Rose(88)

“You were so beautiful. We would sit at the table and talk long after dinner had ended. I ordered the servants to always place two branches of candles near you so I could watch the light play on the gold in your hair, the sparkle in your eyes.”

Rose twisted around until she could see his face. His eyelids were drooping. Between the liquor, the hot bath, and the excitement of his wedding, George had been drained of all energy. He was going to sleep right here in her arms.

Surprisingly, she didn’t mind.

“But there was something I wanted to say to you. I wanted to say it every night, but I never did. I can’t figure out why.”

“What was it?” Rose asked. Her voice was as soft as his.

There was a pause.

Rose looked down at George. He was asleep, his head resting on her breast, his hair rough against her tender skin, the weight of him making it difficult for her to breathe. She wouldn’t have moved for all the riches in the world. She was content to be where she was even though nothing about her marriage had gone the way she had dreamed.

She smiled to herself. She’d have been horrified a year ago if anyone had described her wedding day. She might even have sworn she wouldn’t get married. She could never have imagined she could still be content.

But she was.

She had married the man of her dreams. George wanted and needed her. She had his trust, his admiration, and she was on the way to acquiring his confidence. What more could a woman want from a man?

She would have his body. Tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that. George was too hot-blooded to hold off for long. Tonight had been lost somewhere between liquor and his fear of fathering a child. Tomorrow would be another day.

His love? That was a more difficult question, one that depended on his past almost as much as his future. But he would say those words one day. Of that she was certain.

As for children, that would come, too. She just felt it. George would want them. Lots of them.

But as much as she wanted a family, she had told the truth when she said she would give it up. She wanted to free him from his fears for his sake, not for hers, or for the sake of the children they might have.

He thought he was made of the same timber as his father. Rose knew her task would be to show him he had all of his father’s and mother’s strengths without their weaknesses.

Except perhaps an inability to look at himself and see just how wonderful he was.

She had every intention of doing her best to make the Randolphs feel like a family once again. It was important to George, therefore it was important to her. But she had no intention of standing by while they took advantage of him. If Jeff didn’t put a cork in it, she would see that his ship soon sailed to another port.

But for the moment she had no battles to fight, no one to defend. She only had to lie here, holding George, and wait for him to wake up.





Chapter Fifteen


The feeble light of morning pierced the gray of the room. George stirred and opened his eyes. Nothing came into focus. Where was he? He felt disoriented. At least he knew he wasn’t in his own bed. He had to sit up. He had to find out where he was.

Movement brought a vicious stabbing pain through the center of his head. George collapsed on his pillow, his hands gripping his throbbing head. He tried once more. The pain was just as terrible. A groan escaped him. Was he hurt? Did he have a wound he didn’t remember?

“How do you feel?”

He wasn’t alone. It was hard to tell with his head pounding so, but it sounded like Rose. He must be at home. He must be sick.

He opened his eyes again. Her face slowly materialized out of the sea of mist which seemed to surround him. Gradually the room came into focus. It wasn’t his room. He wasn’t at home.

“You must have drunk more than I thought,” Rose said. “I’ve been trying to wake you for nearly an hour.”

What was she talking about? He never drank. He remembered what it did to his father. It made him angry and mean. He got into fights, said cruel, vicious things. George had sworn he would never drink.

“I’m sorry you feel so rotten, but you’re going to have to get up. Everybody expects to see the new bridegroom.”

Maybe Rose had been drinking. Nothing she said made any sense.

“There’s already a line outside wanting to know how you survived the whiskey and your wedding night.”

With the impact of a mule’s kick, the events of the previous day came rushing back. He was married!

And he’d passed out cold on his wedding night.

He didn’t know whether to laugh or slink away in shame.

He decided to laugh. Maybe he wouldn’t feel so humiliated. But the pain was excruciating. Even the movement of the muscles in his face hurt.