Page 1 of The Perfect Rose

Chapter One

Rose Gardner strove to be perfect, just as the flower she was named after. It seemed, however, that roses were not for everyone like she’d been led to believe. Truth be told, Rose felt she was not for anyone. Or perhaps it was that no one was for her.

It shouldn’t have been difficult for her to keep a pleasant expression while dancing; the ballroom glittered in a sea of jewelry and happy smiles, people surging in time around her, but Rose’s dancing partner tempted her to roll her eyes. She had no patience for gentlemen who squandered away their living in a gaming hall. Truthfully, Rose had no patience for gentlemen in general. The whole lot of them were frustratingly inept.

The bulky gentleman that stumbled over her feet was the fifth gentleman Rose had been forced to dance with tonight. His glossy eyes made her wonder if he’d become an empty shell of a man due to his many debts or to the alcohol she could smell on his breath. And the bead of sweat dripping down his brow was enough to tell her that he would not have the energy to keep up with the demands of the life she wanted so badly to live. She couldn’t imagine him walking about an estate to check on the tenants or playing games with little children. Goodness, it was only a dance, but even his upper lip was soaked with beads of moisture. “Mr. Dillard, perhaps you should attempt another pastime. White’s doesn’t seem to be treating you well.”

He looked aghast, his mouth forming a comical circle and his bushy eyebrows pulled low toward his nose. “You would do well to remember your place, Lady Rose. It is not appropriate for a woman to correct a gentleman.”

Rose sighed as the steps of the dance took her temporarily away from the ridiculous man. How difficult was it to simply say thank you? If other gentlemen didn’t have the spine to help him, he needed to hear it from someone. “My suggestion was born out of concern for you and your family, sir. It was kindly meant.”

Mr. Dillard mumbled something about a thorn in his flesh as he left her with her mother at the edge of the ballroom. Rose clenched her teeth and watched him walk pointedly back to the card room. The man’s late father had been a good friend of Rose’s father, Earl Gardner. It was due to that relationship that her parents felt he would make a suitable match for her. But Mr. Dillard was up to his eyes in debt, and it seemed he had no intention of righting his ways. He clearly didn’t care one whit for Rose past the amount of her very large dowry, and Rose would never agree to marry a man simply because their fathers had once been friends.

Well, he was one less fortune hunter for Rose to deal with; she could scratch him off the list of suitors her mother had pinned on the inside of Rose’s dressing room door.

“Ahem.” Her mother cleared her throat. “What did you do wrong this time?” The Countess Gardner was not an easy woman to please.

Rose turned to her and smiled—because smiling was expected, and failure to maintain what was expected of her was not an option. “I merely attempted to discuss a topic Mr. Dillard would be well-versed in. It seems we disagree on the subject of gaming.” Her gaze shifted to the card room.

Her mother’s eyes held a glint that Rose did not miss, a flash of metal even more deadly than the pruning shears used in their garden. Rose’s heart shuddered, but she did not tremble outwardly. She’d been pruned enough to know that a lady didn’t manifest her fears unless they were worth making known. And Rose’s fears, she knew by now, were inconsequential.

“He is the heir presumptive to a barony and a family friend.” Her mother took a deep breath. “I’m going to collect your father. You have no further purpose tonight.” Lady Gardner swept away from Rose with the elegance of a queen. The sea of people parted for her wherever she went, and although Rose wanted to wilt, she kept her head held high as she followed in the wake of her mother.

The dangerously-silent carriage ride to their London home had nearly frayed Rose’s nerves to the point of utter exhaustion. Now she perched on the edge of her seat in the library and tried to calm her anxiety as she looked at the landscape on the wall. If she could imagine herself there, nestled in amongst the thick forest trees, perhaps she could muster the strength to remain calm . . . at least on the outside. She knew the low whispers coming from her parents across the room would not bring welcome news, but still she held out hope. Based on her mother’s reaction to Rose’s last interaction at the ball, it seemed Mr. Dillard was an appropriate match after all, at least according to her parents. That information in itself told Rose how desperate her mother was to be rid of her. He was not only a penniless drunkard, but his potential title of a baron was a decided step down the social ladder.

Rose weighed the odds that her father would stand up in her defense. She felt only a flicker of hope, but still, it was there. Her father was an earl, and he looked every bit the part of one. His tall, athletic frame hadn’t been put to use in recent years, but no one would know from his stately build. His confidence and kindness commanded respect. But despite aging well, his wife would never forgive his one physical fault: that he’d lost all his hair. Rose liked him, but the time she was allowed in his presence had always been limited. The decisions regarding their daughters had always been left to her mother, the countess.

