Cherrybrook Rose (16 page)

The sedate meal in the house was over, and Charles stood up, offering Rose his arm. She linked her hand through the crook of his elbow, her fingers tingling with excitement as her shining eyes met his. Yes, she was very happy. She began to relax as they led Charles's guests out into the grounds which had been hastily knocked into shape by the elderly part-time gardener and his boy, who, along with a live-in housekeeper-cum-cook and a housemaid, Charles had instructed Rose to employ, since Florrie was now to devote her entire time to Henry. To Rose's amusement, Charles was playing lord of the manor to the workers who doffed their caps at him, for he was clearly unused to mixing with the working classes on a social basis.

‘Congratulations, Miss Rose!' Noah Roach waved gaily as he went back inside the marquee, evidently taking full advantage of the free alcohol.

Rose shook her head with a light chuckle, and lifted her jubilant face to her husband. ‘Oh, Charles, would you mind very much if I spent a little time with all the people in the marquee? I've known them all so long . . .'

Charles's eyes softened as he gazed at her. ‘How can I refuse you anything, my darling?' he breathed. ‘But don't be too long.'

‘Please excuse me,' she said aloud, turning to the ladies and gentlemen who accompanied them. ‘I must just thank our other guests for coming.' And with a quick, affectionate kiss on Charles's cheek, the naturalness of which surprised even herself, she skipped off towards the marquee.

The distinctive odour of canvas wreathed inside her nostrils, and all at once she was hailed by the people she had lived among for so many years. A cry went up, toasting her name and wishing her well before the music started up again with a jolly reel. The merrymakers at once returned to prancing up and down to the jocund rhythms, and Rose's head spun with the jovial faces that flashed across her vision.

‘Oh, Rose!' Molly's eyes were as brilliant as stars as she tugged on Rose's sleeve. ‘This is such fun! And you look wonderful!'

‘And would your husband mind if I asked you to dance?'

Joe's face was split in a carefree grin, and Rose responded with a whoop of glee. In an instant, she was swirling dizzily amongst the revellers, her head thrown back with the joy of the dance, holding on to Joe's bony shoulder while he supported her round the waist. He whisked her all the way round the circle before the music came to a noisy halt, and she scampered breathlessly to Charles's side as he came in through the flapping canvas entrance.

‘Shall we join in?' she panted playfully.

‘I don't think so,' Charles smiled down at her like an indulgent father.

Rose looked up at him, her eyes still sparkling, as he led her from the marquee and she waved back over her shoulder.

‘Really, Rose,' he bent to whisper in her ear, ‘could you not show a little more decorum? Thank goodness my visitors couldn't see you.'

Rose's eyes snapped. ‘Just because I'm married to you, doesn't mean I'm going to turn into some upper-class prig and turn my back on my friends, you know!'

Charles tossed his head with a short laugh. ‘I should hope not! But do remember that acquaintances can be most useful in business, and we ought not to offend. You've had your jig, so could you possibly behave now? At least until
my
guests have departed, which won't be long.
Please
, Rose!' he begged, fingering a curling ebony tendril that had loosened from the pearl combs and flower blossoms that were intricately worked into her hair.

She pulled a mocking grimace. ‘All right. But only if you promise to dance with me afterwards until your feet hurt!'

‘I promise!' He grinned like a schoolboy. ‘And woe betide any man who tries to take you from me!'

He kept to his word, though his constrained stance was not suited to the chaotic mayhem of the country dances. By the time the last workers and their families had left for their little cottages on the moor, and the hired caterers had packed everything into the carts that had trundled away down the drive, the bride and groom were quite exhausted. Darkness was falling, the quiet of the moorland dusk a welcome relief after the hectic revelries of the day.

‘I think as I should like to retire now,' Henry announced as they all sat out on the terrace, enjoying the evening air.

‘Of course, Mr Henry.' Florrie at once jumped to attention, relishing in her promotion to nurse and companion.

‘Oh, goodnight, Father!' Rose leapt to her feet and bent to hug Henry tightly. ‘Hasn't it been a wonderful day?'

