised an eyebrow. "And what was that?"

"Happiness, Rose. Happiness and love." Lady Cotswalts smiled, her eyes filling with tears. "I did not see how much pressure I put on you. How much it was hurting you. I did not want you to sacrifice everything. That was the opposite of what I have wanted for you."

"But Father's bad investments… If I did not make a good match, what hope was there for my sisters?" Rose bit her lip.

"There is truth in that, but I never wanted for you to give up your happiness." Lady Cotswalts smiled sadly. "You are wonderful just the way you are. Staying with you and the Duke, I do not remember seeing you like this. So happy and so… well, so yourself. I had forgotten."

"In truth, these last few weeks, I have felt more like myself than I have in years. I had not realized just how much of myself I had lost, and I feel like I am finally reconnecting with the Rose I was meant to be." Rose smiled, even as her chest tightened at the thought of Alexander and his sudden coldness.

"But why do you seem so troubled?" Lady Cotswalts cocked her head. "Surely it can only be a blessing that you are discovering yourself. I am only sorry that my persistence has kept you from finding your true self for so long."

Rose grasped her mother's hands. "You do not need to apologize, but I find it brings me some peace. Thank you."

"It is nothing, and no less than you deserve. But tell me, what is it that troubles you so?" Lady Cotswalts gently stroked her daughter's hair in a way she had oft done when Rose was a child and in need of comfort.

"I worry that perhaps Alexander… does not want me," Rose blurted out.

"And what has given you cause to think this?" Her mother raised an eyebrow. "Has the Duke said this to you?"

Rose took a steadying breath and began to recount to her mother all that had transpired between her and Alexander. How he had seemed to be warming up to her. How the last few weeks, it felt like there had been hope and renewed joy between them.

"And then last night, it was as if someone had erased these last few weeks. Gone was the warm and caring man I had come to know, and instead, I found myself with a cold, distant stone. It is as though he no longer wants me. Or cares for me at all."

Lady Cotswalts looked thoughtful. "Perhaps the message he received was particularly distressing? Or… Well, when did this start?"

"I am not sure. I only caught sight of him leaving with his friend, the Duke of Glassley, as I ended my dance with Lord Verimoor." Rose shuddered. "I confess, while I may not have chosen this life, I will be eternally grateful that I was spared from becoming Lord Verimoor's wife. I am surprised his ego could fit through the ballroom door."

"Rose!" Lady Cotswalts laughed, even as an odd look flashed across her face, and she shook her head. "Goodness, I had forgotten what a temper you could have. It is rather a refreshing reminder."

Rose smiled at her mother, though her brief relief was eclipsed by the thought of Alexander turning away from her once more. "I wish I could be angry with Alexander, and I suppose I am. But I am also just confused and hurt. I do not understand why he is acting this way."

"Well, it may be that seeing you dancing with Lord Verimoor has unearthed some unpleasant and unexpected feelings within your good Duke." Lady Cotswalts tapped a finger against her lips thoughtfully.

Rose's eyes widened, and she snorted. "Are you suggesting that Alexander was jealous of Lord Verimoor?"

"Perhaps." Lady Cotswalts sighed. "Men are rather odd creatures. And jealousy can make them behave in truly ridiculous ways."

"But there is nothing to be jealous of. Alexander is ten times—no, one hundred times the man Lord Verimoor is." Rose shook her head. "Besides, if he was jealous, why did he push me away? It feels as though he is trying to force me into the arms of another man."

"I cannot say for certain, and in truth, I would not want to guess." Lady Cotswalts gave her a kind look. "But what he is or what he was feeling matters little, at this point."

Rose raised an eyebrow. "I do not understand."

"Rose, I have just heard you tell your sister how all of your life, you have put others above yourself. And now, you speak to me about your husband and worry about what he could be feeling. Yet, you have failed to ask a vitally important question."

"And what would that be?" Rose did her best not to sound petulant.

"You told your sister that you have fallen in love with the Duke. Is this true?" Lady Cotswalts asked somberly.

Rose swallowed and nodded. "It is. I love him."

"Then the question is, knowing that you love him, what do you want?" Lady Cotswalts took each of her daughter's hands in her own and squeezed them lightly. "This is your life, my girl, no one else's. It is up to you to pursue your own happiness. And that starts with understanding what you want, and fighting for it."

Rose considered her mother's words for a moment.

What do I want?

The answer came a moment later, crystal clear.

Alexander. She loved him, and she wanted him. She wanted a life with him. A future. A family.

Heat rushed to her cheeks as she turned to her mother and asked, "Do you know where Alexander is now?"

"He is in the Duke's study. Or I suspect that is where he will be." Lady Cotswalts smiled wryly. "His mother says he likes to go there to ‘brood.'"

Rose laughed as she embraced her mother, swiftly kissing her on the cheek and leaving the drawing room.

I am finished putting the needs of others above my own. I love you, Alexander Rokesby, and whether you love me or not, I will not give up on you.

Rose hurtled through the castle. She did not care that she had promised not to enter the study. She would speak to her husband, and she would not wait.

She flung open the large oak door to the study, not bothering to knock. It slammed against the side of the wall, making her jump. The room before her was smaller than she had anticipated. She walked in, taking in her surroundings.

An ornate writing desk stood by the window, with a well-cushioned chair pushed aside, as though its occupant had only just left. There was a small table with decanters of whiskey, two armchairs by the fireplace, and a small bookshelf on one wall. But what caught her eye was a portrait above the mantle.

Even from a distance, Rose recognized Alexander. Yet, something was not quite right.

She moved closer to the portrait. The youth could not have been more than fifteen or sixteen. Alexander's eyes were the familiar honey-brown she had grown used to. He was smiling, wide and unabashed.

His scar.

Rose touched the unmarred face before her.

This must have been before his father was murdered. Before that night.

She looked at the smiling, youthful, and unburdened Alexander. There was no doubt that the youth before her would have grown into a handsome man, but as she tried to envision it, she found that Alexander's scar only added to his beauty.

Without it, Alexander would not be who he was. The scar may not be traditionally handsome, but Rose found that, to her, it was stunning. It marked her husband as the brave and caring man that he was. It made him less plain, and more beautiful.

"Are you incapable of doing as I ask? You promised that you would not enter this place." His voice broke through her thoughts, the anger evident in his words. "What are you doing here?"