Page 30 of Grasp the Thorn
“Thank you.”
He tucked into the impromptu meal, not meeting her eyes.
Her own questions burned. Would it be like that next time? When would they try again? Had she done something wrong, and if so, what could she do differently? She had only him to ask, and she hardly knew him, though he had seen her naked, had touched her intimately, had prompted reactions from her that made her blush to recall.
When she coloured, he looked alarmed, pushed his empty cup away, and mumbled something about getting into dry clothes, before leaving the kitchen.
He remained courteous but distant all day, spending much of his time with his foreman, and then insisting that Father be brought downstairs to share their meals with them. Rosa responded in kind, hoping they could talk once their bedroom door shut out the world.
Bear spoke first, saying, “You are sore, Rosa. We will not— er,” he stopped to consider his words. “We will not exercise our marital rights tonight.”
Her relief was matched by her disappointment, and she cast about for a good reason to proceed. “How can I give you a child if we don’t…”
“We will be married all our lives. It won’t hurt to allow a few days for the soreness to heal.” His eyes softened. “I am lucky you did not bar me from our bedroom after that dismal performance last night. If you will forgive me, I promise to amend, once you are no longer wincing when you sit.”
That was all. He stripped to his shirt, but no further, climbed into his side of the bed, turned his back, and fell asleep within minutes.
The next two days—and nights—were the same. Cautious courtesy, little real conversation, and no more caressing touches or passionate kisses. Rosa had often wished for a woman in whom she could really confide, but never more than now. If only she could put her head in her mother’s lap and pour out her confusion and her questions. She had long, imaginary conversations with Aunt Lillibelle, who had lived a wicked life according to the entire village, so was just the person to advise Rosa now. The questions were clear enough, but the imaginary Aunt Lillibelle only knew what Rosa knew, so her questions went unanswered.
Then, four mornings after their wedding, a courier arrived with Bear’s weekly package of letters from Liverpool, and everything changed again.
CHAPTER 21
“I won’t be above a month,” Bear told his wife, “but if this opportunity is everything Lion says, we stand to make a fortune, Rosa. You have everything you need?”
“Yes, yes. You have given me money enough for a full quarter, and we shall be perfectly comfortable, Hugh. You do not need to worry about us.”
“Caleb has everything well in hand at the Hall, but if he comes up against a problem and needs a decision, I have told him to ask you. We’ve discussed enough about my plans, I’m confident you will know what must be done.”
“You trust me with your business?”
“You are my wife. It is our business. You won’t have to concern yourself with the other properties and investments. The couriers will come after me. But you are right on hand at Thorne Hall. You are a clever woman with good instincts. I would be a fool not to trust you. You will write to let me know if you need me, or anything I can give you?”
He did not want to go; not with things unresolved. However, his wife held him at arm’s-length with a cool reserve that spoke of the depth of her hurt at his wrongful assumption. Not that she stopped caring for his ordinary needs. Rosa, he was coming to understand, couldn’t stop nurturing if she tried. She sent food to the Hall when he did not come for meals, had hot baths ready for him when he returned home, stood arm-in-arm with him to present a united front when some of the more prosperous villagers called to congratulate them. Which did not, he noted, include the Pelmans or the Thrextons.
She did it all with a dignified reserve, as the gap between them widened day by day. He didn’t dare touch her, for the taste of her was blazoned on his soul and he would not be able to stop at a touch. No more caresses. No more kisses. Not until she was ready to be his wife in truth, because where she was concerned, he did not trust himself to keep his appetites in check.
This trip might be a godsend, taking him away from the constant temptation she represented and giving her time to forget his clumsiness and stupidity.
“The horses are ready, sir,” Jeffreys said.
“I’ll be there in a minute,” Bear replied. Now. This was the one exception. With Jeffreys waiting by the horses, he would not have time to let the brute in his trousers off its leash, so giving his wife one last kiss was as safe as he could make it.
Rosa was agreeing. What to? Oh yes, she would write. “And you must write too, Hugh. Travel is uncertain at the best of times, and this weather makes it chancier. Please write every few days just so that I know you are well.”
She would worry about him. He couldn’t stop his lips curving at the thought, fool man. Undoubtedly, being Rosa, she would worry about Jeffreys, too, and the horses. “Of course, I will.” He hesitated. Before their wedding, he had hauled her into several very pleasant kisses, but he was nervous about initiating this one. “May I kiss you goodbye, dear wife?”
Her eyes widened, and she smiled before stepping closer with her face up. “Farewell, please. I do want you to come home, Hugh.”
Better than he expected and much more than he deserved. Rather like the kiss itself, which left him adjusting with some difficulty to the saddle as they rode down through the village and out to the coast and the ferry.
Bear’s first letter arrived three days after his departure, hand-delivered by a man who said that he now worked for Rosa.
I’ve sent this letter with Makepeace Brownlee, who comes highly recommended as a nurse for elderly gentlemen who are a bit confused in their minds. If you and your father like him, I thought he could relieve the servants of the night-care duties, but you must organize the household as you wish.
I have a brief stopover in Manchester to meet with a potential buyer for the townhouse I told you about there, then straight to London to meet with the Earl of Ruthford. The weather continues uncertain, but…
The rest of the letter contained commonplaces that could have been written to anyone, except that it began ‘My dear wife’ and ended ‘Your husband, Hugh Gavenor.’
