'I'll do whatever I can to make my wife happy,' he promised. 'But I would once again urge you to let her talk about her brothers. She needs the connection with them, sir. Surely you can understand how she feels.'
Elliott didn't understand. 'Why do you doubt the advice of experts? It isn't like you to be unreasonable. Kendleton and Wells aren't novices in their field of expertise. They have both strongly recommended that we help Victoria move forward. I won't listen to any more objections, and I would appreciate it if you would also try to encourage my daughter to think about her life here.'
Harrison felt as though he were caught in a vise. His instincts told him the path Elliott was taking was wrong, but how could he argue with the experts? Were they right in their evaluations after all?
He finally acknowledged the truth. He liked Mary Rose just the way she was. He didn't want her to change, and that fact put him in direct conflict with her father. Hell, it was complicated, and Harrison couldn't even begin to imagine the confusion Mary Rose must be feeling.
She was caught between two worlds, and as her husband, wasn't it his responsibility to help her make the transition?
The talk at the table turned to other matters, and the men didn't join the ladies for a long while. Mary Rose couldn't stop yawning, much to her aunt's consternation. She was finally allowed to go upstairs a little before midnight.
She wasn't about to go to bed without first talking things over with her brothers and her Mama Rose, and so, after the maid helped her change, she sat down at the elegantly appointed desk and wrote two long letters. She included a long note for her brother to read to Corrie too.
There was another long-stemmed rose on her pillow. She was pleased by her husband's gesture, even though she still didn't understand the motive behind it. She didn't ask him why he was suddenly becoming romantic because she knew he would only insist that he'd always been thoughtful and tenderhearted.
Her husband had a reason for every little thing he did. In time she would figure out what he was up to, and she admitted she liked the mystery in this game of his. What had the maid told her Harrison had said when he ordered the flower? Oh, yes, she remembered. He wanted to remind her of something important. Mary Rose let out a loud, thoroughly unladylike yawn and got into bed. She fell asleep seconds later holding two precious gifts. The locket her Mama Rose had given her was in one hand and Harrison 's flower was in the other.
Her husband came to bed an hour later. He put the locket and the flower on the bedside table and then pulled his wife into his arms and fell asleep holding her. He tried to wake her up during the dark hours of the night, but his gentle little wife was dead to the world and couldn't be awakened. He finally gave up and went back to sleep. She kissed him awake at dawn and gave him exactly what he needed and craved, and much, much more. He was so sated, he fell asleep again.
Mary Rose quietly got out of bed so she wouldn't disturb Harrison. She washed and dressed and then went downstairs in search of breakfast.
The staff wasn't used to early risers, and when Lady Victoria strolled into the kitchens, she caused quite a stir. Edward quickly ushered her into the dining room, pulled out a chair for her, and begged her to be seated.
She turned down the offer of deviled kidneys with eggs and crumpets and asked for two pieces of toast and a cup of tea. Breakfast was quickly finished, and then Mary Rose asked the butler if she could go into her father's library.
He thought it was a fine idea. 'You haven't seen the portrait of your mother yet, have you, Lady Victoria? Your father had it delivered from his London residence yesterday afternoon. It's a comfort for him to have it close. Shall I show you the way?'
She followed the butler up the stairs and down the second corridor. The house was quiet, for everyone was still fast asleep.
'What time does my father usually get up?' she asked in a soft whisper so she wouldn't disturb anyone.
'Almost as early as I do, mi'lady. Here we are,' he added when they reached the library. He pushed the door open for her and then bowed. 'Will you be wanting anything further?'
She shook her head, thanked him for his assistance, and went inside. The library was shrouded in darkness. The scent of old books and new leather surrounded her as she made her way over to the double windows. She pulled the heavy drapes back and turned to the mantel.
The portrait of her mother was lovely. She stared up at it a long while and tried to imagine what she'd been like.
'My goodness, Victoria. What are you doing up so early?'
Her father stood in the doorway. He looked startled by the sight of her. She smiled at him. His hair, she noticed, was standing on end. He had obviously just gotten out of bed. He wasn't dressed for company yet, but wore a long black robe and brown leather slippers.
'I'm used to getting up early, Father. Do you mind that I'm in your sanctuary?'
'No, no, of course not.' He hurried over to his desk and sat down behind it. Then he began to stack and restack a pile of papers.
He was nervous being alone with her. Mary Rose didn't know what to make of his reaction. She wanted to put him at ease though, but wasn't certain how.
Her attention returned to the portrait. 'What was she like?' Elliott stopped shuffling his papers and leaned back in his chair. His expression softened. 'She was a remarkable woman. Would you like to know how we met?'
'Yes, please.'
She sat down in a chair and folded her hands together in her lap. For the next hour she listened to her father talk about his Agatha. Mary Rose was curious about the woman, of course, and interested to learn all she could about her, but when her father finished talking, she still didn't feel a link with Agatha. She looked up at the portrait once again.
'I'm sorry I didn't know her. You've made her out to be a saint, Father. Surely she had some flaws. Tell me what they were.'
Lord Elliott proceeded to tell her all about her mother's unreasonable stubborn streak.
Mary Rose interrupted to ask him questions every now and then, and after another hour passed in pleasant conversation, she believed her father had gotten over his nervousness and was feeling a little more comfortable with her. The mother she had never known drew the two of them together.
From that morning on, it became a ritual for her to go into the library and read until her father joined her. They would have their breakfast from silver trays the servants carried up, and they would spend most of the mornings together. Mary Rose never talked about her past, because she had been told several times by her aunts how much it distressed her father to hear her talk about her brothers, and so she encouraged him to tell her all about his family. She thought of their time together as a history lesson, but still found it very pleasant.
She slowly began to relax her guard, and after several weeks passed getting to know him, she realized how much she liked him. One morning, when it was time for her to leave him and go to her Aunt Lillian to find out what the day's schedule was, she surprised her father by kissing him on his brow before she left the room.
Elliott was overwhelmed by his daughter's spontaneous show of affection. He awkwardly patted her shoulder and told her in a gruff voice not to keep her aunt waiting.
He informed his sisters that evening that his Victoria was settling in quite nicely.
Quite the opposite was the case. Mary Rose was becoming an accomplished actress, and no one, not even Harrison, realized how miserable she was. She was so homesick for her brothers, she cried herself to sleep almost every night, clutching her locket in her hand.
Harrison wasn't there to comfort her. He had been given a mound of work to complete for Lord Elliott and was, therefore, forced to spend the weekdays and weeknights in the city. She saw him only during the weekends, but then the country house was always bursting at the seams with relatives and friends, and they were rarely allowed to be alone.
Harrison had become obsessed with finding the evidence to condemn George MacPherson. Whenever there was an extra hour available, he went up to their bedroom and poured over old ledgers he'd brought from London looking for the hidden discrepancy. Douglas had stolen the money from the nursemaid, and she had to have gotten it from MacPherson. Where in thunder had he gotten it, Harrison would mutter to himself. It was driving him crazy that he couldn't find it.
Mary Rose still hadn't met her father's assistant. MacPherson, she'd been told, had left on holiday just as she