‘It certainly has, my dearest child.' In her own exhilaration, Rose did not notice the catch in his voice, nor see the moisture collecting in his eyes. And when he drew away, he shook hands with Charles, who seemed glued to her side. ‘Congratulations,' Henry said stiffly. ‘You will . . . take
care
of my daughter, won't you?'

‘Naturally.'

Rose frowned. Was there some tension between the two men? But then Florrie had clamped her arms about her, rotund cheeks wobbling as she openly wept. Rose pulled back, laughing lightly.

‘Oh, Florrie, I'm so happy!' she told her, and the older woman sniffed.

‘Goodnight, then, Rosie.'

‘Yes, goodnight! Sleep well!' Rose watched as Florrie pushed her father up the specially built ramp into the house, followed by Amber contentedly waving her tail, and then she put her hand in Charles's. ‘Shall we take a turn about the garden afore we go to bed? 'Tis such a beautiful night! And I must see Gospel! He'll think I'm neglecting him.'

‘You and that horse!' Charles chuckled, dropping a kiss on to her hair, which had become somewhat awry during the dancing. They threaded their arms about each other's waists, Rose leaning her head on Charles's shoulder as they picked their way across the silvery, moonlit grass, Rose enjoying the sense of protection, of closeness, that was so new to her. Gospel came trotting up in the adjacent field as soon as he smelled her familiar scent. As she stroked his soft, velvety muzzle, crooning into his ear, Charles's lips on the back of her neck sent a shiver of emotion down her spine. She finally gave Gospel one last kiss on his hairy nose, and ambled back with Charles towards the warmly lit house, pausing for a moment to gaze up at the satin indigo sky, peppered with pinprick stars. The Dartmoor weather had been kind for their special day, and now offered them a still, romantic night. The balmy air entwined itself about them, and as Charles held her closely to him, his mouth came down on hers, not kind and caressing as it had always been before, but harsh and urgent. Rose tightened. It sent a strange sensation shooting down to her stomach, and she wasn't sure she liked it.

‘Time for bed, I think, my love,' Charles said, releasing her. ‘You go up. I'll just have a cigar out here, and then I'll lock up.'

Rose nodded with a faint smile, grateful to escape the uncomfortable moment. Charles had instantly returned to his normal self, and she felt at ease again. Perhaps she had imagined, or misinterpreted, his forceful ardour, for after all, they had all consumed a great deal of alcohol during the day and weren't quite themselves. She went in through the half-glazed double doors to the drawing room, then through the spacious hallway and up the elegant stairway to the master bedroom. Her light footsteps echoed through the silent house, for there was not a sound from her father's quarters, and Florrie and the two female servants had been given leave to retire to their spartan but adequate rooms in the attic.

In the little dressing room, Rose contemplated her reflection in the looking-glass one last time before stepping out of the beautiful gown. Would she ever wear it again? So many brides could only be married in their Sunday best, or if they could afford it, a new outfit of a style that could be utilized again afterwards. But Rose's gown was so exquisite it would only be suitable for a society ball, or some such event. Charles wanted her to go to London with him sometimes, and perhaps she would have an opportunity to use the lovely garment again then. She sighed as she reluctantly placed it on a hanger. She was so lucky! And though nowhere else could possibly hold the same place in her heart as her beloved Dartmoor, she was looking forward to visiting the capital with Charles, and playing the perfect wife as a thank you for all his generosity.

She climbed between the sheets, leaving the lamp turned low so that Charles could see his way when he came up. She had been sleeping in the big bed for the past two months, and shook her head with a musing smile. It would be strange to have someone, a man, lying beside her. But that was what you did when you were married, wasn't it, share a bed? And she had to stifle a giggle as she wondered if Charles snored!

She snuggled down and was almost asleep, images of the magical day swirling in her head, when Charles padded into the room. She was vaguely aware of his shadow passing from the bathroom to the dressing room, emerging again in a pristine nightshirt. Rose was curled on her side, but turned on to her back and stretched like a kitten as Charles came and sat on the bed next to her. She smiled languidly at him, her dark curls flowing about her in a curtain of silk, as she waited for his goodnight kiss. She watched his eyes moving about her face, two cinnamon-flecked orbs alight with wonderment.

