Page 50 of Waking Roslyn

My parents were furious, but the earls claimed I had just overreacted to a simple game that had gone awry. They claimed I was being dramatic and trying to turn them against their own children.

We almost didn’t attend the next royal gathering, but once my parents’ initial anger had faded somewhat, they decided our situation would not improve if we hid away. We must attend and do all we could to combat any rumors thrown our way.

Now

Roslyn

It had been stupid of me to confide in him. It was dangerous for him to know. Dangerous for both of us. But I’d held on to every piece of my real identity for so long that I longed to let some of it out, to let someone know and hopefully care. Once I had told him who I was, that I was the daughter of a duke doing my best to hide, I hadn’t been able to stop myself from telling him more. I’d told him about some of the worst things Neil, Everett, and Nina had done to me. And the horrified look on his face had been vindicating. It had been awkward trying to move on from my sad tale and continue training. But I believe my story helped him understand just how much his lessons meant to me.

The next day, a storm came through, rattling the windows and bringing endless drafts through the house. I stayed tucked away in my room, a chair pulled in front of the fire that Everly had lit, writing to my parents and reading a book that I’d found in the library a few days ago but that I’d never opened. If I hadn’t been so distracted by my own whirling thoughts, I might have finished it. But whirl they did. I wondered what my parents would do when I finally returned home. I wondered if being older would make the other nobility meaner or kinder. I wondered what kind of life I might lead if I ended up staying here. What future could there be? And could I stomach the idea of being dependent on Lisette and Edmund’s hospitality when I had a home of my own and tracts of land waiting for me in Saldine? I imagined all the things I could do with that land if given the chance. Could I turn it into the sort of haven that Bridgefield was to me now? What kind of courage would that take? And would the people of Saldine ever afford me that luxury?

John

I noticed her the moment she came out onto the veranda. Not that she made any noise. Despite the fact that I was in the middle of trimming a branch halfway up a tree, my eyes were pulled in that direction, and there she was, walking across the grey stones with a book in her hand.

I smiled. I couldn’t help it. Rose made me smile. And though I knew that my admiration would always be one-sided and go absolutely nowhere, I still smiled.

She was relaxed and unhurried as she walked down the steps and into the paths that wound through the garden, and for that I was grateful. The things she’d confided in me the day before had ripped at my insides. I ached for all she had suffered and admired her even more for her resilience.

I let the small saw that I held dangle from my fingers as I rested my forearms on the branch in front of me and enjoyed the view. Her dress was green, the color of dragon baby hydrangeas. She wore her hair in long braids that coiled around her head. She reached out the hand that wasn’t holding the book and let her fingers skim over the blossoms that bloomed along the path, plucking one and bringing it to her nose. Then she found the bench that sat just below the veranda and settled herself on it before opening her book.

Saints, I wanted to keep staring at her, but this tree wasn’t going to trim itself. Last night’s storm had blown through with such ferocity that many of the trees had broken branches. Some had fallen to the ground and I’d already hauled them away. Others had fallen only to be caught in the lower branches of the trees. And still others were cracked and drooping but hadn’t broken all the way through. So I returned my saw to just such a branch and resumed my cutting.

When the saw sliced all the way through, I disentangled the branch from the leaves around it and then dropped it carefully to the ground.

I looked over to see if the noise of falling branches had startled Rose and instead found her staring up at me. The book was still open in front of her, but she was looking over it and directly at me.

She pulled her gaze away the moment her eyes caught on mine. I couldn’t help the wicked grin that curved my mouth. So that’s how it was to be? Very well. I was more than happy to play this game.

I held the saw out and allowed it to fall to the ground as well before pulling myself higher. There was a large branch stuck in the boughs above my head. It was dry and brittle and needed to come down before it was shaken loose and landed on some unsuspecting person.

When I was close enough, I found a comfortable perch on the boughs and then couldn’t resist glancing down. Once again, I caught Miss Rose with her eyes directed upwards instead of down at her book, and she was biting her lip in a way that made my stomach tighten.

I quickly focused back on my work. If the lady wanted to admire a man doing a bit of manual labor, I was more than happy to provide. I reached for the branch, resisting the urge to flex more than was necessary. Just do the work, I told myself. No need to preen. I had no desire to become an insufferable show-off, but the way she was looking did wonderful things for my ego.

After I’d dislodged the large, brittle branch, I had to pull it down with me as I descended. The trees surrounding me didn’t allow enough room for me to toss it outward and trust that it would find the space to fall freely to the ground. By the time I made it out of the tree, the sweat was already starting at my hairline and my lower back. Normally I would have tossed off my shirt at this juncture and worked without it, but the thought of doing so now when I had a captive audience made me oddly nervous.

I was nervous around a woman. Gads, what did that mean? She was the daughter of a duke. It meant nothing.

Instead, I took the rag that I’d tucked into my belt and dried off my face and hands before moving on to the next tree. As I walked, tucking the rag back into its place, I glanced over at Rose. Her whole face was hidden behind her book, but the way she held on to it was making her knuckles white.

Perhaps I shouldn’t move on to the next tree. Perhaps I should take these branches to the burn pile now—the burn pile that was on the other side of the house and would require that I cross closer to her on my way.

So I bent to grab hold of the branches I’d taken down so far, shook my hair out of my face, and did my best to smother the grin that wanted to stretch my face. I didn’t look over at her, but I could see enough in my peripheral vision to know that her eyes followed me. Don’t be arrogant, I reminded myself.

As I drew closer, another figure appeared on the veranda, and I couldn’t help but look at Rose to see if she could sense them approaching. But instead of her attention being on the newcomer, it was on me. And this time, she didn’t look away when her eyes found mine. Heat burned low in my gut at the intensity of her gaze.

She didn’t notice Lady Rockwell come right up to the banister and look down on her where she sat, and I wasn’t about to let my eyes wander, not when she seemed just as content to stare at me as I was to stare at her.

“There you are,” Lady Rockwell said.

“Hm?” Rose responded, practically jumping in her seat and dropping the book to her lap. She turned to look up at her cousin, her hands fluttering over the book and up to her hair.

“What brings you out here?” Lady Rockwell asked.

“Oh. Just the beautiful day.” She threw a hand out toward the sky. “I thought it would be nice to read out here in the sunlight for a while.”

Lady Rockwell turned her face toward the sun. “It is a lovely day.” She looked down again. “What are you reading?”