Lady Gardner exceeded her title. Had she been on the throne, it would likely pale in comparison to the beauty and grace she exuded. Even as a mother of four, the ton envied her beauty and grace. She had thick dark brown hair that, on the rare occasion Rose saw it left down, was long enough to sit on. Not that Rose had never seen her make that mistake—or any other for that matter. The countess’s eyes were pools of blue that rivaled the deepest oceans, and her complexion was flawless. When she entered a room, everyone held their breath.

Now, watching her parents discuss her future, Rose held her breath too, although not in awe. Fear gripped her as if she’d been caught thieving. Lady Gardner looked just as she had so many times in Rose’s past; her pruning shears were out, prepared to make a critical cut.

Gardening was the only task of physical labor Rose had ever witnessed her mother perform. When Rose was younger, her mother had taken her out into their illustrious rose garden and shown her how to prune a rose bush. She’d taken the shears and firmly cut out all the dead wood and canes that had protruded from their desired course, then she’d continued cutting and snipping until a littering of thorny branches lay at Rose’s feet.

Anything unnecessary to produce beautiful blooms must be pruned.

Rose had come to understand when her own prunings would take place from a very young age. Her mother would sit her down with that glint in her eyes and begin at the top: her hair must always be in place, her complexion clear, her dress impeccable, and the list went on and on. Then, once the surface problems had been taken care of, her mother had moved on to more difficult areas to address: Rose’s mind must be quick, there was no time for dolls or imaginative games, her confidence must never slip, she had to feel her station in life and live up to it, her heart must be guarded for there would be many who would desire her hand, and she must choose wisely.

Rose traced the floral embroidery of her exquisite ball gown with her fingertip. The problem was, Rose was now nineteen years old and had almost finished her first London season. No gentleman had asked for her hand. There was no choice to be had. She was solidly without options, and her mother was mortified. She spoke of it to Rose incessantly. Rose thought it a personal victory not to be saddled with any of the inferior choices that hung behind her dressing room door. But what she thought held no weight in her mother’s eyes.

“George, it is time this mess was settled,” said the countess loudly enough to for Rose to hear. “We are all tired, and I must see that we finish this season in style. Come here, Rose.” Her mother pursed her lips together as she straightened her shoulders.

Rose stood and crossed the library with her head held high. She clenched her hands behind her back.

Her father smiled at Rose. “We have some good news, my dear. In light of recent events, we have decided to double your dowry. Your husband will now be the recipient of twenty thousand pounds.”

Rose swallowed, her eyes wide in shock. How was that good news? Every gentleman and fortune hunter in London had already presented himself to Rose for ten thousand pounds. Rose had done her utmost to drive away the men that had been unpalatable; most of them had the good sense to make themselves scarce after she’d pointed out some flaw or another. The good gentlemen, the ones that were thoughtful or kind or good humored . . . they had lasted all of one dance or outing before making themselves scarce. She couldn’t understand what drove them away; she’d behaved just as she was taught. And she had a foreboding feeling that the amount of her dowry would not entice those gentlemen to try again to gain her favor.

Rose could only imagine the rumors that would spread now that her dowry had doubled. She was humiliated in every regard. She would be the one made to play the fool. In the eyes of the ton, she had always been seen as a prize to be won, not a woman to be loved. This larger dowry would only make things worse. Bile threatened to escape her throat, but she willed it down. The edges of her vision blurred, and she could feel herself teetering forward.

“For heaven’s sake, there is no purpose in fainting here. There isn’t even an eligible bachelor to catch you.” Her mother jutted her chin forward a little, and the intense eye contact she made with Rose was like a further constraint on her lungs. “Thank your father, Rose.”

Rose dipped her head and curtseyed even as fire seared in her ears, and she forced herself to breathe, her vision coming back into full focus. She couldn’t allow this to happen without so much as an argument. “Thank you for your generosity, Father. But, is it necessary?”

“Is it necessary?” Her mother’s voice rose a few decibels. “You have been unable to inspire interest lasting past two visits, my dear. I’m afraid it is more than necessary. Your sisters will not be allowed in society until you marry, and they are bound to make gentlemen fall all over themselves. I’ll not have them sit on the shelf collecting dust while you parade about, chasing off every possible suitor. And your brother, the future Earl Gardner, is not to be humiliated with your failure.”

An emptiness settled inside Rose’s heart. She was nothing like her sisters. She’d always known that. Bell, age sixteen, and Lavender, fourteen, had been allowed a childhood and space to breathe. They’d always been given freedom that Rose only dreamed of. And her brother was five! He wasn’t old enough to be humiliated by his sister not making a perfect match in one short season.

“One season, Rose. That is all it should have taken for the daughter of an earl to find a husband, and your time is almost out. We purposely waited to introduce you until you were ready to be married. It is becoming more and more apparent that you may never be ready for that commitment. We are willing to give you one final opportunity, going so far as to increase your dowry. However, if you should fail when left to your own devices, I have every confidence that Mr. Dillard will accept you, in spite of your behavior toward him tonight.”