‘Well now, Rose,' he whispered, his voice thick. ‘Take off your nightdress and let me see what I've married.'

Rose blinked at him as some sickening horror lacerated her heart. Had she heard right, her confounded brain demanded, as a vile, disgusted realization began to dawn. She reared away, pressing herself into the pillows.

Charles's eyes opened wide, and he threw up his head with a snort. ‘Good God!' he groaned in disbelief. ‘Do you
really
not know? Has no one ever told you what happens between a man and his wife?' He stared at her ashen, rigid face, and then his lips curved into a wry smile. ‘Well, I suppose it will be even more pleasurable to
show
you, my darling. Now, if you won't take off your nightdress,' he said as he saw her fists tightening about the top of the blankets, ‘I'll have to do it for you. Now don't look so disapproving, Rose. This is what you get married
for
! Millions of couples all over the world will be doing it as we speak.'

Rose could not move. Every muscle in her body was paralysed, apart from her heart that hammered frantically in her frozen chest. Her eyes stared sightlessly at his lecherous smile, her pupils so wide with fear that the cobalt of the irises had all but disappeared. Her small hands were powerless as Charles wrenched the bedclothes from their grasp and flung them aside, and as his fingers tore hungrily at the buttons of her nightgown, a petrified whimper did no more than flutter in her throat. She wanted to fight back, but was weighed down like a block of granite and could only lie there motionless as he took her exposed breasts, kneading their fullness and moaning her name against their milky whiteness.

It was only when he started to fumble with the hem of her nightgown, drawing it up to her waist and forcing her knees apart, that her instinct to protect herself was galvanized into action. She lashed out, pummelling his shoulders and writhing beneath him like some madwoman from an asylum. But above her, Charles's face hardened, his eyes narrowed with anger, for if she would not give it to him freely, he would take her by force. He was not particularly muscled, but he was tall and stronger than her, and in the lamplight, she caught one stunned glimpse of the hideous thing that stuck out from between his legs before he plunged it into that innermost part of her she had hitherto hardly known existed. The chilling shock made her hold her breath until the pain seared into her, slicing at her tender flesh, and she screamed aloud. Charles's sweating hand clamped over her mouth, choking her, stopping her from breathing. Her senses reeled away and she struggled viciously, hysterically, her muscles straining crazedly as he rammed himself ever more forcefully into her in a grunting frenzy. And then suddenly he stopped for just one split second before his body gave one mighty shudder and he cried out her name before he fell down on top of her, panting heavily and pinning her to the bed.

‘Oh, Rose, oh, my darling,' Charles murmured hotly into her ear. ‘I love you so much. You'll never know how I've yearned for this. You were wonderful, moving like that. Oh, my little Rose.'

His words came at her through a fog. He moved away, blew out the small flame in the lamp, then came back to kiss her once more before he settled himself on his side of the bed, sighing contentedly. Rose lay, as rigid as a stone, staring into the blackness until her eyes adjusted to the slither of moonlight that filtered through the curtains. Charles, her husband, had taken himself from her, but her insides still burned, scorched, as if the red-hot poker were still being thrust into her. For ten minutes, perhaps more, she didn't dare to move for fear it would increase the pain. Charles's heavy, steady breathing beside her at last began to seep into her numbed mind, convincing her he was asleep, and slowly, gingerly, she rolled on to her side with her back to her new husband, and drew up her knees, oblivious to the silent tears that were dripping down her cheeks. She felt dirty. Abused.
Ashamed
. And yet she had done nothing wrong. It was all falling into place now. That was why her father had not been happy about the marriage. Why he had spoken about love and passion, although quite why
love
should make anyone
want
to do what she had just been subjected to was beyond her. But Charles had just done that appalling thing to her
because he loved her
. She could not blame him. But . . . if only she'd known! Why hadn't her father told her! But then . . . how could he have done? The accident had weakened him not only in body but in spirit also. And it wasn't the sort of thing a man could tell his daughter about, was it? Sons, perhaps, and surely it would have been a mother's role to . . .