Cherrybrook Rose by Tania Crosse Page A

and after a couple of weeks he had been back again, wooing her with flowers and other gifts, and trips to the seaside, culminating in his asking Henry for her hand the night before business matters required his urgent return home. It was now mid-November, dreary, wet and miserable up on the moor, and despite numerous letters from Charles, Rose still had not given him an answer.
    Her eyes met Henry’s across the table, wide and honest and bright with anguish. ‘I don’t know,’ she moaned pitifully, her shoulders drooping. ‘I’ve been over and over it in my mind, but I just don’t know.’
    â€˜Have you discussed it with Molly, for instance?’ Henry suggested mildly.
    â€˜Molly! She thinks just because he’s handsome and has money, I should jump at the chance!’
    â€˜But . . .’ Henry faltered, ‘you’re not Molly.’
    â€˜No,’ Rose said stonily, her jaw set.
    â€˜Then you must tell
me
exactly how you feel. I know I’m not your mother, God rest her soul, but I’ll have to do. The whole honest truth, mind.’
    He smiled encouragingly, and the frozen knot inside her chest melted a little. She sighed, a torn, painful exhalation of breath. ‘I know you would like to see me settled and secure,’ she began tentatively, and watched as Henry pressed the palms of his hands together and rested his joined fingers against his lips. ‘But if I married Mr Chadwick, I’d have to live in London, so far away from you, and I couldn’t bear that.’
    â€˜Not necessarily. I’m sure Mr Chadwick could afford to keep at least a modest house down here, and I should want proof of his financial security before I gave my consent anyway. But . . . there is far more to consider than that,’ he said with an enigmatic lift of his eyebrows.
    Rose licked her lips. There was something solid inside her, as if someone had rammed a fist into her stomach, and try as she may, she couldn’t uncurl its iron fingers. ‘Mr Chadwick is . . . polite. A true gentleman. Very attentive, of course.’ She hesitated. Lowered her eyes. ‘
Too
attentive. I feel I’m being coerced into . . . into a relationship. He can be quite . . . forceful, I suppose, though in the most charming way. At least . . .’ She bowed her head, not wanting to offend her father’s feelings for the man he considered a suitable prospective spouse. ‘At least,
he
thinks he’s being charming.
I
just find him too . . . forthright. I’m sure he’d make an excellent husband, but I . . . I simply don’t love him.’
    Her mouth compressed into a harsh line and she swallowed before lifting her eyes to her father again. For several seconds, Henry sat motionless, then slowly he nodded his head. ‘And . . . do you know what love is?’
    Rose blinked hard and her pulse began to beat faster. ‘No. Not for another man. I’ve never felt what that is. But . . . I know what my love for you is, Father. ’Tis good and warm. And trusting. And . . .’ Her eyes suddenly sparked with a piercing sapphire light. ‘I know what my love for Gospel is! He . . . he lifts something deep inside of me. We share so much together, as if . . . as if we share the same spirit. Surely . . . if you really love someone, you must feel something like that? Like a fire inside you!’ And then her face closed down, as if someone had drawn the shutters over a window. ‘And I
don’t
feel like that about Mr Chadwick.’
    Henry contemplated her a moment longer, her impassioned speech pricking at the pain he usually managed to bury deep in his soul. ‘Then there’s no more to be said. I shall write to Mr Chadwick this evening and inform him of your refusal. You know, Rose, you’re so like your mother. And it makes me . . . so proud,’ he finished, gesturing at her with his outstretched hand. ‘Come here, my dearest